Save Me

Her writing desk was covered with papers she’d been trying to read and smelled like oak and candle wax. There was little light coming from the flickering candles. Her eyes trailed over the candles, watching the flames flicker and dance on their wicks. She smiled at them, but did not share in their imaginary mirth, her eyes remaining like orbs of polished sapphire glass. Leaning against the desk, she closed her eyes and imagined her king. But all she could conjure was the aftermath.

Donovan’s body hanging listlessly, impaled upon the lance. Clothes blowing in the soft breeze that reeked with the smell of blood and death. His hair dark against ghastly bluish-gray skin. Beautiful eyes screaming of pain, of sacrifice. Mouth forever contorted in an expression of horror. The curve of his lips, the roughness of his calloused hands—so cold in death…

Staring at the glass of wine held in shaking hands, she barely noticed as a tear slipped down her cheek and fell into the glass, ripples disturbing the still, red surface. Lucille jumped, startled. It had been a long time since she had cried, a long time since she showed any true emotion, hiding behind the courtier’s mask. Taking a large swallow and putting it down, she fixed her eyes on the paper in front of her, the words blurring in and out of focus. She looked up and sighed, putting down the paper. Lifting her glass again, she sipped and put it down. A knock at the door caused her to look up from the smooth surface of the desk. “Yes?” she called.

“Your Majesty, I have the items you requested.” It was only a maid. The queen sighed in relief and let the maid come in. The items were placed on the bed. “Will there be anything—”

“No,” Lucille replied quickly, “you may go.” With a curtsy, the maid scurried out, closing the door behind her.

Lucille stood and walked to the bed. A sheathed blade, a mail shirt and a locket. Picking up the blade and mail shirt, she placed them in their proper places: the sword above the mantle, and the mail shirt on a wire frame. They shone with a new brilliance in the candlelight and Lucille turned away, collapsed on the bed. She breathed in the scent on the bed sheets. She hated how Donovan’s scent had disappeared from the furniture, his clothes and finally from the sheets and pillows. Picking up the locket, she carefully placed it on the night table and slipped into bed, hot tears making tracks down her cheeks.

The queen awoke to the sound of footsteps. Surrounded by goose-down pillows and cotton sheets, she blinked in the darkness and instinctively reached for Donovan’s hand. It took her a moment to realize that she had replaced her clothes from the night before with a soft, light shift and her feet were bare. And it took her even longer, to realize that Donovan was gone. She tried to keep the tears back but they flowed silently down her face. A crackling made her turn to the huge fire burning in the hearth, a familiar figure bent over it, moving the wood. “Akoto?” her voice seemed too loud for her ears and she groggily sat up, brushed away the stray tears, as Akoto turned and came to sit beside her. She rested her forehead on his shoulder and sighed, felt him shiver as her breath met the warm skin there. He smelled clean like soap. His plain silk shirt looked freshly laundered, and there was a trace of his apple-scented aftershave. “How are you?” his voice—deep and silky, was genuinely concerned.

She nearly laughed. “Not well, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He shifted before she got too comfortable and reached over to the empty wine glass on the night table near him. “Just as I suspected.” He peered at the glass and nodded, stood, and walked over to the desk, picking up the wine bottle made of black glass, twinkling in the candlelight. Akoto’s dark breeches and brown calf-high boots complemented his tanned complexion, the candlelight almost giving him an unearthly golden glow as he studied the bottle. He turned the bottle in his hands to look at the label: Brocelment. A vintage. “Half gone.” He shook his head in disapproval, turning back. “Lucille, you—”

She startled him with her next question, stopping the sentence he’d wanted to say a minute before. “What are you doing here?”

Akoto’s dark eyebrows came together, “You have been up here for two days. If anyone is worried, it’s going to be me—”

“And Silver.” Lucille put in, naming Akoto’s wolf-Changeling mate.

“Yes, and Silver but—”

She cut him off again, “I haven’t been feeling well that’s all.” Lucille slid off the bed and snatched both the wineglass and bottle. “You, my dear sir,” she teased, pouring another glass, “worry too much.” She offered the glass, “Wine?” He refused.

Akoto sighed heavily, running a hand through his short, black hair. It curled slightly at the nape of his neck, which was now turning a golden-brown from the candlelight. “Will you let me finish? You know perfectly well how I hate interruptions.”

“Carry on then.”

“Well, you’re mother did something like this, years ago…” Akoto said, crossing strong arms over a broad chest, “She did it out of anger. Are you to repeat her actions?”

The queen sighed, taking a sip of the wine that was trembling in her glass. “I’ve heard it all before. What can I say? Like mother, like daughter.”

Akoto’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Why don’t you ever listen to me anymore?” There was evident anger in his voice.

“I do listen.”

Akoto groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “You’ve got to get a grip on yourself! It’s been a year already and you won’t let this grief go…”

“I’m fine. Really, I am.”

“Lucille…next time you feel like drinking as much as you did—first,” he paused, “tell me.” He took the wine and wineglass—still full with the Brocelment wine and put them back on the desk.

“I’m a grown woman now, Akoto. I don’t need your guidance anymore.” She felt his hand rest on her shoulder, felt the bones in his fingers tense in a grip. There it stayed, warm and heavy. When he didn’t seem to move, she took a step forward, felt him take a step with her. Akoto sighed and murmured in her ear, “I do want you carry on, but not like this.” “This—this is madness.”

“Leave me alone.”

“I can’t leave you as easily as you think. You and I were bound in blood when you were born. The Bonding Ceremony.” “Me, Silver, and the Changelings gave their lives for your reign, for Donovan’s reign…for your heir.”

Lucille sighed, turning back to face him. “You don’t understand.” Her voice was quavering and she fought down the tears that were sure to come, “I’ve lost everything…”

“Everything?” He raised a questioning brow, “Oh, I won’t be so sure about everything…”

“I’ve lost a nation’s trust, my husband and…my baby.” She wrapped her arms around her abdomen, rocking on her heels. Her skin was cold like ice. And Akoto knew it wasn’t from the breeze coming from the open window.

A baby? An heir? Lost? Dead? Akoto looked at her, surprised, and drew his hand from her shoulder. “When was it…” he swallowed, “lost?” his voice was emotionless. But for all his voice was, his heart was seized up in pain. It could’ve been his baby she had lost. He just wanted to know. He could wait forever if it took that long. Lucille glanced at Akoto, her eyes shining. He led her to the bed, coaxed her into sitting down. He sat beside her, fingers briefly grazing her cheek, almost lovingly. Akoto dropped his hand to his side. She took his hand and squeezed it comfortingly. “I…I don’t understand—” she began, but then a finger pressed against her lips, shutting her up. She leaned against him and he wrapped his arms around her, trying to warm her chilled skin.

“Hush.” He couldn’t hear it, not now, not yet. Lucille just listened to the soft huskiness of his tone, a soft drawl that seemed to come from deep within his throat, and her heart thudded in her chest. She sniffed and bent her head, watching the tears fall into his lap. Oh how desperately she wanted to tell him! Before she could say anything, she felt his hands pulling her away, fingers tucked under her chin forcing her to meet his eyes. A bright, molten gold. A deep, beautiful color, Lucille thought. Akoto pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the tears lingering on her cheeks.

“You should rest. It’s late.” She felt his weight lift from the bed and his footsteps fade to the hearth to stifle the fire, to the window to close it, to the desk to blow out the candles, and, finally, to the door. How she longed for him to say he loved her. A simple, friendly ‘I love you’ would have been nice. But she was being selfish. She’d been hoping too much. Akoto wasn’t the type to reveal his feelings too often. Then she heard him speak again over the crackle of the flames. “Goodnight.”

One, straightforward word so commonly used. But that was enough: His voice still carried that lovely drawling tone that told her all she needed, all she wanted, to hear.

She smiled faintly in the dark. “Goodnight, Akoto.”

“And don’t you think of touching that!” He added, his voice serious, gesturing to the wine bottle. Lucille laughed lightly and nodded. She heard him shut the door as he left, his footsteps fading down the halls and she sat up, climbing out of the bed. Sighing and snatching her leather jerkin, she fumbled with the many buttons, stuffed her feet into boots and quietly made her way to the stables.

She didn’t bother to saddle or tack her mare, Velvet. Riding bareback, she let the horse ride over the hills, numb to the kicked-up pebbles and mud that splashed against her back and face as she leaned down and rested her cheek against Velvet’s warm neck, feeling the blood pound in her ears. She let her body be lulled by that constant beat, almost like music.

Riding down around the narrow road that led to the forest, she smiled as she heard the howling of the wolf-humans. It was not like any wolf chorus she’d heard; there was a certain musical quality about Changeling wolf choruses that the queen found soothing. They were wolf Changelings and had assisted her once when she was injured. Sabetha, their new Alphess, appeared from the bushes, followed by her mate Ulrich and their three pups. She was disappointed to see that Rivera, Sabetha’s older sister, was not with them as she guided the stallion carefully around the three bubbly cubs. Seeing them crowd around Ulrich made her ache for Donovan, for children of her own. Stop it, she told herself, let it go.

As she watched them leave, she led Velvet back to the path, the breeze carrying the heavy scent of wolf and fire. Suddenly she tensed. The metallic smell of Dark magic was here, had been here. It stung and left the taste of copper in her mouth. Copper like the taste of blood. The mare reared, neighing in panic as she threw her head, the whites of her eyes showing. As Lucille tried to get the horse under control, she felt herself falling off, flying, as Velvet bucked and snarled. Lucille hit the ground with a cry and rolled down the slight hill, hearing Velvet’s hoof beats disappear.

Gasping, trying to gather her bearings, she sat up and studied her surroundings. Birch trees and pine trees surrounded her, as did the silence. Darkness enveloped her in its long clinging fingers, scratching away her courage. She huddled against a tall birch tree, clutching its paper-thin, white skin. The smell came again, thick and strong. Drops of melted copper seemed to fall upon her lips, her skin, seemed to burn her. This was eerie, too unnatural. There were no birds flitting in the trees, no squirrels; not even any insects despite the weather being quite humid. Only the black silhouettes of the trees, the whispering of wind and the scant moonlight. And the piquant scent of dark magic. It chilled her skin, made her press closer to the tree. She closed her eyes, her cheek scraping against the bark. She longed for Akoto, longed for his soft fingers to brush her cheek, for his strength to chase away her fear. She prayed desperately to any god that was listening that the dark magic was distant, that it was just the darkness and the wine playing with her imagination. She pulled her legs up against her chest, shivering in the cold. Please, she prayed, don’t find me here.

A thick mist rose to wrap around the trees, and buried the path and her body in coils of white, kissing her suddenly sweating skin with cool, translucent lips. The moonlight stabbed though the black outlines of the trees, stretching out the shadow and the light, distorting the trees and familiar sights to abnormal sizes and shapes. All of a sudden, Akoto materialized by her side. He took her hand and shoved his own gold magic in front of hers, creating a wall. She couldn’t access her magic; the wall between their consciousnesses was too strong to penetrate. “Rest.” he whispered, “Rest…” There was a strange forcefulness in his voice, a hidden authority. His voice almost sounded scratchy. None of the soft, deep tone he’d used moments before. She shook her head. It was nonsense. This was Akoto…nothing could be wrong now. He’d take her home. Wait. Lucille realized something with growing horror. Materialized? He’s a Changeling—he has magic, he has power, but he can’t materialize anywhere!

All thoughts of safety and home suddenly disappeared in an instant with this realization. Queen Lucille gasped as the form of her guardian shimmered, his hand still on hers. She tried to cry out but stopped when a man with violet eyes and a bare, bloodied scalp emerged from the shadow. Akoto’s image vanished. Lucille couldn’t scream, he’d taken her by the throat, pinned her against a tree with his twisted, broken fingers. As she writhed in panic, clawing at his hand, desperate for air, the man leaned over to whisper in her ear, his breath hot on her neck, “Remember my face, Majesty…for I will forget yours.”

Lucille glared at him; her eyes dark with anger, “Never will I submit to the Shadow!” she gasped in air. A glint of silver caught her eye. A stabbing pain raced through her body, followed by a sense of raw relief. The man laughed at her and watched as her face slowly relaxed. Lucille stared at the man in front of her, her eyes filling with tears. His violet eyes changed to an almost-beautiful wintry blue, glinting with malice. He smiled and twisted the sword. “You shall submit.” He growled, “But you will not be the only one to grovel, Majesty…” He cackled and left her there, the sword pinning her against the tree. Thump. Thump. As his form disappeared into the dark, the queen gazed down at the long, silver blade glinting in the moonlight. Thump. Thump. She could hear her own heartbeat. It was a dull slow sound in her ears.

Lucille closed her eyes, trying to slow her labored breathing. “Rest. Help is coming…just for a moment…just a moment…” She gasped and groaned softly in pain. She heard movement in the undergrowth. Then there was a shout. Her name. It was Akoto. She called out, her voice wretched.“Leave Akoto! …Please. Just leave—” the queen opened her mouth to call out again, her voice a faint whisper, a stretch of breath between vocal cords. “Don’t save me…”

Thump. Thump.

She heard the whistle of an arrow. Thump. Thump.

Thump—

Innocence can never be determined by the amount of blood spilled. Akoto opened his closed eyes, and stared around at the cluster of gray and black. Like crows waiting for the battle, mourning for a dove. He thought, turning to his wife. “There’s tension every place I look.”

Silver gripped his hand firmly and smiled grimly. The procession of mourners in black and gray, tears falling down from their eyes, the priests in their white robes droning on about deeds, love, and honor were soon just a brief collection of people with no real purpose. As the line continued on, hollowness dug itself deep within, as if something were eating his heart, like fingers were pulling at his heartstrings, strumming a painful chord. The dirt path led to the kingdom cemetery, old stones marked with old dates. Only one grave was fairly recent, tucked in the alcove of a willow. The king’s, only a year old. Akoto felt his arms instinctively close around Silver’s waist. No tears fell in mourning but the Changeling’s heart tightened beneath his breast, a brief seizure of the heartbeat. Lying on a stretcher like a wounded angel in battle, Lucille was so still, her skin glowing in the light from the lanterns and sconces. She wore a white gown. White was pure, white was to drive out Darkness. Darkness and sin would no longer taint her but it must be stopped. That knowledge Lucille had carried to the grave. A shiver of fear shook in Akoto’s bones, as if a cold finger were running down his spine. Lucille’s casket was lowered into the ground, the red sunset briefly illuminating the crest of Winter’s Heart, as she disappeared.

And then everything went blurry as tears finally filled Akoto’s eyes. He felt sick and empty, the claws of grief wrenching horribly on his heart. He lowered himself onto a stone bench in the shade of an apple tree not too far off. The stone statues stared at him, proud. Mocking him with their unfeeling eyes, frozen expressions. He hid his face in his hands and sighed heavily, body trembling. Silver put a hand on his arm, and he gazed down at her hand, the black glove conspicuously noticeable against the white of his shirt, a glaring contrast of light and dark. Covering her hand with his own, taking it and pulling off one glove, he distracted his mind with the study of their hands: the distinct size difference, the delicacy of her fingers, and the infant softness of the skin. Looking up to meet her eyes, Silver stood solemn and beautiful in black silk. A round face with a strong chin and arching eyebrows. Her eyes captivated him the most: they were endless irises of a gentle forest green, ones he loved to get lost in, in which to find all the treasures of her soul. He still didn’t speak. Silver was the earth, Lucille was the sea, and I was the sun suspended above.

Silver’s expression grew worried. “Are you thinking of something?” she asked in a soft tone that reminded him of the leaves rustling in the wind.

“You worry too much, love.” He replied, staring back at the dirt. Silver took a seat beside him, her features hidden by the long shadows cast by the statues. The fountain bubbled quietly and he could hear the soft weeping of the mourners as they left gifts for their queen. No family members stayed behind, for Lucille had none left. She had married to carry on her thinning bloodline, for her people, but now the future seemed impossibly grim.

Akoto glanced at the large white headstone and averted his gaze. Shame washed over him. “She spoke to me on that night.”

His wife turned to him, and the Changeling felt a slight pressure on his back. “What was it?”

He shook his head, “She’d been drinking, but not heavily. Still…” He shuddered, a convulsion of muscle, the flinch of bone and skin and sighed. “They say he creates his followers from the dead.” He shook his head in disbelief, “But he’s only the product of nightmares and ghost stories.” There was a note of conviction in his tone and Silver nodded, silent. Akoto realized how hard she was trembling and he wrapped her in an embrace, holding her close to his heart, letting her tears fall on his warm skin. “Don’t cry, Silv, we’ll get through this.”

“I just hope you were right.” She wiped her eyes and clung to her husband. “The Changelings need us. The Bonding was broken between Donovan and I a year ago. Now you and Lucille…what are we to do?”

Akoto wiped away the lingering tears, “Lets talk to King Salvor and Raine. They’ll send us to new placements.”

“Placements,” She laughed bitterly, “As if we’re lost books! Donovan would be enraged if he knew.” Akoto sighed and felt his blood thin with the aftermath of his monarch’s death. The Changeling Bonding ceremony, the connection established so many years ago was fading. Was he supposed to feel so lost, so drained? He supposed this was how his wife felt when Donovan acted as a martyr for the sake of his kingdom. Silver was in pain for several weeks and would often relapse. Akoto had stood strong but only she knew the real reason for his death: suicide. Lucille had been barren for many years but he soon found the cause—him. So, in an attempt to allow Lucille the joys of motherhood, and to save a young comrade, he threw himself in the path of a lance and died. She held her heart and sobbed. Akoto held her tighter as she began to lapse into that aged anguish. Old wounds become scars but are easily reopened if the knife is sharp enough. This wound dug deep to her heart. Akoto helped her up and to their chambers in the east tower. Letting her prepare for bed, he made his way back to the cemetery. Sabetha, another Changeling like Silver and him, was leading a mourning call.

As the crowd dispersed, he lingered, watching as the stars blanketed the sky, the moon white and full against the bruise-colored twilight. Night was descending like a predator upon Winter’s Heart and Akoto was almost sure that the moon would turn to a drop of blood, hanging there in the sky as a reminder of the blood spilt. The crickets cried and a chill settled, but seemed a deeper chill, going farther then the flesh. The leaves stirred and whispered and dark clouds gathered, almost like a thin ink stain against the flannel sheet of the moon.

Crossing her arms over her chest as if cold, Sabetha gaze sadly out into the distance, the light from flickering lanterns lighting up her firm face and soft eyes. The rest of her was hidden in shadow. He heard her whisper to the skies, her eyes focused on the moon. It sounded as if she were speaking past a lump in her throat. “Take care of her, Ylva…she was dear to us all.” Akoto had to agree with the woman: Lucille was like a precious stone in a crown. Without it, the crown had lost its grandeur. And now without the queen, no clue to the whereabouts of her child, the crown may as well been made of thorns.

He put a hand on her silk-clad shoulder. “Alphess?”

“Yes?” She turned to face him, her hand reaching up to wipe her eyes.

“I never meant for her death…” His voice rang with sincerity. Akoto looked down, dropping the hand to his side, guilty. He knew better then to leave her alone that night and now it was too late.

“None of us did, my lord, it happens to the best of us.”

“But Winter’s Heart—” The lord was suddenly cut off by the Alphess’ reply.

“You will have a new king soon if my scouts are correct.” Sabetha managed a weak smile, “Do understand, my Lord Akoto, her life would have been a nightmare of love had she not died. Choosing duty over your heart—choosing her husband Donovan, over you—was a decision she had to make.” Akoto looked at her stunned. How had she guessed? Sabetha just nodded, “She told me of your affair and of her marriage long before, but your missing my point. You must understand that we all must make the choice between our hearts and minds at some point in our lives and it is a difficult choice. Most would go with the heart but few will go with the head when it comes to love and some are lucky if they don’t have to choose. She mourned for her king, even pined, but her heart belonged to both of you all the same. Be glad for her.” The Alphess put a slender hand on Akoto’s shoulder, “Think about what I said, and go get some sleep.”

He thanked her and watched her walk back to the castle. Akoto wiped his eyes and leaned against the headstone, wishing he was falling into his lover’s embrace, wishing she were still alive. “You’re at peace, love.” he whispered, “You died without saying goodbye.” He touched the letters of Lucille’s name, carefully, lovingly, committing to memory their shape.

With a heavy heart, unshed tears in his eyes and swallowed screams in his throat, Akoto longed to find that murderer, destroy him as he had destroyed Lucille. He was confused and defeated. Should I just let her go? But how could he when all that echoed in his mind was her name? How could he when all that was left of their connection was her blood in his veins?

I tried to remember the last time I lay there with you on the bed. The last time I touched your face and felt your tears. It’s so easy to imagine you alive…too easy. But he could only call up the image of her calm, ashen face…her casket disappearing into the dark. His heart constricted in his chest, new tears threatened to spill and he cried out softly, bending over in pain. He had failed and that awareness cut him deep. Sorrowfully, he closed his eyes and placed a hand on the cool, white stone.

“Come back, Lucille.” His voice was quiet but desolate. Come back from your heaven and take me with you. Save me, Lucille, because I'm dying. Save me the way I couldn’t save you.