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Sanctifex Forden held a blade to Junah’s throat. Not the leggy siren she presented herself as, but her true, childlike nidia form. A drop of blood, red as a ruby, beaded on the blade’s edge.
“Oh, Rella. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” he asked, pale eyes gleaming. “My terms were clear, my child: either the prince dies, or your dear sister does.”
Rella fell to her knees, her legs weak from the intensity of her despair. “Please, Your Eminence, I tried! The - the curse should have worked, but his honor guard - “
“And apparently, the mongrel still lives,” he continued as if she had not spoken. “Had you come to me with this information sooner, we might have rectified the matter. But alas - my hands are tied.”
“I can find him,” she said frantically. “His life force is tied to mine. I can find where they’re hiding him, and - and this time, I’ll end it.”
“Oh, Rella,” Junah whispered, horrified. The disappointment in her voice was an arrow to Rella’s heart. Her crystalline eyes swam with unshed tears. “How could you do such a thing? My own sister!”
That was fine. She could endure Junah’s censure. As long as she was alive.
“I’m afraid not,” Forden replied. “You had your chance, my child. Had you served the church faithfully, as your parents did before you, God would reward you. But the teachings are clear: spare the rod… spoil the child.”
The knife danced across Junah’s throat in a spray of red.
Rella awoke with a gasp. Her wings beat against an unseen barrier that surrounded her in the dark. It took her nightmare-muddled mind several seconds to remember where she was: in one of the cramped enclosed bunks on the prince’s gauntlet runner.
She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady her racing heart. It was just a dream. She was safe now - safe among friends and family. Sanctifex Forden couldn’t hurt her if he wanted to; Louis saw to that.
She should have known it was just a dream. Forden wasn’t the type to dirty his own hands. He preferred to have others carry out his unsavory work for him. If he wanted to kill Junah, he had more than enough zealots who would do the deed for him, her popularity be damned.
Her anxiety didn’t lessen, no matter how many slow breaths she took. How could it? She’d had nightmares every night since the prince’s magla avatar saved her life. The tight confines of her bed, meant to keep passengers in one place should the gauntlet runner tip over in the night, was feeling more like a cage with each passing night.
She needed air. She needed to feel the wind in her feathers. Silently, she slid to the ground.
Not silently enough. A soft, delicate hand reached out to touch her ankle. “Rella? You okay?” Junah mumbled sleepily from the lower bunk.
She smiled indulgently at her sister. “I’m fine. I just need a glass of water.”
“‘Kay.” Just as quickly, she fell back asleep, blanketed from head to toe in her own hair.
Rella swallowed hard. Junah would be upset if she found out about the nightmares, she knew. She should tell her. Keeping Junah in the dark about her struggles had only made them both suffer, after all. And she would. Just… not tonight. Maybe in the morning.
She tiptoed silently toward the ladder leading to the deck. As she opened the hatch, she was surprised to hear the sound of voices. Not the quiet murmurs of people chatting late into the night, but spirited shouting.
“Just you watch, old man! I’ll kick the shite out of you sooner or later.” Despite the harshness of Basilio’s words, his voice sounded boisterous and playful.
“Ha! You’ll have to catch me first.” That was the eugief knight, Heismay.
“Tough words for a worn out old bastard. Let the young ones pick up the slack before you break a hip, mate!”
“I hear plenty of talk from you, but see nothing to back it up.”
Not wanting to disturb them, but unable to bring herself to go back to the tight confines of the gauntlet runner, Rella crept out of the hatch. It closed in perfect silence behind her - a testament to how well-oiled Neuras kept the hinges. She walked on tiptoe as quietly as she could, keeping to the shadows so as not to disturb them. Finding a suitable spot, she sat cross-legged with her wings wrapped around her for warmth against the early autumn chill.
Watching the two of them spar was interesting. Generally speaking, Rella wasn’t very interested in the art of combat. She much preferred to devote her time to study. But watching two people with such disparities in size and fighting style was educational in its own way. If fighting was an art, then Heismay placed each and every brushstroke with care and precision on the canvas of the battlefield. There was no wasted energy in his style; every movement had a purpose that was carried out with due diligence.
If Heismay’s art consisted of careful brushwork, then Basilio’s was made by throwing handfuls of paint at the canvas, missing more often than he hit. He threw his entire body into each swing of his two-handed axe. His movements were erratic and easy for the agile Heismay to dodge and counter. But rather than getting frustrated, Basilio faced his failures with grins and laughing taunts. That was the Basilio she knew, and hoped to know better: a man who seized life by the horns and threw himself astride, never hesitating to get back up when it tossed him to the dirt. She’d always admired that about him, even when they were children.
It didn’t take long for Basilio to tire. Strong and vivacious he might be, but nobody could swing an axe of that size around forever. His sweat-damp hair clung to his face and neck, and he was beginning to pant lightly.
Heismay, sensing his opponent’s fatigue, took the opportunity he was offered. He feinted to the right and, when Basilio took the bait, lunged to the left, swatting Basilio’s backside with the flat of his blade.
“Oi!” Basilio yelped, a hand flying to protect his rump. “Watch the goods! You nearly gelded me, mate.”
Helpless to resist her laughter, Rella let out a most unladylike cackle.
The two men whirled in her direction, suddenly aware of their hidden audience.
“L-lady Rella!” Basilio let the head of his axe hit the deck with a thump. “How, er, how long were you watching?”
Was he… embarrassed that she saw him sparring? The idea was oddly endearing. “Only for a minute or two. I came up for some fresh air.”
Heismay smirked as he sheathed his dagger. “Had I known we had an audience,” he said, “I would have taken care not to trounce the lad quite so thoroughly.”
Basilio squawked in protest. “What, you? Trouncing me? Mate, one hit with my axe and you’d be a fine bloody pulp. I let you win - for safety, like.”
“If you say so,” Heismay replied indulgently.
Rella laughed, delighted by their repartee. Basilio looked away, mumbling something too soft for her to hear.
Heismay seemed to have no trouble, though. One of his large ears perked up, twisting in Basilio’s direction. Oddly, his other ear turned in hers. There was a glint in his eyes she couldn’t explain.
“I suppose I should take these old bones to bed,” he said out of nowhere. Before he left, he turned to Basilio. “A rousing sparring session, as always, lad. Same time tomorrow?”
“Aye, I’ll be there, as long as that bottle of wine is.”
“You’ll drink my entire stockpile within the week at this rate.”
“Then get more! We paripus can hold our liquor!”
“You’ve made friends quickly,” Rella remarked after Heismay retired to his sleeping quarters. “You were only an official member of the party, what - a day or two before I joined? And already you fit right in.”
Basilio shrugged dismissively, leaning his back against the nearby railing. “Nah, you make me sound like some slick type with a silver tongue, like. Truth is, something about our captain just… makes it easy. Prob’ly something to do with that hocus pocus his mum did, yeah? It’s almost like he can see when something’s bugging you without even having to say something. Makes you want to trust him.”
Rella’s mind raced at the implications of what he just said. “Basilio, that’s incredibly insightful.”
“Eh? What’s that now?”
Every bit of fear and exhaustion fled her body as her thoughts all wanted to pour out of her mouth at once. “The prince’s new body! It’s made of magla, and infused with his highest ideals. Of course it would be sensitive to the fears of others, and inspire the best parts of them. That’s the very stuff he’s made of!” She stood up and began pacing up and down the deck. “Imagine if this could be harnessed on a larger scale.“
“I - “
“The King’s Magic, for instance. It can see into the very hearts of the people. Imagine what a being of pure magla could do with that power! To see the issues that make one’s subject unhappy would give a monarch crucial knowledge to making their kingdom thrive.”
“That’s - “
“Of course, in the hands of a tyrant, such a power could be abused. Which begs the question: is power worth researching if it could be used to harm? Which is worse: to stall progress out of fear of abuse, or to seek knowledge that could be harmful if the wrong person gets it? There was an ancient treatise about just this - I’m sure of it! But was in in the Cygnus library, or the Church’s?”
“I, er…”
“And then there’s the problem of magla itself,” she continued. Oh, if only she were back in Grand Trad, with all of her books and research! “If magla is the byproduct of anxiety and fear, and we harnessed it to make a happy populace, then eventually, magic itself would fade. The implications of this are staggering! I…” She trailed off when she noticed Basilio’s baffled stare. Her face heated. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I’ve been told I have a tendency to babble when I get excited.”
“S’alright, I don’t mind. I mean, I didn’t understand half of it, but it sounds like you’re onto something, yeah?” Turning, he lowered himself to the floor, sticking his legs through the rail posts so his feet dangled over the edge. “Honestly, it sort of reminded me of when Del used to talk to me like that. About all the things we’d do when Louis was king. So hearin’ you natter on, it felt… it felt like home.”
Rella’s stomach fluttered. She peered closely at Basilio - at the way he picked at a splinter at the railing, the way his eyes studiously avoided hers, and how dark his cheeks suddenly looked, a ruddy hue visible under the dusting of brown fur.
She knew of his feelings for her. How could she not? That day on Virga Isle, when she examined Fidelio’s injury, she’d peered into his magla. It had taken her some time to see it. Because out of the corner of her eye, Basilio’s emotions veritably blazed in her presence in a way they hadn’t before he noticed her presence.
Even back then, she knew what that meant. And she’d put the knowledge aside. Such things weren’t meant for her, a woman who spent half her life on a long walk to the gallows. She had the love of her sister. That was enough.
Only now… now that she had her entire life laid out before her, there was no reason not to consider a future. What might the rest of her life hold for her? Happiness? Family? Love?
Of course, he might not feel the same about her anymore. The Saint Rella he knew was a lie, a mask she wore over her sins. He might not want the helpless, naive girl who let herself be blackmailed into regicide. Or the coward who clung to her life at the cost of an innocent child’s.
She could peer into his magla again to know for certain. She’d done it often enough over the years, treating people’s ills. People’s emotions had a way of stopping them from healing properly. Like Fidelio with his leg wound. It would be easy.
And yet, it felt so very wrong. There was a vulnerability in having one’s emotions laid bare. Peering into the depths of Basilio’s heart for her own benefit would be a misuse of her abilities - like if a nonmagical healer asked a person to strip for their own gratification.
Closing her eyes, she shook her head to dislodge the thought from her mind. She sat down on the floor next to Basilio, taking care to leave enough space between them so her wings and his tail wouldn’t touch.
“Well, I’m happy to ‘natter on’ whenever you like,” she said. “Honestly, most people don’t like it when I talk about my studies. I should be discussing Sanctism or nothing at all, it seems.”
He nodded. “I get that. Most people look at me and see a bruiser, eh? I might not be much for readin’, but I’ve got thoughts of me own, like. Sometimes they’re pretty good, too.” His legs swung slowly back and forth as he sobered. “I’m not as dumb as I look. But Del… he took being stuck as a kid proper hard. I think it drove him mad that he had to let me protect him, instead of the other way ‘round. Seemed like letting him be the brains of the operation was the least I could do.”
Rella still clearly remembered the day she pulled Basilio back from the brink of death. He, a scruffy boy of only ten. Fidelio, looking exactly the same as he did years later: a boy of fifteen or so.
It called her sister to her mind. Junah, like most nidia, was very cagey when it came to her true form. It frustrated her to no end that she was a woman grown, but anyone who saw past her glamour would only see a child. So she compensated by being an outrageous flirt.
Fidelio didn’t have the option of a glamour to age him. She could only imagine the frustration he must have felt, watching his brother surpass him in height and strength. Letting Fidelio take the lead was an act of great kindness.
She offered him the one bit of solace she could. “He loved you dearly, you know,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. He stared at her hand as if he’d never before felt a gentle touch. “I could sense it in his magla. Everything he did, he did for you.”
Basilio choked on a sob at that. “I miss him. I know I’m s’posed to keep livin’ without him and all, but it feels like there’s a great hole in my life where he used to be.”
Rella’s throat ached with unshed tears. This was the grief she’d nearly inflicted on Junah. A younger sibling cut adrift by their elder, having to find their own way without the guiding presence of someone who’d been there their whole life.
She left that parallel unspoken. This moment was about Basilio’s grief, not her own mistakes. Not knowing what to say, she scooted closer, resting her head upon his shoulder. The wings closest to him wrapped around his side, offering what warmth and shelter from the cold night air she could.
They sat together for a long time, Rella offering him silent comfort while he trembled from the maelstrom of his grief. He gripped the railing in front of them with both hands, his sharp claws sinking into the wood. But though his breath trembled, he didn’t let a single tear fall.
“Sorry,” he said once he had his emotions back under control. “I’ve barely slept a wink since Del died. I’m not at me best, yeah?”
She tilted her head to peer up at him, not willing to move away from him. If he minded her using his shoulder as a head rest, he didn’t mention it. “Is that why you were dueling with Heismay? Because you couldn’t sleep?”
He nodded. “Me an’ Del always bunked together. When our Ma and Da were still alive, we shared this tiny room with one bed. After they were gone, we toughed it out on the streets, so we’d huddle up for warmth. And when the church hired us for the igniter experiments, well, the room was chocka with other paripus. You rolled over in your sleep and you’d wake the whole room.”
Rella couldn’t relate to that at all. All her life, she’d had a large bedchamber to herself, with a bed wide enough where she could spread her arms, legs, and wings with room to spare. And while there were stormy nights when she and Junah would share a bed, huddling under the blankets to hide from the thunder, her parents put a stop to that by the time she was ten.
“What about after that?” she asked softly.
“By then, sleeping together was just natural-like. I couldn’t fall asleep alone if I wanted to. Del couldn’t either, not that he’d admit it. Anyways, Heismay heard me tossin’ and turnin’ with those great flappy ears of his. Said if I didn’t have the good sense to sleep, I may as well make meself useful and spar with him. And he boozes me up after, so I can at least catch a few Z’s before the sun comes up.”
She could recognize kindness when she saw it. A father missing his son, reaching out a compassionate hand to a brother missing his sibling. Their mutual pride demanded that the relationship be a transaction between rivals - a sparring partner in exchange for a calming drink.
“Anyway,” he went on, “that’s why I’m still up. What about you?”
Rella shifted uncomfortably. Her wings retracted to curl up around her. Basilio made a sound in his throat, but otherwise didn’t protest.
“I told you - I just needed a breath of fresh air,” she said weakly.
He nodded sagely. “That why you’ve been falling asleep over your books all week?”
She cringed. “You noticed that?”
“Once or twice, yeah. I figured it was just the curse still dragging you down. That ent it, though, is it?”
“I… no. No, it’s not,” she admitted. Her head tilted curiously. “You know, you’re very perceptive when it comes to people. Has anybody ever told you that?”
“Nah. But cheers for the compliment! I s’pose you’re onto something there, since I percept you trying to change the subject.” His tone was light and nonjudgmental, his teeth gleaming in the darkness as he grinned at her.
She had the good grace to blush. “You caught me.” She clasped her hands in her lap, fidgeting with her thumbs. “I’ve been having nightmares,” she admitted quietly. “Several times a night.”
She wasn’t sure what sort of reaction she expected from him. Her parents would have scolded her for letting childish fears get the better of her. Junah would have worried over her and teasingly chided Rella for not saying something sooner. Members of the Church would have declared them nonsense, as interpreting dreams was considered heresy. And her followers would have fawned over her, falling over themselves to find a solution.
So when Basilio leaned back on his hands, tail swaying languidly back and forth, she couldn’t help feeling like he’d been waiting for her to say that. Like all of this conversation was for her benefit as well as his.
“I don’t remember me nightmares,” he confided with an easy glance. “I have ‘em plenty, but I forget ‘em soon as I’m awake. You remember yours?”
“Every one,” she whispered. “So many nights I’ve watched Junah be killed. Or the Prince, suffering under my hand for so long. I… I just…”
Her throat tightened, and words failed her. Hot tears splashed down her cheeks, making ticklish trails down the wispy feathers on her face. Some distant, logical part of her mind - the part of her that had been trained since childhood to always prioritize decorum - reminded her that she would need to groom the salt from them later. Ruffled facial feathers were unseemly. But for the occasional sniffle or trembling breath, she managed to keep her weeping silent - another lesson from her parents.
There was a rustling of fabric next to her. Then another, and a third. Curiosity overcame despair, and she peered at Basilio to see him pulling his hand back from reaching for her. His ears pivoted nervously to the sides.
“I, er, didn’t wanna overstep. You bein’… well, you an’ all. I just thought - “
She didn’t let him finish. He was inviting her to be held, and she didn’t have the strength to deny herself. She threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck and letting herself take solace in his sturdy presence. Every quiet, breathy sob drew the earthy scent of him into her lungs. It felt comforting, familiar, and strangely addictive.
Slowly, his arms wrapped around her with the same gentleness of a child holding a baby bird, afraid one wrong move would hurt her. His fingers trailed up and down the notches of her spine in long, soothing motions. Occasionally, they’d drift to the feathers at her back. His claws scraped at the sensitive skin between them, which made her head swim with bliss. That gentle touch calmed her even as it sent shivers up her spine.
At some point, he must have laid back, because he was lying flat on the deck with her sprawled atop him. It could have been salacious. By the Church’s standards, it just might be. But he positioned his legs off to one side, not letting their position reach the point of indecency.
She appreciated that. Until a week ago, she never gave the idea of coupling much thought. She hadn’t dared, without that death sentence looming over her head. As a woman of the cloth, she had been expected to forsake such things and keep her body pure for God.
Besides, even if she’d wanted to, the curse had weakened her to the point where any urges she might feel were easily ignored.
But now… now she was free of that life-stealing magic. The Church would probably excommunicate her once they found out that she was alive. Even if they didn’t, even if she was welcomed back with open arms, she wasn’t sure exactly what sort of future she wanted with Sanctism.
But the idea of taking that step… it was daunting, and not one she wanted to take lightly. Even when Basilio felt so warm and strong underneath her, even when he smelled like the earth after a warm summer rain and looked at her like she was something precious.
Reaching out, she cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand, marveling at the texture of his short fur, so different from her feathers but just as soft in its own way. She grazed the pad of her thumb over his high cheekbone, her breath catching in her throat when he squeezed his eyes shut and nuzzled into her palm. His face was contorted in blissful agony.
“You probably don’t remember this,” she murmured, “but I put some of my favorite beeswax lotion on your cheeks that day when I healed you.”
His eyes snapped open, his pupils blowing wide in his blood red eyes. “Course I remember. How could I forget?” His brows pinched together. “Didn’t think you’d remember, though. I s’pose you did that for all your patients, yeah?”
She shook her head. “No. Just you.”
“What? But why? Why waste that nice stuff on a half-dead gutter rat like me?”
Why had she done that? At the time, she gave it little thought. She’d still been so distraught by the horrible deed she’d committed only hours before. But the moment her magic had touched his magla-festering wound, it… hungered. It was as if some part of her instinctively demanded that she place her scent on him. That she leave some part of herself on him that would remain even after they parted ways. She’d never felt anything like it, before or since.
“I suppose I wanted to give you something to remember me by,” she said, not dishonestly.
“What, me, forget you? Like I said, not bloody likely.”
She hummed happily, warmed by his words.
They lay there in silence under the moonlight. She should probably get off of him soon, she knew. But she couldn’t bring herself to move. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so safe. Ever since the Sanctifex, the man who was supposed to be the voice of her god, threatened and blackmailed her, forcing her to commit a horrible sin… nowhere had felt safe. Not her home, not the Church, and certainly not in the palace. But in Basilio’s arms, it felt like none of that could touch her.
Basilio didn’t seem to have any complaints, either. He made no move to dislodge her. In fact, at one point when he shifted to get more comfortable, she thought he wanted her to move. His arms tightened around her, holding her in place.
“Not yet,” he mumbled into her hair. His breath ghosting across it made her feathers ruffle and gooseflesh spread across her arms. “Just a few more minutes, yeah?”
A few minutes didn’t seem like nearly long enough. She let herself melt into him, spreading her wings over them to blanket them from the cold. His tail thumped happily against the floor when he did that, and his ears went flat against his skull with embarrassment when she laughed gently.
A few minutes became ten, and neither of them made any move to part. Rella was so comfortable, in fact, that she found her eyes growing heavy and her thoughts slowing.
That was, until Basilio said, “Rella? Can I ask you somethin’?” in a soft voice.
She blinked her eyes open reluctantly. “Of course.”
“These nightmares of yours. Are they new? Did… did something else happen? Something new?”
She didn’t raise her head so she could look into his eyes. It was easier to talk about this when she didn’t. “No. Why?”
“Just wonderin’. I’ve had nightmares most of me life. I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything else you needed to talk about.”
Her eyes drifted closed again, and she pressed her forehead to the crook of his shoulder. “You’re sweet to worry,” she murmured. “The truth is, I’ve always had them. It was just easier to deal with them before. I knew I wouldn’t have them forever.” His arms tightened around her at the casual mention of her death. “Odd as it sounds, I think the curse helped, in its own way. It was a constant drain on me. I’d wake up, frightened and alone, but I’d be so exhausted that I always fell back asleep within minutes. Now, it’s not so easy.”
“Mm.” The movements of his fingers quickened, tracing light, agitated patterns on her back. Then, “What if… what if you didn’t have to wake up alone?”
She knew exactly what he was asking. But if she was wrong, making that assumption would be the height of humiliation for her. She needed to be sure, on the slim chance she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t fall asleep alone. You hate waking up alone. Solution seems obvious, yeah?”
It seemed he didn’t want to come out and say it any more than she did. Was he as frightened of breaking this gossamer thing growing between them as she was? Oddly, the thought made it easier to find a bit of courage of her own.
There was the problem of logistics, though. “I don’t think the bunks will fit two. Not comfortably, at any rate.”
He snorted. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t use mine. There’s this bag of cotton below decks me an’ Del used to sleep on. It’s no feather mattress with silk sheets, but it’s proper cozy.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
At long last, he took her elbows in his hands and pushed her up off of him. She swallowed down her disappointment. Even knowing they were just moving to another location, she didn’t like being separated from him. And it seemed, neither did he; he took her hand in his and led her back inside the gauntlet runner. With a grin and a finger to his lips, he led the way to the ladder leading below, creeping by with comically exaggerated care that had his knees up to his chest with every lurching step. Rella had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing at his antics.
Just when she thought they were in the clear, Rella heard a slight rustling behind them. Sneaking a peek over her shoulder, she saw Junah’s head poking out from behind her bunk’s privacy curtain. Her sleepy gaze darted between the two of them before she winked and retreated back to her cocoon.
That felt right, somehow. Rella wasn’t certain she was ready to have this - whatever it was - out in the open. It felt sweet and entirely too delicate, like a confection of spun sugar that would melt in the heat or dissolve in the rain. But she was glad Junah knew. There would be no more secrets from her sister. Not even the good ones.
The lower level of the gauntlet runner was much quieter than the first (and last) time she’d ventured here. During the day, it was a relentless cacophony. The magla engine roared, the gears ground and clanged, and beneath it all, that magical heart throbbed as it sent energy throughout the machine.
Now, all was silent but for the settling of the ship and the much slower, quieter beat of that heart as the machine around them slept.
Their makeshift bed was… unassuming. As Basilio said, it was a simple sack of cotton with no apparent purpose. It showed clear signs of being slept upon, and it was easy to see several long, curly dark strands of hair scattered about it.
It was far too small to sleep two people trying to stay out of one another’s way. That suited Rella just fine. The two of them settled onto their mattress in much the same position they’d had before: him sprawled out with her draped atop him, their legs very carefully not touching.
Rella sighed contentedly, resting her head upon Basilio’s shoulder. This was the shoulder with the wound she’d healed all those years ago; she could feel it. The scar itself was embedded with magla from the igniter that had injured him. Back then, removing the shards of magic had been beyond even her skill as a healer. But she’d been able to render them inert, and thus save his life. She could feel the magic thrumming under her cheek, resonating with her own. It was soothing.
God, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so relaxed. Not since days before she cast her curse, when Junah would try to raise her spirits by singing. Simpler days, for them at least.
“Basilio?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you talk to me?”
“Er, sure, if you like. What should I talk about?”
She inhaled deeply, letting his earthy scent of sweat and petrichor lull her. “I don’t care. Anything. I just want to hear your voice.”
There was a rhythmic thwacking sound as his tail slapped repeatedly against their mattress. He cleared his throat. “My voice? Why?”
Years of exhaustion were finally catching up with her, loosening her tongue. “You have the most wonderful voice.”
“Are you jokin’? Your sister is the Lady Junah. Next to her, my singing voice sounds like two cats in an alley fight.”
“You don’t have to sing. It’s the way you talk. It sounds like music.”
She heard him swallow. “Well. Alright then. Any requests?”
She didn’t want to think of dark things. Tomorrow, they could worry about Louis’s looming rise to power. Tomorrow, she could grapple with the ever-present guilt that dogged her steps, and find ways to move forward. But tonight, she wanted to believe that everything would work out.
“Tell me what the world is going to be like,” she said softly, “when Wyll is king.”
Basilio obliged, haltingly at first. He was no great scholar of history or politics. Unlike her, his education was not one of books, but of lived experiences, and life had been a thorough tutor. He spoke of a world where all tribes worked together as one, each using their strengths to bolster the weaknesses of the other. Where magic was used to uplift the poor, not to reinforce the riches of the wealthy. Where no one had to debase themselves just to eat. Where the strong didn’t vie for power, but protected the weak.
Most of all, he spoke of a diner. A small, humble establishment where all were welcome to rest their weary feet and have a warm meal. A place of hearth and song, joy and plenty. One that might even have a small shelf of books in the corner, if some wandering scholar wanted a friendly place for their studies.
The next morning, Rella couldn’t have said whether she drifted off first, or if it was the sound of Basilio’s quiet snores that lulled her to sleep. All she knew was that when she woke up the next morning to the sight of Basilio gazing softly at her, hair rumpled and pupils wide with sleepy contentment, she’d never slept better. Even Junah’s gentle teasing over breakfast couldn’t get with her - not with Basilio glancing shyly at her through the kitchen window while he did the washing up.
Maybe Wyll’s idealized future wouldn’t come to pass. Maybe the tribes would remain divided as the wealthy fed upon the poor as surely as any human had. But today, she had the strength to fight and a future to hope for. For the first time, she was eager to live.