Chapter 39: The Waking
1011 Words
The silence in the temple chamber was heavy, a suffocating velvet that pressed against the stone walls. Outside, the world was a blur of wind and shifting shadows, but in here, time had ceased to exist. Kael sat in a rickety wooden chair that groaned with every breath he took. His elbows were propped on his knees, his chin resting on his interlaced fingers, his entire being anchored to the figure on the bed.
Elara lay perfectly still. Her skin, usually warm with the vibrancy of life, was pale as marble. Her silver white hair fanned out across the rough linen pillow, catching the faint filtered moonlight like spun glass. She looked fragile, ethereal, a creature of moonlight made flesh. Her hand was buried in Kael’s, his calloused palm gripping her slender fingers as if they were a lifeline.
He had been there for seventy two hours. He had not slept. When exhaustion threatened to pull his head down, he shook it off, terrified that if he closed his eyes, he would miss the singular moment the world decided to give her back to him.
“You’re being stubborn,” Kael murmured, his voice raspy from disuse. “Even for you. Three days, Elara? You’re just showing off now.”
The door creaked. Lena stepped into the room, her boots clicking softly on the flagstone floor. She carried a wooden bowl that smelled of broth and bitter herbs. Her face, usually sharp and guarded, softened when she saw the state of him. She knelt beside the chair, placing the bowl on a low crate.
“You have to eat, Kael,” she whispered. “The pack is restless. Fenris is keeping them at bay, but they are scared. They tracked the magic to the temple door. They are camping outside now.”
Kael did not look at her. His gaze was locked on the steady shallow rise and fall of Elara’s chest. “I am not hungry.”
“You will die of exhaustion before she wakes,” Lena pressed, her hand hovering near his shoulder.
“Then I will die waiting,” Kael replied, his voice devoid of room for debate.
Lena sighed, a long weary sound, and left the bowl. She moved to the doorway, casting one last look at the pair, the warrior broken by a love he could not hide, and the girl who held his soul in her quiet hands.
Once alone, Kael leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low intimate hum. He began to talk. It was a rhythmic, rambling stream of consciousness. He spoke of the harsh winters in the northern territories, of the wars that had stripped his youth away, and of the day he had seen her for the first time.
“It was just outside the woods,” he said, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “You were digging for moonroot. Your hands were covered in dirt, your face was smudged, and you were humming.” He paused, his thumb tracing the back of her hand. “It was off key. Honestly, it was a terrible noise. And yet, the moment the sound hit my ears, I stopped breathing. I thought that was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.”
Under his touch, her finger twitched. Just once. A tremor of nerves.
Kael’s heart hammered against his ribs. He leaned closer, ignoring the ache in his back, the burning in his eyes. “I am going to build you that garden, Elara. I have already picked the spot near the stream. Roses. And I am going to find that dog, that big lumbering stupid creature that sheds everywhere and knocks over the furniture. You will hate it, but you will laugh, and that is what I want.”
He felt a surge of desperation, a need to anchor her to this world. “And I am going to marry you. In the spring. Under the moon. With the whole pack watching. You will not be able to run away from me then.”
Her eyelids, which had been sealed shut for three days, suddenly fluttered. A long shuddering breath escaped her lips. Kael held his own breath, paralyzed, as her eyes slowly slid open. They were not the mossy green he remembered. They were a piercing crystalline silver blue, glowing with the remnants of the ancient magic she had touched.
She blinked, focusing on him, her gaze traveling from his hollow eyes to his stubbled jaw.
“You,” she rasped, her voice like grinding stones, “have a horrible voice.”
The tension that had held Kael together for three days shattered. He did not just laugh, he collapsed into it. A harsh barking sound that morphed into ragged jagged sobs. He buried his face in her hand, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Tears tracked through the grime on his cheeks, hot and searing.
“Never,” he choked out, his voice thick with tears, “do that again.”
Elara’s lips curved into a weak weary smile. She squeezed his hand, her strength returning in slow waves. “No promises,” she whispered.
The door pushed open again, harder this time. Lena stood there, her posture rigid, her expression grim. She did not offer a pleasantry. She did not offer congratulations. She looked at Elara, then at Kael.
“The Queen knows,” Lena said, her voice tight. “She is mobilizing the full weight of her army. They have picked up the trail of the seed. We have three days at most.”
Elara pushed herself up from the pillows. Kael was there in an instant, his arm around her waist, supporting her weight. She looked at Lena, the silver blue of her eyes burning with a new dangerous resolve.
“Then,” Elara said, her voice steadying, “we had better plant it.”
The room fell silent. No one moved.
Then the old seer staggered backward, horror draining the color from his face.
“Plant it?” he whispered.
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