Isadora

by Charlotte McConaghy

  I turned and looked up, and saw him. My husband.

  ‘Step back,’ a voice was saying. Erik’s voice. He was holding an axe.

  I tried to tell him to stop, but no sound came from my mouth and I was trapped in the pale, pale eyes.

  ‘All’s well,’ Thorne told Erik without looking away from me. ‘I’m no threat to her.’

  ‘I don’t know you, sir. Step back.’

  ‘My wife knows me,’ Thorne said, and I faintly heard Erik stammer in confusion. ‘Might you walk with me?’ my husband asked, and in his voice I heard a tremor of nerves.

  It was all I could do to nod.

  People were here, watching us, but I could barely comprehend who they were. Ava, I thought. Ambrose maybe. And our son. But Thorne was already leading me away, my hand in his, and I barely felt the ground beneath us. My weary, grief-stricken heart said no. This isn’t real. Don’t let it carry you away.

  But my soul was his, as it had been from the day we met, despite all that had passed.

  Love was inexplicable. This I knew to be true.

  We reached a mangrove tree and stood between its gnarled roots. We watched the water, side by side, hand in hand. He said, ‘There is a place in which I live, and that place is you.’

  I closed my eyes. In the mangroves his lips found mine.

  When my mind had found its way back from the sky, or the earth, or somewhere I had no chance of following, we looked at each other. He frowned, as though trying to understand something.

  ‘That boy,’ he said in slow wonder. ‘I think it was a gift that I was not here to ruin him.’

  My chest ached.

  ‘A far greater man than I, and solely because of you.’

  ‘Have you … Where have you come from?’ I managed to ask. My first words.

  Thorne shook his head, unsure.

  ‘Did you see …?’

  His gaze was shadowed. ‘I saw it all.’

  I dropped my eyes and turned for the plains, but he took my wrist and gently stayed me.

  ‘Rose. I saw it all.’ He took my chin and tilted it so that I was forced to look at him. ‘I can wish until the end of time that I had been there to stop it. I can wish an eternity of regrets away –’

  For the first time in my life I was a she-wolf, furious and defiant. ‘It didn’t even touch me,’ I told him. ‘He was small and weak and it was nothing to me.’

  Thorne nodded and pressed his lips to the tears on my face. ‘You didn’t need me,’ he said. ‘You have never needed me. You are unquenchable, my love, stronger than any king of the ice or berserker warrior. Stronger than any warder of the south, your spirit an impossible, humbling thing. Had I recognised this sooner our lives might have been very different, and that is a shame I will carry always.’

  I had no desire to be named strong. It was arbitrary. But this: You have never needed me. Twenty years without him, and he could say such a thing to me. Though, really, he was still a young man, frozen in time and space, with no way to learn or grow. He was as he died, just beginning to find his way. I was much older now, had lived many more years. And as this occurred to me I found the space between us that had always been reserved for my certainties, for my needs and demands, and yet which I had never filled. Stepping into it, twenty years too late, I said, ‘I’ve never needed you to protect my body from harm. My father taught me long ago when he tried to drown me that harm was a thing I could endure; harm did not quench the spirit. All I needed you to do was love me.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And punished me for it.’

  He winced.

  ‘Love is not possession,’ I told him clearly at long last, as I should have done the day we married. ‘It is kindness. Generosity.’

  Thorne grew pale and sank to rest against the tree roots. I’d never seen him look so ill, so lost. I sank to the muddy earth before him, heedless of how it dirtied my skirts. My hands reached for his face, holding it gently. ‘You were a child when we married, as was I. Neither of us knew how things should be. You were brutalised by a cruel and twisted woman into believing gentility a weakness. For that, and for the way you treated me, you carry an ocean’s worth of guilt. I can see it. I can feel it, Thorne.’

  There were tears in his eyes, slipping down his cheeks. Tears, from the slaughterman. How strange, how impossible.

  ‘But know this, my love,’ I finished, holding his pale gaze. ‘Were I given the chance now, today, knowing all that I do and having endured all that I have, I would still choose you. A hundred times, a thousand. Each time I look at our son I can feel the way you would have loved him. For that I will cherish the heart you left inside me, just as my heart will find its place within you.’

  He closed his eyes. ‘Rose.’

  I kissed him, because I wanted to, because he was mine, because it was all that I wished for, and felt as I did so a mighty rush of truth from my heart to his, and more than that: a rush of power, of self, of certainty. This was what I’d been petrified of when he lived: his indifference, his rejection, his scorn. I feared it no longer, safe within this certainty of the woman I was.

  Things would be different this time. We had a second chance, an impossible second chance. We would ask for more and give more. We would do it right. It was the only thing I felt sure of.

  Chapter Thirty

  Isadora

  It was not swimming so much as wading. The murky water reached our hips and we trudged through it as quickly as we could, stopping only to take a few water breaks. I had been bitten in every conceivable place by buzzing insects and had become so sick of slapping them dead that I now just let them feast upon me. Falco was swearing and cursing and swatting wildly every single time. I couldn’t help laughing as he made another outraged noise, as though still surprised he was being bitten.

  ‘What?’ he demanded.

  I rolled my eyes, and he splashed muddy water at me.

  ‘This is the worst idea I’ve ever had,’ he muttered. I wasn’t about to argue with him, although I could certainly think of a few worse. ‘I have mud in every crevice of my body. And bites. And it smells weird. Also it feels like we’re being watched. Every time I turn my head … that tree just moved. Seriously, Iz – it moved.’

  I hid a smile, motioning for him to hurry up.

  It took us the good part of a day and a night to make it through the swamp. We emerged into a grassy ravine, and after climbing the ridge to lie flat at the lip of it, we had the perfect view of the valley below. About half a kilometer away loomed the western wall of Sancia.

  As we started our surveillance it reminded me of the night we watched the warder temple from the bell tower. I thought about how much had changed since that night, when we’d silently marked the movements of warders in the compound. Now we marked the movements of soldiers and warders on the wall, but it was not silent. The air was heavy with unsaid words, thoughts and feelings – we shared them without sharing them. When he reached over to smear mud through my hair and over my skin I didn’t flinch away, but watched his face as bravely as I could. I allowed him to touch me, in fact I craved his touch and leaned into it. When I did the same to him he held himself very still and I could feel his desire burning the surface of his skin.

  We are no longer bondmates.

  Of course we are.

  Night fell, the sun sinking behind the city and casting a halo. ‘I should have faced her,’ I murmured without meaning to. We were flat on our stomachs, eyes glued to the wall.

  Falco looked sideways at me but didn’t reply.

  ‘She deserved that at least.’

  ‘You have time yet.’

  I marked down the patrol of a third guard in as many minutes. The security on the wall was tight.

  ‘Am I meant to make amends to every person I have killed?’ I asked him, honestly wanting to know the answer.

  ‘To what end?’

  I didn’t know.

  ‘Making amends is for you, not them. Do you need that?’

  I
didn’t know the answer to that either.

  ‘I suppose it depends why you killed them,’ he said.

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t even know. I feel drenched in blood.’

  ‘When this is over, when the Mad Ones are dead, you won’t ever have to kill again.’

  I thought of the hirðmenn finding me by the lake, thinking me a demon. Of all the times violence had found me because of how I looked. I thought of soldiers who’d attacked me in battle, I thought of warders who’d tried to torture me for being something they didn’t understand. Glancing at Falco, I asked, ‘Do you really think that’s possible, being what I am?’

  He considered this, reaching to smooth a piece of mud-caked hair from my eyes. ‘Why did you want to break our bond?’

  ‘Fal –’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not dredging it up.’

  I frowned, knowing the answer well. ‘I wanted to be the author of my own fate.’

  He nodded and replied, ‘Then do not make of yourself a monster.’

  I looked away. ‘It’s not so simple. Things aren’t as clear as they once were. Everything is …’ I struggled to find the word, then caught sight of my mud-smeared hands. ‘Muddied.’

  ‘How so?’ he asked.

  I thought of Radha, of both Radhas. I thought of the bond Falco and I had severed, and of whatever still lay between us, impossible to quell no matter how we tried. And I thought of the plan I had been formulating, the one in which I would need to be violent to save others from having to be. ‘I can’t …’ My tongue felt clumsy in my mouth. ‘I don’t know how to …’ My fists clenched in frustration. Why did I have such difficulty with words?

  ‘It’s alright,’ Falco said. ‘Slow down.’

  Drawing a breath, I let it move through my body before I tried to speak again. ‘I always thought I could be bigger or stronger than fate, or the tide. I thought I could make my own path. But I have never felt so small or so insignificant. A mote of pollen battered in the wind of a hurricane. I’ve never felt so caged. I fight it and fight it, but still I walk blindly forward, doing everything I was meant to, and I can’t help feeling like fate is laughing at me. If I am a monster, it is because I was meant to be one, and there’s no changing that.’

  Falco cupped my cheeks and his eyes slipped red. ‘No. You’re wrong. I thought you were foolish in the beginning, always trying to fight something undeniable. But I’ve come to know something, and of this I am absolutely certain. Your will, Isadora, is greater than anything in this world.’ He drew a breath, and then added, ‘It’s why I am completely in love with you. Why I would fall in love with you over and over again, even if magic stripped it from my heart a thousand times, a million.’

  I slammed my eyes shut.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Look at me, Iz.’

  I forced my gaze to his, my heart thundering in my chest.

  Falco smiled a little. ‘I’m just versions of a person, and I don’t really know what’s underneath those versions. But for what it’s worth, every one of them loves you.’

  I exhaled and laughter left me. ‘Fate’s fools once more.’

  ‘No.’ He grinned. ‘You’re my choice. My very own, little Sparrow. If fate wants to take credit for you, then let her, but you and I will know the truth.’

  My smile and his found each other, lips touching softly. ‘And you’re mine,’ I said. Though the words might have been swallowed by our breaths. I didn’t think he heard them.

  Each time I tried to leave him, he woke and held me closer. Every time I planned to sneak away, he started some conversation that required my input, or he kissed me until I wanted nothing but to make love to him on the sunny grass. He was watching me like a hawk, and I was almost certain he knew my intention.

  He asked me things, so many things, and he waited patiently for me to struggle with the answers. Things like, why do you like solitude so much? To which I answered, being alone is safe. Like the cage was safe? Yes. Do you miss it? Sometimes. Do you ever imagine leaving here? Where would I go? Don’t you find it disconcerting not to believe in the gods? No. Then how do you think we came to be here, if not by their power? By our own power, the power of our bodies, like the power of all living things. Do you still hate all warders? No. So after this, what then – how do we determine what magic is safe and what isn’t? I don’t know. Do you think about your parents? No, not much. Why not? I don’t know how to think of them.

  They aren’t real. Do you think about children? No. Why not? What kind of mother could I be? Do you think about life with me, after this? No. Why not? I can’t afford to.

  On and on it went. He never asked twice, but he probed and prodded and plumbed things I hadn’t even determined for myself. It was strange, trying to be as honest as I could with him, a strange vulnerability that came only with speaking truths.

  But there was one question he asked that I would never answer. Who humiliated you so badly that I felt it halfway across the country? How could they possibly make you feel that? That had been the first day in the palace, when the Mad Ones had made me enter the pool with Ryan. I told Falco never to ask me about that again, and he promised he wouldn’t. That was one thing I would not give voice. It was one thing I would not burden either of us with.

  ‘What are the things that you like?’ Falco asked me, finally.

  I looked at him blankly, not knowing what he meant.

  ‘The little things. The things that give you pleasure. The things that make you glad to be free of the cage.’

  I frowned and couldn’t think of anything. But he waited, and slowly I began to recall them. ‘Rain,’ I said, and he smiled. ‘The smell of it. The sound of it. Chili. The taste of it, the burn of it on my tongue. Steel. I like the weight and feel of steel in my hands, I like knowing my blades are in their spots on my body.’ I paused, hesitating. ‘I liked Radha’s wings. The colour of them. And her eyes. They were very brown and very deep, and they always seemed wise.’ Falco nodded, his smile growing sad. ‘I like the scars on Lade’s skin. I think they’re pretty, like the shimmering scales of a fish. I liked the storm over the salt lake, when we were there. The feel, or …’ I shook my head. It was like coming alive, this sensation of taking pleasure from things. It was like realising that I was not dead, after having believed myself a ghost.

  ‘What are the things that you love?’ Falco asked.

  My heart thumped and I shook my head. Nothing. I didn’t. I couldn’t. It wasn’t part of my life.

  ‘Tell me, Izzy,’ he pressed gently.

  Closing my eyes, I felt his hand in my hair. ‘Penn,’ I said. ‘I love Penn. His counting, and … everything about him. Finn. Her stories. How sure she is, how brave. The way she looks at me sometimes, as though I’m hers. Jonah’s thoughtfulness, how generous he is in caring for me, even when … Thorne, his kindness. I loved Radha. I love her still.’ My heart was unfurling, blooming. It was opening so wide I didn’t know how it could ever fit inside my body again. ‘I think I even love Roselyn.’ For what she said to me, for washing the blood from my hands, for that one moment. ‘And Ella.’ For seeing me and smiling, for saving me from killing a good man, another one.

  I opened my eyes and looked at Falco. And you, I whispered without opening my mouth. You, you, you. For your cleverness and sweetness. For that grin of yours. For your questions, difficult as they may be. For your loneliness.

  ‘That’s a lot of love for one little Sparrow,’ he murmured. ‘You must have a very generous heart.’

  Tears filled my eyes and as I closed them they slipped down my cheeks. Because he was right – it was a lot of love. I did have people in my life, whether or not they loved me in return. And it was enough, finally, to ease the uncertainty inside me, the questioning and the worrying and the what am I, what should I be, what should I do? I knew now what I should do, and so I would do it, without any hesitation. With only love.

  The rest of the army arrived in the ravine below us. I had meant to be gone by now, but this was better. It
gave me a chance to face my ghosts, because when I left I wouldn’t be coming back.

  After the unpleasant journey through the marshes Ambrose wanted to give his people a night to rest. Ambrose, who hadn’t gone with the civilians to safety, but had come this final leg of the journey with his wife and daughters. It was obvious why: his brother was alive, and they were clinging to each other, all of them.

  Dead King Thorne was a very frightening person. He waded from the mud, his hands and legs coated in it while his scarred face and scalp remained clean. His slender, beautiful wife was beside him, dwarfed at his side, and his handsome son, almost as large as him. They didn’t speak to each other, but the three of them stood close as Ambrose regrouped the troops. There was a pull of gravity between them. From my spot atop the ridge I watched them curiously, noting the way father and son glanced repeatedly at each other as if to covertly learn the other.

  ‘Gods almighty,’ Falco breathed, following my gaze. ‘The slaughterman stands in Kaya and no one is trying to kill him. Never thought I’d see the day.’

  ‘Many will be trying soon enough,’ I muttered.

  The slaughterman in question had an enormous axe over his back – it was about the size of me. Ambrose was explaining something to him, and his pale gaze swung up to us.

  ‘Uh oh,’ Falco said. ‘Here comes the beast.’

  King Thorne strode up to where Falco and I sat, and then sank into a crouch. I was surprised at his agility beneath such heavy furs and weapons, but then I supposed he’d had an entire life to get used to carrying such weight. There was something cold about him, something cruel in the lines of his face as he took in the city below. This was the frightening thing about him. Not the size or strength or tattoos or scars, but the violence in his eyes and in the twist of his lips.

  ‘I’ve never met a dead man before,’ Falco said brightly.

  Thorne glanced sideways at him – just a glance – and his disdain was clear before his gaze flicked back to the city.