“There will be a festival in town today celebrating Duir’s coronation. They will rejoice in his reign. I can hear the preparations already at hand, smell the bread baking and the sound of the butcher’s knife,” Sylvain called from the gates.
Were we family? I thought of Duir not as a king but as a child next to me, bright as the edge of a knife, a royal glow about him. I wished him harm many times recently, but now, as I stood and lived not only by his grace but by my own resilience in having cultivated a bond between us, I did not wish him harm. I hoped he would live and continue his reign past the sickness around him.
I held the length of fabric in my fingers a moment longer and was about to drop it to the ground when instead I thought better of it and in one motion, tied it around my neck, then joined my brother.
“Come, Sylvain, let us say goodbye to our parents, if only for a little while. I believe you when you say we shall come back.”
“For once you believe me. Is this becoming a fortunate habit?” Sylvain answered, jokingly. “I now must truly know of what I say if you will now be truly listening!”
“Father would be proud of you, my brother. Of me, he would wish me wiser and I lament all the times I didn’t heed your wisdom.” I put my arm around his shoulder as he drew close.
Our parents’ grave markers were close by the gates, and a tree with low hanging boughs with golden yellow flowers reached from the other side and nearly touched the spot where our mother lie. Seeing this, I was reminded of her love of flowers, plants, and trees. She would have been appreciative of its beauty, so close to her final place of rest.
“Mother and Father would have been proud of you and more, Virago,” Sylvain said as he knelt, and finding the edge of our father’s grave, stroked the face of it as if he could sense the dead man’s words.
“It is my hope they not think me a fool or a deviant.” I felt a lump rise in my throat. “Or worse, a coward.” I added before I had to turn away.
“Choosing to live and not know the bite of the executioner’s axe is not cowardly, but incredibly brave and wise. I think you’ve always been wise and kept Duir close enough in that we are able to walk away at all!” He lifted himself from where he knelt and walked to the gates.
I swallowed the tears burning in my eyes and felt the pull of the velvet along my throat. The sun had brightened the world, and from above, I heard the wheeling cries of the gulls, the sea, the boat, and the man who would be there to greet me at its plank.
How could I have not made him a cloak lined with velvet? How could I have not wanted to give him something worthy of his own royal glow to match the burn he’d enticed from my once caged heart?
I brushed my hand across my face, placed a hand on each of my parents’ graves, and prayed silently for the strength of my father and the love of the world my mother had until she died.
From behind, I heard Sylvain scolding Durant and the sound of his voice beckoning to me.
“The sirens of the sea are singing, Brother. Can’t you hear their song?”
I lifted my fingers from the graves and thought I felt the warmth of my parents’ hands letting go of mine.
THE END
ABOUT XAVIER AXELSON
Xavier Axelson is a writer and columnist living in Los Angeles. Axelson’s work has been featured in various erotic and horror anthologies including Best Gay Erotica 2015 and Best Gay Erotica 2016 Volume 2.
For more information, visit facebook.com/xaviersaxel.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
JMS Books LLC is a small queer press with competitive royalty rates publishing LGBT romance, erotic romance, and young adult fiction. Visit jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines
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