James
The chapel was a ghostly quiet. James had never liked ghosts. The idea of something lingering where he couldn't see, watching, listening.
No, ghosts were not for him.
His back hurt. His eye hurt. He and Finley and Airo and the rest of the Guard stared at each other in the quiet, empty chapel, trying to wrap their heads around what had just happened.
There were far too many bodies surrounding them. All Arcane. Airo would be required to organize a mass funeral. Although, without the Zlatčka or any Arcane left at all, James wasn't certain who would attend.
Finley spoke first. "I... I left Luisza chained to a door handle."
She took off toward the palace.
In the same moment Finley had turned, left, slammed into the floor. Had she tripped? Hurt herself, or perhaps something gave out?
They collapsed next to her, rolled her over. Finley's skin was a ghastly colour. James couldn't understand what had happened to her. She had been fine one moment and then the next...
He pulled his fingers away from her side. Red.
Wincing as he peeled her layers back, just enough to see, his eye shot open.
"Oh, no," he whispered. "Is—is she breathing? Can somebody check—damnit—"
He began breathing heavy, panic rising. Finley's side had been sliced up, by what, he wasn't sure. Had she been hit? How had he missed it?
There were too many questions James couldn't answer.
"She's breathing, barely."
Airo's voice sounded far away. James shook his head, he couldn't lift her. They yelled for help, and the guard stopped immediately, rushing to her side and lifting her easily. Upon Airo's orders they took her to the infirmary for immediate treatment.
He could not figure out how it had happened.
James looked at Airo. Airo looked at James. Both boys were beaten and battered and their best friend was missing.
Where had the gods taken Xadya? And what did Inessa have to do with it?
It had taken James a while to realize what had happened. It seemed as though Inessa was orchestrating betrayal, but the gods had disappeared with Xadya and Malakhai first, leaving the prophet to do the dirty work that was killing James. She hadn't, though. She merely disappeared as well.
Airo took his hand and together they made for the palace, dragging their sore bodies up three flights of stairs and to the King's bedroom. Silently, Airo ran a bath. Poured a drink. Two drinks, actually, and handed one to James.
He began to strip off his clothes, sticky with blood and sweat, and then James' as well. James let him. They both settled into opposites ends of the giant tub together.
"We should get married," Airo said, before James could ask him if they were going to talk about it.
James blinked. "What?"
Airo had the audacity to look offended. "I'm sorry, I thought you wanted to marry me. Am I mistaken?"
"Gods, Airo, you're not mistaken. Your timing is a little questionable."
"Disrobed. In the bath. Having a drink. I think my timing is impeccable."
James stared flatly.
Airo grew quiet and said, "we almost died today." He cast his gaze away. "I found myself not wanting to die without being married to you."
"Oh," James said softly. "I see."
"That doesn't sound like a yes."
"It's a yes," James confirmed. "I would very much like to be your husband."
Airo grinned, like for a moment he forgot about the horrors of the evening. The grin vanished almost as soon as it had appeared.
"I suppose we should start a rescue, then." His voice was quiet, small.
James wondered if she was still alive. He did not say it aloud.
"Where could the gods have taken her?" he asked. "And... why am I still alive?"
"Hey," Airo scolded. "Don't you say that."
"Well, I am curious. Damned prophet betrayed us and left me alive. Wouldn't you like to know why?"
Airo sight. "Not tonight," he pleaded. "Let's rest tonight."
James wasn't sure either of them would rest. Not with everything in disarray. Not with Xadezhda missing.
"Yes, my King," he said, pulling Airo into his chest.
