Resurrection (Book Three of the Soul Forge series)

A splitting headache threatened to cleave Sypher's skull in two, but he shrugged on his royal blue silk jacket with its pale gold embroidery and plastered a smile onto his face.

Elda was resplendent in a dress similar to the powder blue ball gown he'd first met her in, her hair arranged in a half-coronet on top of her head, the rest left to spill over her bare shoulders in soft golden waves. The picture of innocence and beauty.

But her skin was paler than usual, her eyes hollow. She looked at him like he might disappear in a puff of smoke at any waking moment, reaching out to touch him as though making sure he were still real.

And Vel still refused to surface. Sypher could see how much it killed her not to say goodbye to him, but the demon soul was beyond reach.

Telling the others about the infection had been as hard as Elda finding out about it. Worse even - they gazed at him in abject horror while silent tears rolled down his wife's cheeks in rivulets. Julian had made a choked sound, then collapsed on the ground in a heap. Sypher had comforted him, comforted them all, and the moment he found a second alone, he threw up.

He was tired to his bones, his pounding skull throbbing in time with his pulse, but tonight was Elda's festival. Her chance to show the refugees and her people that she was a worthy future queen and that Eden was a welcoming safe haven to settle themselves in. She'd worked so hard to make it happen in between the hours she'd spent researching the monoliths.

"Are you ready?" she asked, clasping her hands in front of her and lifting her chin, forcing herself to smile.

No. "Yes." He offered her an arm, which she took, her fingers holding the crook of his elbow too tightly to be relaxed. But she put one foot in front of the other without faltering, a paragon of strength.

The city bloomed in lights of green, pink, gold, blue, every colour imaginable. Sound and music filled the air, bright and hopeful, so at odds with the chasm in Sypher's chest. Even the newer refugees milled between the citizens of Eden, their gazes curious despite the borrowed clothes on their backs.

Stalls of every kind lined the streets, attracting scores of shoppers to gawk at their wares, brought from all over Valerus. The merchants were pushed on by the many interested browsers, their enthusiastic haggling and bartering creating a steady hum of chatter that buzzed under and around the music of drums and stringed instruments and flutes.

The people, new and old, bowed to Elda as she walked by. Many of them thanked her and her parents for taking them in, slowing the journey to the city square. She stopped and acknowledged every single one of them, smiling and chatting, and never once did that brightness reach her eyes.

Sypher watched it all in silence, knowing that any word he spoke might be the trigger that sapped that admirable strength from her and left her broken on the ground. He tried to enjoy the music, but every drum beat lanced at his skull. He tried to appreciate the many different cuisines on offer, their smells scenting every foot of the city, but it turned his stomach.

Still, he did not leave Elda's side.

When they reached the square, Elda climbed the wooden dais erected there and gave her welcome speech to the people who had chosen Eden as their place of safety, her pacing and tone portraying nothing of the pain she felt beneath. To those who didn't know her personally, she was a beautiful Princess poised to take the crown and lead her people.

To Sypher, she was two sharp taps away from shattering completely.

Julian and Gira were ten feet away, both discreetly armed on his right. To his left, Brady and Clover, also armed and watching him. Edward was a few steps behind, a small axe strapped to his back beneath his leather coat and Bennigan acting like his shadow. All of them ready to take Sypher's head the moment he became a danger.

Elda had her dagger strapped to her thigh beneath that dress too. Sypher had insisted she keep it with her at all times, since she refused to leave his side for more than a few minutes. The wound stung beneath his gloves, a constant reminder that the clock was ticking. As if in answer, the headache ratcheted up another notch.

"You never could stay out of trouble." The female voice was a surprise, sounding from beside him where previously there had been nobody.

"Aurora," he greeted.

"You look like shit."

"I feel it too." He turned to look at the warrior woman with her broad shoulders and shorn hair. "What brings you here?"

"Irileth told me what happened. Since I'm fond of you, I thought I'd say farewell."

"Fond of me?"

She shrugged one muscled shoulder, a half smile quirking her lips upwards at the corners. "You're the only non-Spirit I've seen brave enough to flip Aeon the bird. The only creature ever, actually."

"He had it coming," Sypher answered, feeling a glimmer of amusement at the memory of the stunned, enraged look on Aeon's face.

"Yes, he did." Aurora’s brow creased into a frown. “The others don’t know anything about what’s happening to you. Aeon has been preoccupied enough not to take a look into your life, but the others have… forgotten you entirely.”

“I know.”

“I haven’t forgotten you, Soul Forge.” Her hand touched his shoulder. “Nor will I ever.”

“I appreciate the sentiment. I don’t suppose you have a cure for this affliction?”

“This is old magic, older than me. I can’t understand it, let alone unweave it.” She sighed through her nose. “You deserved better.”

“What’s done is done.”

“You should ask Aeon to save you.”

His head turned slowly to look at her. “You know I can’t do that.”

“You’ll die if you don’t.”

“I’ll die if I do.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Even without what we’re doing here, Aeon would refuse to help me. You know that. He would rather I die and Malakai win, than ever extend a hand to help me when I need it. Now…” He trailed off.

“Now he’d run you through himself,” Aurora finished.

“Exactly.”

“I don’t know exactly what’s going on here. The memory is… foggy. I do know that you need to be careful. You’re walking a dangerous line and Aeon will only be blind to it for so long.”

“This time next week, I’ll be dead anyway. My only goal now is to do what I can for my wife and my friends before my time runs out.”

“I wish you luck.” She clapped him on the back, then vanished. Sypher returned his attention to Elda on the dais.

Beneath the many enchanted lights, her gold hair was dyed hues of violet and pink, her back straight and chin raised. She was a natural leader, born to be Queen, and he would never see it.

It was tempting to avert his eyes when looking at her became almost too painful to bear, but he didn’t. He watched, even though it ached, savouring every second he had left with her.

When she was done with her speech, she waved for the musicians to fill the square with joyful music. She descended the stairs and crossed to her parents, curtseying to them and forcing a smile. Her mother was beaming, infinitely proud of Elda’s display. Hrothgar squeezed her slender hands, both of them unaware of the situation.

The moment she was released from the conversation, she returned to Sypher’s side and took his gloved hand in hers. She didn’t ask how she did, or what the people thought. She was simply quiet.

“You worked hard on this festival, maite. You should enjoy some of it,” the Soul Forge tried gently.

She turned those blue eyes up to look at him. “How could I enjoy this day knowing what will follow?”

“Then make it a memory you want to keep.” He took her other hand in his. “We can mourn when it’s over, together. Tonight, dance with me.”

So she did. She let him lead her among the throngs of festival-goers, careful not to disrupt those already dancing. He was tired, his bones seeming to creak with every movement, but he spun and twirled her until that dazzling smile finally lit up in her wide blue eyes.

When the dance was over, he fetched her a drink that was pink and fizzy, ignoring how the elderberry aroma made him nauseous. She sniffed it delicately, then took a sip and her eyes widened.

“This is wonderful,” she breathed. “Where is this from?”

“Cenet. Prince Falmyr sent it over so the vendors could sell it.” At her furrowed brow, Sypher chuckled. “They keep every penny, love. None of the money they earn from it goes to him.”

“That’s… charitable,” she replied begrudgingly. “And there were no bargains involved?”

“None.” Her gaze strayed to Sypher’s own untouched drink. “You should drink something.”

“Elderwine is too sweet for my tastes,” he replied, but he sipped it. Relief slammed into him when his stomach didn’t reject it despite the way the smell made it roll. His illness wasn’t as advanced as he’d feared.

The sight of him drinking seemed to settle something in Elda, and she finally allowed herself to take a real look at the many stalls and festivities around her. Sypher chuckled when she grabbed his hand and dragged him to a stall selling iced biscuits that were painted to look like works of art.

The Princess browsed through scores of delicious dessert stalls, savoury pastries, handmade pots and vases, candle stalls, herbal remedies and incense vendors, and finally came to a stop at a jewellers.

Her eyes fell on a delicate cuff, glittering silver and obviously designed to mimic the runes on Sypher’s body. They weaved over and under one another, creating settings for clear, glittering gems at regular intervals. It wasn’t a tiara, or a necklace. It didn’t fit any of her expensive gowns, but her gaze hovered over it for a second before her fingers reached out to brush the silver, tracing the curve of a rune similar to the ones tattooed across his chest.

Sypher saw her breath hitch, saw the tears fill her eyes. He discreetly passed a small pile of gold pieces to the vendor patiently waiting for her to finish browsing. When she shook herself and turned away, the vendor carefully picked up the cuff, boxed it and handed it to the Soul Forge unseen.

“Let’s get something to eat,” Elda chirped, forcing brightness into her tone. She didn’t look at him, pretending instead to busy herself with the different food stalls on offer.

“Alright.” He let her choose the food, eating every bite of it when he saw her shoulders relax after the first mouthful.

They stayed with the revellers until the music died down and the festival lights were replaced by the normal enchanted lamps lining the streets. The vendors began packing up their stalls and everyone, refugee and resident, began to mill out of the square towards their beds for the night.

“I can’t believe how well the festival went,” Elda sighed, slipping her fingers through his as they walked back to the castle.

“You executed it beautifully,” he answered, smiling when she leaned against his arm. Behind them, their friends watched Sypher like he might turn into the undead at any second. Elda didn’t seem to notice, but he knew better.

“It took a lot of organising but I think it was worth it. Everyone seemed to have fun and the travelling traders fit right in alongside our usual vendors.”

“You’ll make an excellent queen one day, maite.”

Elda fell silent at that, her happiness fading as she mulled over the prospect of a future without him. This time, he didn’t try to pull her out of her malaise. She kept her hand in his, her grip like a vice.

She said nothing until they stopped outside the door of the royal suite. When he turned away, knowing Edward and Bennigan were right down the hall, she gripped his wrist.

“Please,” she whispered, fresh tears threatening to spill. “Please stay with me.”