Sunset

Her dad stumbled into his bed, grunting to hide away his pain as he did. “Water, please,” he whispered.

Seren scrambled to the clay water jug. The sun had set before they made it home, and the night settled. She wove through the home, letting her memory guide her. Once she bumped the table, she patted it down until finding the clay jug and her dad’s mug. Her hands trembled as she poured it into his mug. Once the mug overfilled with water, the jug slipped out of her fingers and shattered on the floor. She yelped.

“Seren?” his voice weakened.

She rushed back into the room, and pulled his hand to the mug.

His gulps echoed into the room.

The moonlight helped Seren light the lamp that lay beside him. Then, she pulled up her dad’s shirt, revealing a gash in his side—obscured mostly by blood. “I’m going to try again,” Seren said, extending her palms to the wound.

She quieted her breathing just like the past two attempts. The surrounding akibon flowed like dust in a draft. Without her kurnyit, her control over it waned and her command left unheard. Yet, his wound started to close.

He yelled as the walls of his wound inched together.

Seren ignored it and pressed on with her attempt. He clenched her wrist. His hold clamped harder the more his wound closed.

Once the wound walls mended together, she stopped. His grip loosened, leaving white marks on her wrist, and she collapsed onto the floor with heavy breath.

He glanced over, noticing the bruising on her wrist. “I’m sorry.” Still his voice waned. He groaned and shifted in the bed.

Seren pulled herself up. “What’s wrong?”

He took a strained breath. “Nothing, I’m fine,” he said, forcing himself to settle his breathing.

“Water? Do you need more water?”

“No.”

After a few moments, his groans turned to uneven huffs, then into prolonged breaths. Outside insects called to each other, and the autumn breeze carried their message. Seren brought a chair over and sat near him. When she returned, he stared at her.

“Tomorrow. You’ll have to tend to Borus by yourself. I’ll try, but I’ll likely slow you down.”

“You need your rest in any case.”

“His food, how much is left?”

“Enough. Stop talking, let me get you more water.”

“Wait, it’s important, Seren, please.”

“Dad,” she whined.

“If the prince comes back, take him to Tavean like he asks. I’ll have Elias take care of me when you’re gone.”

“Or, he can wait till you’re better.”

“I’ve seen wounds like this before.” He paused and looked away. “It’s going to take some time for me to heal, even with your ability.”

“I can get my kurnyit fixed in Haford.”

“No!” He clutched his side. “They’ll take Borus. You know how they are. It’s fine. If the prince doesn’t come back, there’s a town in Tavean—Lapsaiens can fix it there.”

“I’ve never been anywhere without you.”

He closed his eyes. “It’s best you start then,” he muttered.

Despite the scratches that scorched her skin and despite her muscles’ soreness—she couldn’t sleep. Instead of dozing off, she watched the flames burn away at the candle wick. The oil within the wick faintly sizzled, reminding her of scent that forever burned unerneath her nose—the scent of charred flesh, and in her mind, the final pleadings of desperate townsfolk.

“Dad,” Seren whispered.

His breathing deepened and slowed.

“I’ll miss you if I go. Please don’t make me go,” she whimpered. “Please.” Clouds snuffed out the moon’s light. “Please,” she repeated.

“Tally, please,” the voice gurgled. A hand stifled Taliesin’s screaming.

“Quiet, prince,” it hushed. “We don’t know if there are any harvesters still nearby.”

He woke to the night. Crackling from a small flame and a constant murmur of bugs stirred in the silence.

Taliesin pulled the hand away from him and sat up. “It’s Taliesin.”

“I know your name,” she replied.

“I don’t know yours.”

She used a long stick to poke at the heart of the fire. “That’s a shame.”

“Where are you taking me?” Taliesin asked.

“I’m not taking you anywhere. Go. Leave.” She flicked the stick away, pointing towards the forest.

“Where are you going?”

She replied with a fierce look. But she then sighed and leaned back on her arms. “Got any ideas?”

“A town in Tavean. Sherster, I think. A friend. She said she often missed the quiet.”

“Lapsaien?” The woman asked.

“How’d you know?”

“It’s like the outcast Haford over there.”

“Sounds nice.”

The night song continued, playing the same tune. Now and then it would grow as others would join in and mellow to a near whisper.

“Lysandra,” she said. “The man you killed— the man that tried killing you was Rex.”

“I’m sorry,” Taliesin sighed.

“Don’t be. We all know the risks of being a Steelbrite. I thought I knew at least.”

She picked something up from beside the fire and gave it to Taliesin. A small rodent, skewered on a stick. He grabbed it and started to gnaw on it. Realizing how hungry he was, he ravaged the rest of the food. Once he finished, Lysandra pulled out a water skin and tossed it at him.

She watched him gulp down the water, leaving a few sips. “Have you met Cylar?”

“The prince?” Taliesin wiped away water from his lips. “Once, when I was younger. Shone’s king came over to Durley. My father demanded that I not be known. But Cylar found me hiding in the gardens. I was pretty bruised up most of the time, and he probably thought I was a hand for the gardener. He’s our age. I remember we played until his father fetched him. I remember his smile when he ran back to him. I remember how strange that was to me.” The fire locked Taliesin’s gaze as he thought back to the moments after. “I remember the night of. My father caught wind of what happened.” His back burned as if a flame licked it. “It was worse that night. I remember it was worse that night. I escaped years later, towards Shone. Foolish now, but maybe he’d remember me. Obviously he did.”

Her hand touched his shoulder. He flinched and reeled back, breaking away from her. Thumping from his heart blocked out the night song. Once he calmed himself, he sat back in the dirt, shrank into his knees, and folded his arms over them.

“It’s hard to hate someone when you knew them as a child. Especially since it was the one halcyon moment I had,” he said.

Lysandra stabbed the dirt with the stick until it broke. “I hate him. I wish my hate would kill him.” She broke off more parts of the stick, continuously stabbing the dirt. “He manipulated my country. Killed Rex. Killed your friends. Killed—”

“Tell me about him. Tell me about Rex.”

Her face shifted from anger to astonishment. “I don’t understand, really. You could kill me right now.”

“Maybe.”

“You’ve eaten, slept and drank. And you’re asking about the person who killed your friends.”

“If I killed you, could I bring Leiren back? Could I trade your life for hers? For Varith?” he asked rhetorically.

“Would you?”

Taliesin unwrapped his knees and met Lysandra’s gaze. “Absolutely.”

She stared back, challenging his truth. Then she smiled. “Just checking.” She found another stick and played with the fire again. “I hope you find your peace in Sherster. I’m not satisfied yet.”

“There’s a gryfalconer in Dunmouth. If he’s recovered, he might take you to Shone. He didn’t want to take me. But for you, he might.”

“Really?”

Taliesin stood. “I’m rested if you are,” he said.

Lysandra snuffed out the fire. “I will be.”