by Kay Camden
Today is the summer solstice. Today is the day I do this.
I shoulder open the door. It’s so dark my first glance goes to the bed to check for a sleeper. Covers pulled tight, it’s empty. A figure moves in the corner. I set my texts on a nearby table in order to free my hands. Even though my eyes are adjusting to the dark, I’m dying to flip on a light, to yank those heavy curtains back and let in the sunlight. It’s not healthy to spend a summer day in a room like this.
The figure rises from a chair, and I’m jolted by the shock of my own mistake. It’s not him. This man doesn’t match the Rex I know. He’s too tall, too thin. I feel up the base of a lamp and switch it on to witness my mistake in the light and yes, it’s not him. His hair is too shaggy, his face too drawn.
But I see my name on his lips like he recognizes me. I see him take an uncontrolled step forward. I see him stop himself from taking another as if jolted by his own mistake. So I sign his name, my heart ready to choke me, my tears way too close. I’m drowning in the density of air in this room, unable to get a full breath.
He raises a hand, signs the letter S.
I go to the windows then, yanking back the heavy fabric so we’re both bathed in sunlight. He turns quickly away; I close my eyes, allowing the light seeping through my eyelids to help them readjust. And when I reopen them he’s facing me, the rise and fall of his chest as rapid as mine. He runs a hand through his hair, combing it back. Long pieces fall back into his face but he doesn’t bother fixing them. With the haunted eyes and undisciplined hair in this sorrowful old room, he appears to have traveled from a different time. He’s a medieval knight. A ruined king. Imprisoned, starved. In mourning.
I’m here, I sign. I’m going to help you.
He signs, Why?
My breath catches. That was ASL, not fingerspelling. Okay, maybe he remembers the sign. But he also understood me, which is a bit harder to accept. Especially after five years.
Because I swore a blood oath to return you to normal. And I finally figured out how.
He signs, I am normal.
ASL again. The unexpectedness of it throws a rock in the gears of my head, of my carefully rehearsed plan. He’s waiting for a response from me, and I can’t screw this up. So I gather myself up and remember why I’m here. He’s not normal. I know the normal Rex; I also know the one who’s buried under a mountain of hate.
I unpocket the small apothecary bottle, the only part of my work provided by my black witch consultant. Inis said the only way my magic would succeed was if she provided a dubhealaín-blessed container sanctioned by a full-blooded black witch. That wasn’t the surprise. The surprise was she actually came through. And both my dad and Tara owe me money.
Unlike the bottle Rex remembers, this one is empty, waiting. Ready to be filled with what now fills him. As the idea dawns on his face, a dusky shadow crosses over him. He points to the door, anger settling hard like it was always there. Like the shock and relief that greeted me a moment ago was only an altered version of the dream I’ve repeated for years in my own head.
Since I don’t obey, he closes the distance. One rude clutch on my arm, I’m spun toward the door, dragged a step forward before I jerk free. He tries again; I knock his arm away.
There is no ‘no,’ I sign. Only yes.
No, he signs.
I just look at him because that’s not an option.
He fingerspells, Don’t.
Don’t stop? It’s an unfair play, but I’ve lost control here, and I’ve rushed forward to wrap arms around him faster than I can stop myself. My capacity for missing him has been so brutally reached. My tank is full. In front of him now, in flesh, not in dreams, I can’t live without him anymore, no matter how ruined he is.
Instead of resisting he grabs my head, tilts it to face him. The catalyst of our mingled breath ignites the connection we once shared, bottled for so many years. I lift to my toes and he leans down. Never has a kiss been so hateful and anguished, so vengeful, so punishing. He’s out to prove how far gone he is, how cruel, how unfixable. And I kiss him back, my love to match his hate, my hope to conquer his despair.
When he draws away, he places a finger against my lips as if to quiet them. He notices my braid then, not yet as long as the one he severed but soon it will be. His finger runs down its length with such reverence I have to stop him. And I press the empty bottle against his chest where I know the mass of hate aches cold. That hate was once mine, and I’m here to take it back. This war between our families will not reach its end until our mutual enemy is imprisoned in its glass forever.
Rex Moore, I sign. Will you end this war with me?
He kisses me again, so tenderly it nearly breaks my heart.
He raises an S and signs, Yes.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading The Alignment Series! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. It’s been an eight-year journey of many, many hours and I wouldn’t change a thing. I don’t think these characters will ever fade from my head, so I have no idea what the future holds. I do have plans for new worlds and new characters, so be sure to subscribe to kaycamden.com to receive updates on my writing progress and other news.
If you liked this book—or even if you didn’t—please consider leaving a review. All reviews help, and indie readers count on them because we don’t have big publishers promoting our work. And please tell your friends! All my ebooks are lendable, so pass them along!
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Again, thank you for reading. Our time is valuable and finite and there are far too many good books to read. Thank you for choosing mine!
—Kay
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My thanks go to—
Debra, who’s supported this series from the pathetic first draft of book one and helped guide me into being the writer I am today.
Clara, for providing the soundtrack and musical inspiration for this book, future books, and life in general. m/ forever!
Dr. Bill and his website lifeprint.com and ASL University.
Authors of books that helped in my research of Deafness: Thomas Spradley, Brandi Rarus, Marc Marschark, Peter Hauser, Oliver Sacks.
Elsa S. Henry and K. Tempest Bradford and the Writing the Other class series.
Countless online resources for Deafness that I wasn’t diligent enough to make note of.
The ILF. Go raibh míle maith agaibh.
My readers, who took a chance on an unknown author and followed me this far. Thank you for turning pages until the end, and for believing in these characters as much as I do. Thank you for your support, your reviews, your email messages, and most of all for giving this story life in your heads.