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Winter comes quick in Umbria. But then, death always does.
Sometimes it feels less lonely to drown your sorrows in a shared barrel of ale. To vanish in the pub crowd. Even if you don’t say a word to nobody. Most nights, that’s me.
hope is a jagged knife. Hope pieces together dreams out of broken glass only for reality to come and smash them all over again. Hope is the cruelest punishment of them all. Because without hope, I know: it’s not her, you fool. It can’t be. It can never be. Because I killed her.
The scents of clove and cardamom
But nothing doesn’t mean you’re safe—it just means you haven’t spotted the danger yet.
Life has not been forgiving of her mistakes. But I can be. “You remembered after forgetting, and that’s just as valuable as knowing the first time,”
I’d think it was a coincidence, but coincidences need luck and there’s none of that in Umbria.
My eyes close like it’s pleasure, because acting is the only defense I have.
As I attempt to cling to goodness, to kindness when I can, I realize she did the same. The world will grab and pull at your humanity, try to strip you bare, but ultimately you decide whether to hang on or let go.
“How long have you known I survived?” “About three years.” He says it casually.
I want to laugh. I want to scream. I want to kiss him once again. In short: I’m a mess.
Never mind. I hate him.
“I need your help.” “With?” “With murdering your brother.”
“A few problems, off the top of my head…” The first and foremost being that Joon is known as a god king for a reason. He’s not divine, but he might as well be, since he has the crown of Yusan. The crown is a relic of the Dragon Lord, and it makes the wearer immortal.
lingchi—a public death by a hundred cuts.
“The Queen of Khitan.” And that catches me off guard. It’s been a while since I’ve heard from my sister.
He’s a warrior minus the battlefield.
I mean, yeah, he’s a violent killer, but no one’s perfect.
The second he touches me, a feeling rushes through me. Our hands fit together like a lock and key, but it’s more than that. He feels like home.
I like that he draws a line. He has principles and sticks to them. Most people don’t. Not when they conflict with desire.
even a beverage with someone encourages a sense of kinship. A bond.
He mimes snapping a bone in two. Danger flashes in his eyes. Is it wrong that it’s kind of hot? Never mind. Not the point.
“Etherum? But there isn’t any magic in Yusan.”
The legend is that the Dragon Lord gave his crown to the first Baejkin king, but his ring, scepter, sword, and amulet fell into the other realms as he ascended to the Heavens. I think it’s just to explain why Yusan doesn’t have them.
“Null,” Mikail whispers. My eyes widen, and my stomach turns. It means zero. Zero witnesses, zero survivors. With that one word, I know he’s about to slaughter them all. Any safety from running was an illusion.
Mikail smiles, bloodlust making him more attractive than ever.
On some level, people love watching others suffer and die. Mikail more than most. But it’s understandable. A taste of death makes us savor our mortality.
My sister is worse.
“I overheard the Countess talking to the Count. The king of Khitan is dead, and the queen is ruling as regent for their young son. They say the king died of natural causes, but there are whispers that she killed him and wears the ring.”
“Sora, I think it’s time.” But that doesn’t match her expression. I want to ask, but guards have come to get her. She just smiles and waves goodbye.
I can’t tell how close the samroc is, but with a thirty-foot wingspan, they can travel a mile with ease. Because of their size, someone long ago tried to domesticate them. The man thought that if he could ride a samroc, if he had a flying vessel, he’d be invincible. Legend has it he is the reason the birds developed their taste for human flesh. They devoured him and then came for the rest of his family. It’s likely an exaggeration—the part about his family. The rest, I believe.
I have an eerie feeling she will remember me. That the legend I heard of the birds tracking down the man’s entire family were true.
I’m just not sure what good he expected to come out of both of us being dead. Sometimes revenge is a long game and, as much as you want a small win now, the larger victory needs time to manifest.
What does one wear to kill an immortal king?
White of course
Then I realize I’m looking too far into him. I should stop expecting hidden depth out of a puddle.
And then I want him all over again. Even after all this time. Even though he agreed I should die. Wow, I need better standards for the men I fall in love with.
I don’t drink alcohol. I see no reason to poison myself when I don’t have to.
“I saved us. You’re welcome,” she says. “Keep rowing.”
We comfortably exist in the space of unsaid regret.
Minutes later, my shivers turn into shudders. I can’t stop. I don’t have a body that retains heat. Really—I’m built like a malnourished, hairless cat.
I’ve never had this before—a man I want wrapped around me or someone to save me. And yeah, it’s his job, and we’re just trying to survive and make our fortunes, but he’s still here with me. And that’s new. I’ve always had to save myself.
Somehow, I’d never really considered what would’ve happened to Mikail. He’s always been so close to me that I thought of us as the same. But he’s right—he is a commoner while I am a prince. Or at least I was.
This whole time, I believed it was divine providence and random generosity, but it had actually been Mikail. His love for me. His loyalty to me.
Beautiful, deadly, loving, hateful Sora. At times, she looks at me and my heart fills, but then it’s clear she’s plotting my death in those violet eyes, so it’s less than desirable.
“Power corrupts everyone,” I say. “The more you have, the faster the slide. I want to help you, Sora. So let me, while I can still be the man I want to be. We don’t have to be friends,” I urge her again, “but we can be allies.”
My father has ordered me to kill her once the king is dead.
Something is off about all of this.
Of course there can be love without trust. Harmony without trust, however, is a different story.
“The Troubadour Inn,”
Oh here we go, they are starting to come together!
The dog eagerly laps up the water.
HOW DARE YOU?! The DOG?!
