Page 65 of Cruelest Kiss and Fairest Blood
It doesn’t come.
Again, I call it. Tensing every muscle in my body, I strain to force the magic out. Begging under my breath, “Please, please, please.”
Nothing.
As the minutes pass, the reality of death creeps in around me. Things I had ignored become so apparent. The glowing, laughter-filled air of my mother’s aura is now cold and quiet. That hum of magic that vibrated off of her wherever she went isabsent. An energetic void sucks the air from the room. Opening my eyes, I stare down at her. She’s so beautiful, even with the life drained from her body.
There’s still time to fix this. I brought myself back. That means my abilities can pass to a human. I’m sure of it. Sweat beads across my body. Broken sobs fill the chamber. As my abilities fail me, my heart sinks into despair. Too much time is passing.
“Mother.” I brush my hand through her dark hair. All the luster is gone from her once-shiny locks. I look so much like her. I’ll never forgive the genes that gave me her face. A face I’ll now have to look at every day, knowing its creator, the one who wore this face first and with far more beauty and grace than I’ll ever possess, is gone.
In previous years, I enjoyed the comparisons.
“You look so much like your mother.”
“A beauty, just like the queen.”
“The spitting image of Elowynne.”
Now those comments will be ghostly words, haunting me. I’ll continue to age, looking more and more like her each day until I reach this age and surpass her. I can’t bear the thought. My own reflection will be a ghost, trapping me. Forced forever to be haunted by her loss.
There’s actual pain in my chest, not just emotions, but a sharp aching that’s tearing at my heart.
“Why?” I whisper.
There are so many people out there who are less good, less kind. She was a light in this dark world. I know they always say that when someone dies, but the truth is, not everyone is a light. She was. She shone so bright she dulled the jewels ’round her neck and the crown that topped her head. Why couldn’t it be one of them instead? Some stranger who spent their life taking advantage of others. A nobody who spent their days in crueltyand anger. I would do it, trade a hundred unworthy others to bring her back.
My tears stream more heavily. She would never want that though, for me to sully my soul in her name. She was too good.
I will never be able to fill her shoes.
As a growing crowd watches on, I finally rise. Many people have entered the so-called “sacred” room while I was distracted. The intensity of their wounded stares strikes me, repeatedly, like a clutch of arrows. I do not want prying eyes upon me while I grieve.
Shoving past them, I trudge out into the rain. A fresh pang twists in my chest. My mother would disapprove of my treatment of those people. Or would have disapproved. She can’t do anything now. She’s gone.
I take off, hoping and failing to outrun my misery. My legs pump with speed, and as I put more distance between myself and my mother’s body, sadness transforms into red-hot fury.
I run somewhere I know no one will follow. The labyrinth. Its twisted tunnels beckon me.
Lightning jumps from cloud to cloud. The bright flashes illuminate the entrance to the labyrinth. A barrage of heavy raindrops pelts my skin, whipping sideways on a violent gust of wind. The sounds of trees creaking and moaning reach my ears from the other side of the maze. The dark forest is chanting, immersed in the daytime darkness, reveling in the lack of sunlight, flourishing under the harshness of the storm.
The worst of the wind-wrapped rain subsides as I duck between the walls of the labyrinth. The downpour still hits me from above, but without the wind, the rain loses its sting.Using the back of my hand, I wipe my wet hair from my eyes. Water runs down my face. Raindrops or teardrops? There’s no difference today. The sky weeps for the dead, its tears softening the very earth that will consume my mother’s form.
My feet sink into the wet, muddy ground. The rain has come so hard and so fast that the land can’t rid itself of the excess moisture quickly enough. Puddles form in the lower corners and a small but steady stream runs down the middle of the corridor leading to the open center of the labyrinth.
My robe is weighed down with water. Every step is a struggle. My foot sinks ankle deep in a particularly wet patch and I fall. Water splashes up around me as my hands and knees hit the earth. The deluge of rain continues, sheets and sheets of it.
Instead of rising, I bury my fingers in the mud and scream. I scream and scream, into the wind and rain. Thunder roars, drowning out the sound. I scream through it, fighting and failing to be heard over the storm, not stopping until my voice gives out.
How can this be happening?
Sitting back on my heels, I let my whole body droop. Cold seeps into my bones and with it a numbness that strips me of any ability to pick myself up off the ground.
I don’t hear him land. I don’t even sense him the way I usually do. The only sign of his arrival is the abrupt stop to the rain. It takes me a minute to notice. Looking up, I find black wings shielding me from the sky’s onslaught. Harrow’s cool, pale face peers down at me from between the masses of feathers. His icy white hair isn’t even damp. He offers me a hand.
I slap it away. Harrow barely reacts, as if he knew I would reject his help. He reaches out again. Mud flies through the air as I slap his hand again. I do not want his help. With great effort, I push to my feet. I’m caked in mud, chilled all the way through, and shaking with a rage I want to die from.
“Bring her back.” My voice is raspy from screaming, but the conviction is clear.
