King of the Woodlands

Chapter 34

A sound like a great sigh fell over them. A halo of wind swept across the land, and slowly, color began to bleed into the brittle white grass, painting it green again. It was a miracle.

The villagers began cheering, some of them weeping. Some even dropped their pitchforks, stamping out their torches. They hugged and cried Buaidh! We are victorious.

But Lilibeth didn't care. Everyone could rejoice, but it didn't matter to her. The Woodland King was dead.

"This is all wrong," she whispered, her body shaking. The villagers were still celebrating and crying. Father seemed to be the only one brave enough to take a step forward, his face blanched bone-white. "Let him go," he said. "We need to come home."

Home. She could leave the Woodland King and pretend he never meant anything to her at all. She could return to Brightleaf and make her candles, mill her soaps. But she couldn't rest until he did. She would take him north, to the Fable Forest, to the leaves and wood and smell of the earth. And maybe, just this once, she could give him the peace he'd been pining for his entire life.

But at the same time, she didn't want to believe he was truly gone. Lilibeth pressed her still-wet cheek to the Woodland King's. It was cold as a rainy autumn morning. She still didn't understand. She remembered the bean sídhe and their hollow eyes, the prediction of her death. She'd spent time mulling over it, but she'd been unable to figure out what it meant. 

A surprised gasp whooshed its way out of Lilibeth's mouth as the ground rumbled. She could only watch in awe as hundreds of bluebirds rose above the Wise Forest's canopy in the distance, their wings coloring the sky raspberry and orange with dawn. Trees unraveled their way out of the grass, sprouting branches bearing leaves of gold and green.

She began to weep.

More and more trees sprung up around her, spindly branches interlocking in a pattern as wide as the world. The Towering Timberlands were back, after such a long time.

The villagers wept over the whole sight, calling it a blessing of Airmid. They continued to cry and hold one another, sobbing prayers and praise.

Lilibeth tore her eyes away from the cruel beauty and wept at the sight of the Woodland King's body. He wouldn't be able to see any of it. He wouldn't be able to see anything anymore, thanks to her failure.

But just when she thought she might have to leave this place with a heavy heart, she heard the thready, shuddering, miraculous sound of the Woodland King drawing breath.

She wept harder.

His chest rose and fell beneath her splayed fingers. Slow, uneven, but still moving.

And then his eyes opened, slow yet perfect at the same time—charcoal flecked with metallic silver, deep and inexplicable and irrevocable. She had never seen anything so beautiful in her whole life.

Lilibeth began crying again, but these were new tears, tears of happiness so profound her heart felt like it would float out of her mouth and into the sky.

The next few moments were a blur. She'd cradled his head in her arms, her tears spilling over without dignity or constraint. She then threw her arms around his neck and held him tightly. He dipped his head low and whispered for Lilibeth's ears only: "Thank you."

✥

They sat beneath their willow tree that day, a girl and a dragon. The girl had sunshine softly piled up in her hair, and her eyes shone golden in the light. The dragon was quieter, sadder. Agony settled into his skin, getting comfortable beneath his bones, and he had once more become a home for pain.

But then he opened his mouth, tasting the rain on his tongue, dipping his claws into the giddy sun like honey. He was living—beautifully, magically, living—instead of just surviving. Life, to him, was the bright yellow of spring that melted the cold snow of winter, that awoke sleeping seeds from their home in the ground. It felt like a miracle

Lilibeth, the girl, turned to him. Her nose was red, eyes glistening. She was a raw masterpiece in a god's hands, more than just an ordinary girl. She was not fragile—she was strong as a knight, strong as a king. There was magic in her, the might of suns resting just beneath her skin. That magic was why people always thought she was strange. It was why she'd managed to make such an impossible journey. Her magic was the reason she survived things that killed everyone else. But she didn't know about it, did she?

"Where is it you are going to?" the Woodland King finally asked. The question unfurled itself in the air between them. The words hurt.

She fixed her gaze back on the blue sky. "Home," she said.

Don't go, he wanted to say. You are my good days, and without you I would very much be no one at all.

But he knew that wasn't the truth. He was someone now, and not just the Woodland King. Now, he was a dragon, a strong dragon, who had sinned but had done his penance. He didn't want her to stay because he needed her. He wanted her to stay because she was his friend.

"How can I ever repay you for all you've done for me?" he said, rising up on his hind legs. She stood with him, her eyes curious, head cocked to one side. The wind stroked her hair with its delicate hands.

"My price doesn't involve money or glory or a crown on my head," Lilibeth Faren said. "I can earn those things on my own. But I want you to be happy, before I want anything else. Can you do that for me?"

"I think so," he admitted. He was someone new now, but the journey to happiness would take a long time.

"Just feel," she said. "Grieve, cry, laugh, shout. Walk outside. Read a book. As many times as it takes, feel. And find the warm feelings, the ones that make you feel toasty inside. Find the warm ones, and let them stay. Don't let them go."

The Woodland King felt his wings twitch. He wanted to fly again—not just gentle glides, but the wild, unkempt flying he was used to as a fledgling. And one day, he'd fly like that again. Just not today.

"What happened to the servants?" Lilibeth asked.

"They were the ghosts of my former slaves in twisted bodies, brought back from the grave to torment me as a reminder of my cruelty. But now that the curse is lifted, they can enjoy eternal life in the Afterworld at peace."

"Oh."

For a long while, they stood there—quiet, at rest. Her eyes were tired and happy, and he heard the unspoken words in them. She wanted to go home.

"Silence," the Woodland King said without thinking. 

"I don't know what to say," Lilibeth said, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Say you'll come back," he said. "Say you're not done."

"Definitely not." Lilibeth smiled, a reckless, soft thing that broke his heart. "You are the most wonderful dragon I have ever had the pleasure of knowing."

"You are the most—sour, contrary, spunky, brave human I have ever known."

Lilibeth grinned. "And it should stay that way for a long while. But—thank you. For forgiving me when I was foolish. And it doesn't matter whether we reunite a week from now or a month or ten years, but I will see you again."

"Until then, Lilibeth."

"Count on it." He would not give her his true name. He would not give it to anybody. He wanted to, but it was tucked in a deep pocket of him, a pocket too far away to reach.

For now, his name would be his own little secret. It would be shared with no one.