James
He had not slept since the Caves. It had only been two nights, but enough to leave dark circles under his eyes and for Airo to command rest. James hadn't listened. Airo—infuriated—both with Xadya and with James, had kicked everyone out of his study and shut the door, not to be disturbed.
James wondered if he still quieted the gods. There wasn't a way to know. Malakhai was far too powerful to be stopped. He'd proved that last month and James had no desire to relive being eaten.
He pushed Airo's door open.
The King did not even glance up. "I see now that even ignoring you will not convince you to rest."
"Are you trying to start a fight?" James asked. "I'll sleep even less."
Airo breathed a sigh, closing his book and then closing his fist around a crystal glass.
"No, love, no fights," he said softly. "I think the vìdelenya guests have gotten to me."
"Where are you supposed to be right now?"
"Courtyard. Someone's bed. Who knows."
James chuckled and poured himself a drink. Both boys were quiet for a long time.
"You can end it, you know."
Airo looked up. "I thought you wanted me to entertain it."
"I did. I do."
The King's hands slid across the table and rested over top of James'. He let out a shaky breath. James had always been the better communicator, the problem solver, but this time it seemed he couldn't quite figure out how to tell his partner what had been on his mind.
And it had been on his mind for years.
"I'll end it," Airo promised. "I just need a few of them to think they're in the running and I swear, I'll end it."
James took a deep breath.
"And then?"
"Not certain you've noticed, but I am the King."
"So you keep reminding everyone." Airo deadpanned. "It's just not entirely traditional," James went on. "You and I. We aren't entirely traditional."
"Jamie," Airo pleaded, lifting his chin across the desk.
The study door burst open.
Xadya stood in the doorway, eyes wild, hair blown as if she had been running.
"He's in the Caves," she said, composing herself. "He's in the Caves and he wants to kill the gods."
Shit.
James stared at Xadya.
"That's not all."
"How can there be more?" Airo said, exasperated.
Xadya shifted uncomfortably. "He's figured out how to become one."
"I'm sorry—he's going to what?" Airo demanded.
James was silent. There was something off, something about the way Xadya's jaw tightened and her eyes cast to the floor.
"You don't want to stop him," he said.
Xadya exhaled.
"No, I do," she said, not convincingly. "I'm just not entirely sure how. And I'm not entirely sure I want to save the gods, either."
"Losing you wasn't their smartest move," Airo commented. "They told you their scheme and then let you go."
"What else aren't you saying?" James pressed, not in the mood for her games.
Xadya loudly dragged a chair over and plopped down, hugging her knees to her chest.
"I remember," she whispered and refused to look at either of them. "He gave me my memories back and when I begged him to take them away, he wouldn't."
Airo gritted his teeth. "I'll kill him."
"No," Xadya said, weak. She was lost. A shell of who she was.
And then, a sight James had rarely seen. If ever, he couldn't recall.
Xadya began to cry.
She swiped at the tears on her cheeks but her eyes were red and soon she stopped trying to hide it. Airo swung around his desk immediately, throwing his arms around her and she buried her face in his shirt, clutching it tightly in her fingers.
James went too, the two boys surrounding her, holding her as she cried, as she told them what she remembered and thanked them for keeping it from her each time she asked.
"Hey," Airo whispered, crouched before her, wiped away her tears. He lifted her chin and shot her a smile. "That is not who you are, mì dazhka."
Xadya played with his fingers, stared at his hands and whispered, "I don't know who I am."
James could have killed Malakhai for hurting her. For making her remember. For ruining what he had worked so hard to protect her from. It had not been easy to resist Xadya's demands, each time she asked, but he had done it.
Airo stood, squared his shoulders.
"All my advisors are fired. That's what you'll be."
Xadya wrinkled her nose. "You're giving me a job?"
"Are you declining?"
"No," she spat out, flustered.
"Good. Have a drink with me, advisor."
A smile tugged at her lips, one she tried to hide—and failed.
"Certainly, Your Majesty."
