Unforged Path

An Unexpected Peace

Rising, Aerlyn used the bed as a support, not trusting her unsteady legs. Making it to the first window, she gripped the sill, seeing Cristoval striding among the trees, his arms laden with fallen limbs to fuel the fuego. Whereas she could not walk unaided.

With a pang, Aerlyn realized she would not survive a transporting spell. Her grip on the window sill turned her knuckles white. Now, the only route home was an improbable rescue, but Aerlyn could increase its probability by reaching her father.

Aerlyn removed the tiny wooden carving Thalia had placed in her hair, fingering the small flower as she chanted. Uttering the last word of the spell, Aerlyn clung to the windowsill, rocking on her feet with the completed device in her hand. Now, Aerlyn would discover if her father was in range.

After some breathing exercises, Aerlyn activated the device, chanting fiercely to extend the transmitter's waves as far as possible. She did not stop until both herself and the reservoir were empty, but her father remained out of reach. Sinking to the floor, Aerlyn wept, muffling her sobs in her hands.

She did not hear the door to her bedchamber open. When Cristoval's hand gripped her shoulder, Aerlyn hid her face from him. Lifting her to her feet, Cristoval allowed her to lean against him. The sobs continued, shaking Aerlyn physically. As she struggled for control, Cristoval encircled her in his arms.

Aerlyn buried her face into his chest, gripping his shirt. Eventually, her sobs lessened, allowing her to listen to his steady heartbeat. Then, Cristoval released his embrace, and Aerlyn shifted away from him, grasping the bed frame. She did not meet his eyes.

Reaching for her again, Cristoval called her name. His firm hand on her elbow prevented her departure.

Startled, Aerlyn lifted her eyes. He looked uncertain, beginning a halting speech. Aerlyn did not understand his words until he said, "por favor, alto."

What should she stop? Did he know about her magical endeavors? Humans faculties were less keen, but perhaps he heard her chanting every night?

Cristoval gripped her wrist, lifting her skeletal hand to eye level. "Vas a morir."

Oh, he saw the results of her endeavors. It was clear she was wasting away.

"Debe haber otra manera." His dark eyes searched hers.

Aerlyn inhaled sharply. Another option? He seemed certain there was an alternative to ruining her health. But what could it be?

"Por favor," the young man enfolded her hand in his warm ones, "lucha por tu vida."

"Vida?" Aerlyn repeated.

"¡Si! ¡Vida!" Cristoval exclaimed. He raked a hand through his hair, struggling to explain. Then, he placed her hand on his heart. He tapped her hand with his finger rhythmically. "Vida."

Then, Cristoval stopped the tapping, dropping his hands to his sides and closing his eyes. He stiffened. "Muerte," he intoned.

The young man opened his dark eyes. "¿No quieres morir, verdad?"

Want what? Truth? Aerlyn stared at Cristoval until she swayed on her feet. Then, he promptly swept her up, carrying her to the bed.

"Lo siento, Aerlyn," Cristoval muttered. "Necesitas descansar."

Setting Aerlyn atop the furs, Cristoval examined her face, trying to ascertain whether she understood his message. He raised a hand towards Aerlyn, stopping short of touching her hair.

"Descansa ahora." Cristoval gazed at her a moment, concern filling his soft brown eyes, and then, he left.

Aerlyn drew in a shaky breath, her mind whirling. Cristoval had deduced much, seeing that she wasn't prioritizing her own life. And with a rawness unseen in Asthildi, he had shared his insights. Aerlyn could still feel the warmth of his hands around hers. Looking at that hand, Aerlyn stared at the ridges and projections of the bones beneath her flesh. Relentlessly pursuing her goals, Aerlyn had always ignored her own needs. Only those who cared deeply about her tried to intervene.

When Aerlyn had fixated on perfecting the magical embellishments on a Senator's palace, Galedyn had said, "You do yourself harm when you focus only on this task." At that time, the harm had been lack of sleep, as she had worked in thirty-hour intervals until she completed the project.

Burying her hands in the furs, Aerlyn had difficulty recalling why she had toiled to entertain her wealthy patrons. The jockeying within the Academy, her quest to become a Named Master, did it mean anything at all? Of the millions of Asthildi in the Empire, there was only one whom she loved, and she had ignored him for decades, pursuing her own selfish goals in the Capitol.

'Father, I am so sorry!' Aerlyn shook her head. 'You welcomed me home without a single word of reprimand.' She fought the tears again welling in her eyes. 'Then, I disappeared, interrupting your cherished expedition. Oh, Father, how can I give you the peace I have now?'

Surprised at her last thought, Aerlyn reflected on her current circumstances. She was sacrificing her life in pursuit of returning to the Empire, a place that was beginning to seem foreign. Yet, she was at peace?