Page 98 of Shadows and Flames
The child started to turn, already giggling as they were about to say something up at me, but I blinked awake. About to see my son then blearily taking in the rumpled quilt around me.
But the arms around me, they were still there.
Elián settled the quilt over himself and burrowed closer against me. Holding me. I’d not made a sound, but he knew I was awake.
“Will you…one d-day. Draw him for m-me?”
I wondered where he’d been, how long he’d been gone, but I said I’d give him space. He smelled strongly of smoke and flame.
And he kept his promise, that he would come back. I could at least keep mine.
I pressed back into Elián’s chest, like I’d done in my dream, and nodded, hair shuddering against the pillowcase. My hands had not wrapped around pencil since those days filled with wary hope. When I drew portrait after portrait of his father for Soleil.
If I could have spoken in that moment, I might’ve admitted that I’d been too afraid to draw our son. Of what new injury it would cause.
“This…I need to share this p-pain, Meline.” His voice sounded so small, cracking and vulnerable.
And I loved him enough to do this. Finally.
“I think,” I cleared my throat and admitted into the stillness of our room, “I think I need that, too.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
ELIÁN
“You’re bloody fucking—” Tomás cut off in a fit of coughing, bags heavy beneath his eyes. I reached for the jug of water by the bed and refilled his cup for him. He glared at me as I extended it, but he accepted all the same. Once he was able to speak, he finished, “Achild?”
I managed a nod, but my head felt so heavy, it was a struggle to right it back up. “Yes. She named him Soleil.”
After retreating into the forest, needing air and space to let my powers and emotions rage, I’d returned with dragging feet to Meline. To share space with the only one who knew exactly how I felt.
I did not want to be alone anymore. After finding a few boulders to burn, to get the urge to igniteout, I craved the solace of her.
My brother, even in his illness, watched me as if I was the one close to death. And, with the glimpse of myself as I’d washed and dressed this morning, perhaps the concern was valid.
“Soleil. Your…your fuckingson.Shit.” Whatever strength he had remaining, Tomás used it to bring me into a tight embrace. Not as strong as he’d usually be able to manage, but the pressure of his arms was welcome. Tana was tentatively optimistic thata regimen of her healing magic and steady feedings would keep him well enough to voyage back to Eryva. I clung to that hope.
Now, as he sat with me, the held-back moisture in my brother’s eyes made me feel seen. “And so,” he gently plied, “what now?”
I had lain awake all night, asking myself versions of that question. As Meline fell asleep in my arms, I counted her heartbeats. The curls on her scalp. The freckles on her shoulders. And still, I had no answer but to… endure this. To know that she birthed my child and lost him, alone. That we would both go the rest of our lives with this mutual heartbreak.
What I did know, however, was that it would remain shared. That I would hold her as I fell apart, and she would do the same with me.
To my brother, I simply said, “Keep going.”
Tom situated the blankets on his lap and searched my face for something. After some time, he shook his head, brow furrowing. “The—it makes sense now. The witch slipped a couple of times. Nothing big, but I…I should’ve put the pieces together.”
I shifted in my seat. During my restless night, I had also reflected on the evidence throughout my reunion with Meline that I should have investigated further. I had been blinded by my excitement and relief, at having her with me again. Convinced that she would soon settle into the safety of us rebuildingtogether.
She had thought I was going to leave. Deny her after she shared what she endured. That was rolled up into this as well—an assessment of my character or a reflection of how little she thought of herself? I was still unsure.
To Tomás, I sighed and shook my head once. “No, you could not have known. She was not ready to speak of it, and her cousin is loyal to her. The witch, she,” I swallowed, looking down at myempty hands, “she helped her birth him. Was there to lose him, too.”
“Have you…talked to her about where you all go from here?”
To that, I shook my head again. We had not. This morning had been stilted. Every flavor and facet wrapped in sadness. Grief. We washed separately but in the same room, dressed, and went to check on our companions.
But we would talk. The intention was in the long, wary glance she gave me as we parted ways. In the brush of my fingers against hers as I headed for Tomás and she for Francie.
