A Thousand Heartbeats

As she had for the last several days, Annika worked until well past sunset. So, it was only now, in the latest hours of the night, that she was able to review the final petition placed in her lap today: the request by the lords for her to marry almost immediately.

Annika had no idea when an army might head her way, and she had very little left in her pocket to help her people feel secure. A wedding, a promise of an ongoing line . . . this she could give them. She stood, moving away from the endless lists of things she had suddenly become responsible for, and walked to the window. She scanned the sky for Orion.

There he was, hanging above her, the guardian of the heavens. As she pulled the black cord with its tassel from her pocket and wrapped it around her wrist, it felt as if she were being guarded as well.

In a bedroom far less grand, Lennox bent, almost as if in prayer. He knelt with a scrap of lace between his hands, looking out the window above his bed, searching for Cassiopeia. When he found her, all he could think of was Annika.

But as he watched the stars, twinkling like hope in the distance, he remembered that he could never see Annika again, never go to her side. For one day, he intended to claim everything that was his. He felt a stab of pain knowing that taking back the land might mean that Annika had to die.

In their own quietness, their own isolation, each wondered what the other was doing at that very moment. In Annika’s mind, Lennox was sharpening his sword. In Lennox’s mind, Annika was giving commands. They smiled to themselves, wrong as they were.

For how could they have known that they were doing the exact same thing—holding on to the tiny pieces they had of one another and wishing desperately that the other was by their side?

The morale around the castle was, unsurprisingly, low. I’d never thought our army vast or even strong, but now I saw that we’d been on the edge of something great.

And it had been broken.

The short battle had been disastrous. We’d lost scores of people at sea.

Even I came home feeling worse for wear.

I headed to the mess hall, which had been partially converted into an infirmary. Inigo met me at the door.

“Has Kawan been here today?” I asked.

“No. Still unwilling to show his face.”

I shook my head, trying to fight back my rage. The least Kawan could do was tend to the people he’d led into a disaster.

“How long have you been up?” I asked.

“All night,” he replied, rubbing his eyes. “I was going to go to sleep ages ago, but Enea’s fever spiked.”

He looked as broken as I felt. “Did she make it?”

He nodded but sighed. “How many do you think we’ve lost? I can hardly keep up.”

Of course he couldn’t. As usual, there were no records.

“Listen. What’s important is saving the lives we can. Where should I start?”

Inigo pointed to the back corner of the room. “Those are the worst cases. Brallian lost a hand, and the infection is so bad that she might not make it through the day. Some others are so weak, it seems like they’ve simply lost the will to go on.”

Inigo raked his fingers across his face. “Most everyone else should recover.”

I nodded. “Go get some sleep.”

Inigo put his hand on my shoulder, his fingers gripping as if he were holding tight to his very last hope. “Please,” he whispered. “Please tell me you’ve got a plan to get us out of this.”

I swallowed, feeling helpless.

“I don’t,” I confessed. “Not yet. But I will. I won’t let this go on forever.”

I squeezed his shoulder as I made my way to the back of the room. As I approached the huddle of the worst cases, I saw Blythe. She moved quickly and efficiently, wiping someone’s brow as she met their eyes. It was strange to see her that way, mournful and serious. She stood, rubbing the ache in her neck, hair spilling over her shoulder.

Blythe was beautiful and brave. She was compassionate and persistent. She was faithful, hopeful, stronger than most of the men I knew. She was, by every measure, perfect for me.

And I wished, with all my heart, that I could find it in myself to love her.

She caught me staring and gave me a brief, sad smile as I walked over to her.

“Did you just get here?” she asked.

“Yes. You’re my commander today. Tell me where to go.”

She took my hand. “This way.”

There was a slightly different smell toward this end of the room, something that reminded me of metal combined with aging meat. I didn’t flinch. I simply had to smell it; the others had to endure it.

“Griffin wants to have a memorial for Rami,” Blythe said quietly. “If you can get down to the coast at sunset, I think he’d like you there.”

“I thought he’d be upset with me. She died trying to help me focus.”

She shook her head. “He knows who’s really to blame.”

“If he wants me there, then I will be.”

“Now, would you go talk with Aldrik? He’s not doing well, and he’s been asking for you.” She pointed to the far corner . . . the dangerous corner.

I stared in unbelief in the direction she’d pointed, finding his mop of curly brown hair atop his very pale face.

I moved over quietly, not wanting to wake him if he was sleeping. His breaths were as shallow as Blythe had warned me, and watching him struggle set me on edge. His eyes flickered, and his lips lifted into a crooked, half-hearted smile.

“There you are,” he managed to say.

I tried to smile back, but I wasn’t sure it looked genuine. “Heard you were looking for me. If you’re finally challenging me to a sword fight, I’m afraid I’m busy today,” I joked.

Every blink of his eye was so slow it seemed to be asking for strength his body barely had. Still, he managed to smile. “I’m occupied myself.”

I nodded. “Then how would you like to spend your day?”

He forced out a few more labored breaths. “I’ve spent every single day of my life here trying to become you,” he said.

I shook my head. “When you get well, you’ll have to aim higher. You can do far better than me.”

The shade of his skin was so unnatural that I had to work hard not to stare too long.

“Lennox,” he said, turning serious. “I need to tell you something. Kawan . . . he needs you. No one can touch him.” Then he tilted his head a little. “Except for you.”

I stilled at that, unsure of what to say. “When you went on your Commission, he was on edge the whole time, wondering what you’d do to show him up. When you came back with a princess, he lost it. He knows what you’re capable of.”

Aldrik stopped his slow speech to cough a few times. His coloring got worse and worse with the passing seconds. “That’s why he won’t come see me. Not even after all I’ve done for him. If you were here, he’d show, if only to make sure it was true that you were gone.” Aldrik weakly shook his head.

“I should have told you sooner,” he gasped. “I should have told you people would have followed you. Whatever it is that leaders hold, you have it. Why do you think Kawan hates you so?” He turned his head, coughing and then making an anguished sound, as if the action was piercingly painful.

I ignored his words and focused on him. “Let’s not talk about that. What can I do to help you?”

He shook his head. “I can’t feel my legs anymore. And it’s like glass in my lungs. Every part of my body is either numb and gone or in pain. I . . . I don’t have much time.”

“Don’t say that. Whatever injury this is, it may heal. . . .”

Aldrik silenced me with another weary shake of his head. “I know. I’m telling you . . . I know.”

I swallowed hard.

“Lennox, you already have the strength you assume you lack. You’ve endured, you’ve survived. Don’t delay. Before we’re all gone, do something.”

I was left speechless.

“Promise me.”

I nodded.

He lay back, eyes on the ceiling. Having said what he needed to, a calm came over him.

“I don’t have any family here. Could you stay for a moment?” he asked.

“Do you . . .” I had to look away. “Do you want me to stay until the end?”

His lips trembled. He nodded.

I reached down, placing my hand on his. He was too weak to return the gesture.

I fought the urge to put my usual walls back up, to retreat into safety. It was rare that someone needed me so wholly. So I let myself feel it all. The fear, the peace, the attachment, the pain. I felt it all with Aldrik so he didn’t have to feel it alone.

In the end, I was glad I had. An hour later, Aldrik’s skin faded from pale white to light blue, the traces of warmth in his hand disappearing completely. I pulled the blanket over his head, walked from the mess hall . . . and then I cried like a child.