Luminous

3 - Haunting Gray

The carriage streaked past waves of wheat bleached golden by autumn, then up the steep, winding road to the small, hidden door on the side of the castle. Zier halted the horses at the hill's crest and ducked inside the chaise. Meya sat slumped, eyes closed, head lolling against the windowsill. She stirred feebly at the sudden loss of speed.

"Can you stand?"

Meya hesitated, torn between want for independence and need for help. As if he'd sensed her dilemma, Zier slung her arm over his shoulder and heaved her to her feet.

They had passed through the narrow door and limped halfway down the hall when Meya realized this was the first time Zier had addressed her directly since his return from his flight to Easthaven. His avoidance was easy to miss, such that Meya still was tempted to blame it on coincidence. For the past two months, they were scarcely without company, that were more often than not also separate—Zier his surgery and recovery, Meya her ambassador duties. 

What was more, despite his amiable first impression, Zier's nature had always been quiet. Unlike his brother, whose cold, melancholic temper often elicit surprise when certain, favored topics of conversation launched him into ecstatic ramblings.

They staggered at last into Coris and Meya's quarters. Zier's shirt opened between his buttons as he bent to ease Meya to rest. The tip of his scar peeked through. It looked as if someone had cast acid onto a gigantic centipede and poorly melded it to his belly. It was still fresh—raw pink, shiny and smooth like silk. Meya touched her finger to it, and breathed a sigh of relief at its soothing cold, although she should've known his strength had returned in full. He couldn't possibly have lugged her metallic arse thus far otherwise.

"How're you mending?" she asked, less out of concern and more to confirm her suspicions. Zier spread the blanket over her, seeming not to have heard, then straightened and strode toward the door. Meya thought he would leave to call for Bishop Dimmot just like that, but halfway through he paused, his back tense as he fought a battle within.

"He nearly hung himself," he said suddenly, baldly.

Her head throbbed still, and it was a moment before Meya understood. Her heart writhed as memories surfaced. Baroness Sylvia was still cold to her. Jezia still wouldn't talk to her. Her skin was caked with oozing filth she could only feel but not see. She scratched absently at her scabbing arm, relishing how curls of skin peeled away like lukewarm wax under her nails.

"I know," she mumbled.

Zier stood still for a moment, then veered instead to the window, staring into the distance.

"Six years." He spun around, and his once bright blue eyes had darkened with fury. Meya trembled as he jabbed his finger at the ground. "Six years, he'd slip out in the dead of night and stare out that window that faces Crosset, clutching that arrow, apologizing, over and over. More than anything in the three lands, he longed to go find you, but he couldn't. He must maintain the lie. He must protect me. And after what you did, he still hasn't lost faith in you, where he would've given up hope on me."

Emotion had drowned his voice until only a whisper was left, yet his eyes remained unblinking, flashing with cruel resolve. Meya hardly dared breathe.

"I will end you with my own hands before I see my brother's heart break again. I swear by Freda, I will. I'd rather he mourn for a lie, than suffer for the truth. You remember that."

With that, he stormed across the room, disappearing behind the door in a flutter of Hadrian Red. However, on that particular subject, Meya had long since spent her tears.

⏳

Zier returned soon with a midwife, and stayed just to hear her babies were healthy. The midwife also didn't linger much longer.