by Liv Savell
Small fingers still clutching wildflower stems came up to brush away Delyth’s tears, red petals caressing her cheek. “Why are you crying? You don’t have to be sad anymore. This is a happy place. My mama and papa are here, and I have friends. You can be my friend too.” She enveloped Delyth in a tight hug, effectively crushing the flowers between them. Their scent wafted on the air, mingling with the salt of the warrior’s tears.
At the base of the hill, a clutch of red flowers burst through the earth, dancing on a gentle breeze. The little girl squirmed to be let down and immediately started to pick fistfuls of the blooms. Single-mindedly, she collected stems and deposited them into Delyth’s waiting hands. Since there was no sun, there was no way to know how much time passed, but still, Delyth could feel it eeking by.
Before she could urge the little girl to hurry, a voice called from the other side of the hill. “Fflur?” The little girl, presumably Fflur, jumped up, suddenly excited.
“That’s my friend.”
Delyth stilled, her heart thudding to a stop in her chest. Her belly was a pit, and her hands cold even in the comfortable warmth of the afternoon glow. She knew that voice. It occupied her dreams, her thoughts, her memories. She heard it when she read the journal, even now stored with her things. She heard it when she woke in the night and had to remind herself that the speaker was not there.
If she turned now to face the voice, would its owner still be there? Or would she again be so much memory-mist, fading amidst Fflur’s red blooms? Delyth was no coward, and yet here, even her courage seemed slight. What would she do if Alphonse was not standing behind her, if Aryus whisked her back to the world of the living alone?
What if she spent the rest of her time unable to decide and so left her lover waiting?
Delyth swallowed past the pain in her throat, aggravated by her recent tears. Then, slowly, agonizingly, she turned…
To see Alphonse standing in the cradle formed by two hills, her hair golden in the gentle light of this place and styled just as Delyth had done on the night the healer died, so that it hung mostly loose but for a tiara of braided locks about her temples. Her only ornament was a red flower tucked behind one ear that made her eyes even brighter. She wore a simple dress—the brown of a fawn’s coat but for the delicately embroidered bluebirds at her wrists and collar.
She looked whole, the hollows of her cheeks filled in, the circles beneath her eyes erased. Where she had been a sickly pale, she was now lightly tanned. Pinks and peaches touched her lips, her cheekbones. She stood and moved easily, no longer weighed down by another’s soul.
Delyth could not breathe for fear of losing the image, the vision of her lover, as healthy as she’d ever wished the healer could be. “Aderyn bak…” the words came as a whisper.
Fflur ran up to Alphonse, not noticing that the healer had frozen, amber eyes wide. She offered Alphonse her red flowers, and after a moment, the healer blinked, looking down to take the stems. “Your mama is looking for you.”
“But I told my new friend that I would help her find someone…”
“Don’t worry, Fflur. I’ll help her.” Alphonse’s fingers brushed the braids away from Fflur’s shoulder, gripping one reassuringly.
The little girl seemed conflicted with this idea and turned back to Delyth. “Will you be alright?” Her tone was worried, perhaps finally realizing that the warrior was stone-still.
“I don’t know, bak un. I am so happy now that I may never recover, but your friend there is a healer, so you leave me in good hands.” She swallowed hard, fighting back more tears. Tears of joy and loss and hope.
“It’s alright, Fflur. I’ll help her,” Alphonse repeated, and finally, the little girl seemed convinced. She wrapped Delyth’s legs in a brief hug, then scampered off.
Alphonse watched as the little girl disappeared and then turned to face Delyth, hands clasping before herself. Bright eyes took in every line and blemish, bruise and scratch on Delyth’s body. Her mouth quivered, and Alphonse let out a shaky breath. “Are you… dead?”
“No.” Delyth took a step forward, closing the distance between them. “Aryus let me in, but I’ll have to leave soon.”
Relief flooded Alphonse’s features, and she held out one palm. “Soon?”
The warrior stepped forward again, cupping Alphonse’s small, soft hand in one of her larger, calloused ones. She leaned down and pressed a kiss there, between the life and love lines on the healer’s palm. “Yes. I can’t tell time here, but soon. You can come back with me if you want.”
Delyth held her breath. This was a beautiful place, a gentle place. It seemed a cruel thing to ask Alphonse back into the dirt and violence of life. Perhaps it was even selfish. And yet, she could not make herself give up the hope that she might live in the same world as the little healer once more.
Alphonse’s gaze stayed fixed on Delyth’s face as she spoke but shifted to the beautiful fields around them. The flowers, the golden forest off in the distance. This place was perfect.
Slowly the healer turned her hand over, interlinking her fingers with Delyth’s. “Let’s go.”
Delyth released a breath of mixed joy and relief so great that she felt it would swamp her, carry her heart right from her bruised chest. She pulled Alphonse to her at last and held the healer as the gold of this world faded to night.
⥣ ⥣ ⥣
* * *
Delyth opened her eyes to the same bit of alley that she had stood in before, the windows still lit around her, the full moon still high in the sky. Her lips were twisted in a smile, her heart warm, but Alphonse was no longer in her arms. Perhaps, when Aryus had brought them back, they had done it separately or one at a time. She looked around, back down the street, into other side streets and between buildings. “Alphonse? Allee, where are you?”
Still, she was alone.
Had it been a trick? She would expect it of Va’al or Enyo, but not Aryus…
Was she to be alone, after all that?
Delyth closed her eyes, pressed her hands to her face, tried to convince herself to breathe. She had done what Aryus asked, searched the Realm of the Dead, and found what was lost to her. Had she taken too long after all? Had she failed the test?
Then, there came the sound of wind amongst foliage, though there were no trees or bushes in this part of Caerthleon. She looked and found, lit by the moonlight, a swirl of soft, blush petals coiling against the cobblestones. Even as she watched, the spinning mass grew in height and thickness until there stood a cylinder, just a head shorter than Delyth’s height. One by one, the petals began to fall away, and then it was not flowers at all, but Alphonse standing there, whole and beautiful and completely naked in the cold, snow-slushed streets of Caerthleon.
She closed the distance between them in two steps, wrapping her arms around Delyth’s waist. Soft hands brushed against the warrior's throat, and another came to move over her temple. “What have you done to yourself? Oh, look at these burns…”
Green healing light, gentle and warm, radiated outward, bathing the dirty street in its glow. The swelling in her throat eased, and the pain followed it. She could breathe without the protest of her broken ribs. And Alphonse was there, worry coloring her familiar eyes and a small smile tucked into her lips.
Alphonse.
As Delyth stared, Alphonse lifted to brush a few pink petals out of her dark hair. “You look pretty,” she murmured.
Delyth tugged Alphonse closer until she could press the smaller woman tight against her. The healer was warm, her touch familiar and undeniably real. Soft, tawny hair pillowed the warrior’s cheek, and still, she cried, dripping snowmelt as though some hardened piece at her core was thawing. “Do you get to stay?”
Alphonse clung tighter to Delyth and nodded. When she finally spoke, her own voice was muffled, hidden within the hug. “Yes.”
Delyth half lifted the healer and spun her around. Overwhelmed— no, dizzy with the joy of it. The idea was too big, the hope that she had carried si
nce coming to care for Alphonse fulfilled.
Alphonse was whole. Free. Completely herself and all the world open before her.
The warrior stilled, her heart thudding hard within her chest, and looked down, nudging Alphonse’s chin up so that she might look the smaller woman in the eyes. “I love you, Alphonse.”
❀
It was strange, going from that comfortable place to the realm of the living again. Louder, darker. Her mind tried to understand what precisely had come to pass, and Alphonse could only hold onto Delyth.
It was a gift. Not just for Delyth, a mighty warrior who had given everything to save Thloegr and her people, but for Alphonse too. A new chance to live the life she wanted, a chance to actually live at all, not just hide away in Moxous ‘preparing’ for life.
“I love you, Delyth.” How long had it been since they held one another? Kissed? Alphonse felt herself blushing. “Are you going to kiss me?” She felt eager and nervous all at once. What if they had only been in love because things were so dire? What if Delyth didn’t want to kiss her after Enyo had kissed so many others? What if Alphonse had forgotten how?
Delyth smiled, her breath ragged with feeling and her eyes catching the light of the full moon. “Only if you want me to,” she whispered, dragging the pad of her thumb slowly across the healer’s bottom lip. Her own eagerness was evident in the flicker of wide pupils and the press of strong fingers at Alphonse’s waist.
“What if I don’t remember how?” Alphonse whispered, already grinning at Delyth’s choked laugh.
“Gods, you silly woman, what does that matter?” she asked, the very same answer she had given the first time they made love. Delyth’s lips against Alphonse’s were perhaps the sweetest thing she had ever tasted in her entire life. Both of them. When they broke apart, Alphonse was beaming, and Delyth was sniffling, and they were clinging to each other as if they might never let go again.
Only then, there was a sarcastic voice behind them.
“Don’t mind me.”
Alphonse glanced over her shoulder. Tristan stood there, precisely as she remembered him, though he wore nothing but petals in his blond hair. Yanking her gaze away, Alphonse realized that she too stood bare for all to see, though Delyth quickly covered her with a wing.
“Delyth,” she whispered, voice kept low to keep anyone else from noticing. “I’m naked.”
Delyth laughed and used the screen of her wing to slip out of her linen shirt and wolf pelt so that she stood clothed only in a sleeveless leather jerkin and breeches. She helped Alphonse first into the shirt and then wrapped the fur around her shoulders to hide the slits cut for Delyth’s wings. “There. They’ll probably have something else for you where Etienne is staying with the city’s menders. He’s alright, but he could benefit from your touch.”
Delyth was a tall woman, so her shirt covered the most important parts, still, Alphonse was acutely aware of the indecency of her dress. Her legs were exposed, from mid-thigh to toes. The warrior seemed to notice her discomfort. “It's quite cold. Would you be more comfortable if I carried you?”
“Yes, please,” she whispered, relieved.
As Delyth scooped her up, Tristan’s drawling voice called out, “What about me?! Should I just stay naked, in the snow?”
“You better hurry to the temple. Frostbite is bad this time of year.”
“Frostbite?!” His footfalls slapped after them as Delyth headed towards the temple.
Alphonse sighed. “Tell me everything that’s happened, Delyth.”
✶
Etienne sat up in bed, a book on his lap and a candle on the stand beside him. It was dark out already, and there was a bone-deep wariness in him that demanded he put aside his tasks and sink again into slumber. Though, perhaps, it could wait another chapter.
The mage turned the next page, a faint rustle in the silence of the mender’s ward, barely broken by the distant night-noises farther away from Caerthleon’s center. It was so still that when a knock came upon his door, Etienne flinched, leaving a tear in the paper between his fingers. He felt a schoolboy’s guilt, smoothing it down with the pads of his fingers. The words were still legible. “Come in!”
Delyth was the last person Etienne expected to be behind the door, and yet there she stood, strangely disarrayed in nothing but a jerkin and trousers, like a dockhand or sailor. He thought she’d have made it out of the city by now. That he’d seen the last of her for a long time.
“I ran into Aryus, and well—” she just looked at him for a moment, her brows drawn together. “I came in to warn you, but really I don’t think you’ll believe me unless you see.”
She stepped aside, turning to call into the hallway. “Just come in!”
There was a scuffling, and then the door opened to reveal—
“Miss me?” Tristan purred, leaning in the doorframe as Delyth stepped inside. He hadn’t bothered to dust the flower petals out of his hair, so he looked rather lovelorn. Like Delyth, he wore little clothing— just a pair of trousers that looked suspiciously like they’d just been snatched from a clothesline. Etienne just blinked, his mouth dropping open. The sight was too unexpected, too absurd. He couldn’t understand.
Small hands pushed Tristan out of the way, and Alphonse entered the room, solving the question of where the rest of Delyth’s clothing had gone. She didn’t strike a pose, and she didn’t say anything astounding, instead hurrying to Etienne’s side and throwing her arms around him.
“Etienne,” she murmured, turning her face to kiss his cheek. Never before had she been so open with affection.
Etienne sat in stiff, stunned silence, unable to comprehend that she was alive, that his sister was standing before him, flesh and blood. She had not looked so healthy in years. Not since they were much younger, before the pressures of school had started to steal their sleep. Even more, though, he was not sure he deserved such kindness, not after what had happened the last time he saw her.
Etienne had abandoned her, his best friend, the closest thing he had to family. And maybe he had come back in the end, but it was too little, too late. He’d only returned in time to see her truly lost. Had she forgiven him so easily?
He reached out to her, one hand tentatively gripping her arm, hugging her. “Aryus did this? Is it really you?”
He looked at Delyth, half unbelieving, but she was smiling, her eyes warm and her shoulders relaxed for the first time he could easily remember. Still, he might not have believed it if it had not been for Tristan, standing tattooed and half-clothed in the doorway. Even addled from the fight, he doubted his mind could have imagined such a thing.
It was simply too amazing, too improbable.
For a moment, he thought he might never let go. “Allee, I’m so sorry. I am so so sorry.” A sob escaped his lips, the product of guilt welling up from his throat.
She leaned back to look into his face, using her thumbs to wipe away any moisture leaking over his cheeks, and shook her head as though to quell his apologies. As though they were past them now. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Alphonse was frowning.
“Etienne.” That nervously admonishing tone, familiar. He had heard it hundreds of times before exams or when he hadn’t slept or eaten enough. And he knew, without a doubt, that his best friend, his sister, had truly come back. “You’ve torn up so much of what is inside you.”
“It was the magic,” he said, his voice thick with tears. “Ingolan spells and old offerings.”
“He did it to save me,” Delyth put in, but Etienne’s vision was too blurry to make out her expression. Tristan had settled into the only free chair in the room, evidently bored with the conversation.
“I— I wish I’d been braver before Thlonandras, but I did learn enough to protect Delyth.” He wiped his damp face roughly with his hands. “I didn’t stop to consider that I might be summoning too much magic for the spell I needed. Things just happened too fast.”
Delyth shifted. “Can you heal him?”
“Not this time,” Alphonse settled onto his bed, looking Etienne over with a meticulous eye. “It’s not his body that’s hurt. Magic ripped through him and around him. It’s more of… Like the leftover remnants from an infection or virus. It’s buzzing away in there. But I suspect it will fade with time. You will have to just heal the slow, natural way, Etienne. No more magic until this is set to rights.” She placed her hand on the center of his chest, indicating the inner turmoil. “Six moons or so. A lot needs mending in there.”
Etienne nodded and eased himself back into his sickbed, reaching out to squeeze Alphonse’s hand. “Allee—'' he almost choked on the word— “you look so well, like yourself again. I am so glad to have you back. What will you do now that all of Illygad is open to you?”
“Live,” Alphonse murmured, brushing his cheek one last time before standing. Because she did have the whole world, an entire life left to live.
Epilogue
1820, First Moon, First Quarter: Dailion
With the first four weeks of the semester behind her, Alphonse allowed herself one afternoon of leisure—a reward for working so diligently that moon. She took a blanket and a book on poetry, something she hardly ever read, out to one of the communal gardens in Moxous and settled beneath a large elm tree to read.
Alphonse found herself often looking up from the heady prose to watch the other students instead. They congregated in groups of three or four, laughing and eating, or quizzing one another from scrolls and journals. They were all very lively, and Alphonse enjoyed seeing them debate.
Before Enyo, before all of this, Alphonse had thought the arguments upsetting. Surely they could get along without having to prove who was smartest or cleverest? Now she saw friendly eye rolls and good-natured shoulder cuffs. This was play.
She hadn’t known that before because she was so afraid of conflict. Now, she realized that it didn’t always mean anger.
Moxous was so absolutely unchanged it was baffling. How could she have undergone such trials, been battered and sliced and warped, altered at a fundamental level, and the School of Magics be the same?