Chapter 14 Where Someone Else Steps Forward
882 Words
The forest did not roar when the offer was made.
It listened.
That was worse.
Amihan’s breath came shallow as the Collector hovered before her, its presence pressing against her skin like the memory of cold water. The court around them trembled, hairline fractures glowing faintly beneath the marble-soft floor, as if the realm itself were holding its breath.
Choose, the Collector repeated.
Before Amihan could speak, Kisê laughed.
It was abrupt. Too loud. The kind of laugh that tripped over itself.
“Well,” she said, wiping her palms on her skirts, “this seems like the part where someone says something heroic and everyone cries later.”
“Kisê,” Amihan whispered. “Don’t.”
Kisê stepped forward anyway.
The Collector turned its faceless attention to her.
You again, it said. Not irritated. Curious. You are persistent.
“I’ve been called worse,” Kisê replied. Her voice shook, but she didn’t retreat. “You want someone unfinished? Take me.”
The court gasped.
Amihan spun. “No. Kisê, no. You don’t even—“
“I want,” Kisê said quickly, louder now, as if afraid she might lose the nerve. “All the time. I want things I shouldn’t. I want people who don’t look back. I want to stay when I’m told to go. That sounds unfinished enough for you.”
Kisê, Amihan pleaded.
Kisê looked at her then, really looked. Her smile softened, broke a little at the edges.
“You always looks like the world is about to ask too much of you,” she said quietly. “For once, let it ask me.”
The Collector considered her.
You are not marked, it said. You are not promised.
“I’m offering,” Kisê replied. “Isn’t that better?”
The silence stretched.
Then the Collector tilted its head.
Interesting.
Liraya moved.
“No,” she said sharply.
Everyone turned.
Liraya stepped forward, her elegance tightening into something precise and dangerous. Her jewellery chimed softly, not with movement, but with restrained power.
“You will not take her,” Liraya said. “She is under my roof.”
Your roof is decorative, the Collector replied. This is older than you.
Liraya smiled. It was thin, controlled, and utterly humourless.
“And yet,” she said, “you are standing in my court.”
She lifted one finger.
The air bent.
Vines of light, pale and sharp as bone, coiled briefly around Kisê’s waist, pulling her back a step. Kisê yelped.
“Hey! I was being brave!”
“You were being stupid,” Liraya snapped. Then, softer, “Which I will not allow.”
Amihan’s chest burned. “Then who?” she demanded. “If not me, if not Kisê, then who pays?”
Liraya looked at her.
Really looked.
For a heartbeat, the court fell away, and Amihan saw something raw flicker behind the Dalaketnon queen’s composure. Not tenderness.
Regret.
“There are debts,” Liraya said slowly, “that can be transferred.”
The Collector’s attention sharpened.
Speak.
Liraya turned slightly, angling her body not toward Amihan, but toward the shadowed arches of the court.
“Come out,” she said.
The shadows shifted.
A figure stepped forward.
Tall. Familiar. His presence struck Amihan like a blade sliding between her ribs.
Silawán.
He should not have been there.
His hair was loose, his antlers faintly glowing with strain, his breath controlled too carefully. His eyes went straight to Amihan, searching her face, scanning her for harm.
Relief flared. Then terror.
“No,” Amihan said hoarsely. “No, you can’t.”
Silawán didn’t look away from her. “I can.”
The Collector regarded him with interest.
King of the crossing paths, it intoned. Your crown binds you.
“I know,” Silawán said. “That’s why this works.”
Liraya inhaled sharply. “Silawán—“
“She is unfinished,” Silawán said, still looking at Amihan. “Because of me. Because I pulled her into thresholds she was never meant to stand in alone.”
“That was my choice,” Amihan cried.
“And this is mine,” he replied gently.
Kisê surged forward again. “Absolutely not. You’re not even allowed to be noble and self-sacrificing, that’s her thing.”
Silawán almost smiled.
What do you offer? the Collector asked.
Silawán finally turned to face it.
“Take my future,” he said. “Take my wanting.”
The court froze.
Amihan felt the words like a physical blow.
“No,” she whispered. “Silawán, please. Don’t do this.”
He looked back at her then. His expression was unbearably soft.
“I am king,” he said. “I can rule without wanting. I cannot rule without balance.”
The Collector drifted closer, circling him.
To take a king’s wanting is not death, it said. It is emptiness.
Silawán inclined his head. “Then be thorough.”
Liraya closed her eyes.
Kisê started crying. Loudly. “I hate all of you. This court is terrible.”
The Collector raised its hand.
Bone-light flared.
Amihan screamed his name.
And the forest, deep and ancient, answered with a crack like splitting wood.
The court lurched.
Silawán stiffened.
And somewhere far below them, something else began to rise.
- Writer
