Daughter of Azeroth

80 | THERE IS ANOTHER

Late that evening, Idira closed the last book and rubbed her eyes. Now she understood what The Echo had meant when he said they needed to use the font and not her Light to create her echo; what he meant about potentialities, second chances. There are other variables that would have to come into play, he'd said, but this way, they are at least possible. It would be up to Khadgar to decide if he wishes to avail himself of them or not .

She scoffed, Khadgar would never avail of said option. Never. To merge her soul with her echo, Khadgar would have to sacrifice a living person to the font, which would kill them, just as it had done to The Echo, taking their soul in exchange for pulling hers back from the Nether. She shuddered, forcing the thought from her mind. Trailing her fingers over the book's silver clasps, she went over what she now knew about the Nether: unless a soul was protected by incomprehensible powers—that of a Titan or a Creator—a soul did not last long, days at most, before it lost all awareness and was broken down, returned to the energy of the Nether. Then came the long wait to be reborn, perhaps on the same world they'd left, perhaps in another universe in an entirely different reality, but always without any memory of the lives they had previously lived. She had come to realise The Echo's situation in the Nether had been quite singular; a terrifying, brutal punishment. He must have known there were no others like him, suffering an eternal imprisonment, ready and willing to be extinguished so someone he had never heard of could have a second chance. And that was why he didn't want to create her echo from the Light. The font accepted victims, the Light only accepted volunteers. But who would volunteer for her? No one. The Echo had shown his true nature, his coldness, his detachment, his lack of humanity. Perhaps he might be capable of such a heinous thing, but not Khadgar.

She leaned back in the chair, trying to look at the situation in a positive light. The Echo had found peace and left a near-perfect echo of herself for Khadgar, which was as much insurance against his despair as she could hope for. If her echo was as complete as Khadgar's echo had been, her echo's presence might comfort Khadgar just enough to keep him from the end The Echo had predicted. She shivered, not from cold, but from dread, fearing it might not be enough, watching as the books lifted away from the table, returning to their places, quiet, subdued. They knew the truth, knew she was going to leave, could sense their sadness as they'd clustered around her, forlorn, butting up against her hand, seeking her touch against their spines, covers, and pages.

She conjured a cup of wine and sipped. One night. She had one night left before her destiny would be fulfilled and Khadgar would be left alone to face his loss. A teleport opened at the far end of the library. She closed her eyes, enduring the brutal ache of grief riving her heart as his footsteps approached, steady and purposeful, his scent preceding him, suffusing her with longing. She bit her lip, fighting back the tears threatening to fill her eyes. No. She would not ruin their last night. Tonight she would hide her pain, and be his companion, lover, friend. Tomorrow she could grieve. But tonight, there would only be these last moments, ones she would not mar with mourning.

He neared. From behind, the rustle of a paper bag being set on the table. His hand on her jaw. His lips touching hers. She opened her eyes and met his smile, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling. He turned and opened the paper bag, presenting her with her favourite, smoked whitefish salmon and wild mustard on rye. He took out his own sandwich, then reached in to pull out a small white cardboard box, tied with gold ribbon, bearing the gold-gilt logo of the luxury bakery Dalurée. She leaned forward, curious. He slid the box behind him as he pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the table, hiding it from her sight.

'For later,' he whispered, giving her a quiet look of affection. He looked tired as he leaned over and kissed her brow. 'I have been worried about you today,' he said, conjuring two crystal goblets and a glass decanter half-filled with a ruby-red wine. 'Are you feeling any better?' he asked, waiting for her answer, eyeing her. Unable to trust her voice, she nodded as he turned to pour a little wine into her goblet.