He shrugged. “It was your vision, and you were seeing through your eyes. It makes sense that you should be there. It wasn’t an if, but more so an inevitability.”
There were implications to this that she didn’t have the mental capacity for at the present moment. The things she saw– the things he said. It burrowed under the surface, waiting for a sunnier day to emerge. What did erupt was the vision of Brielle healthy and happy, running through a field of midnight flowers.
“I’ll go,” she said.
The prince turned his head back to the paper in front of him, already forgetting she existed.
“Obviously,” he murmured.
Chapter twenty
A Journey Begins
A hero’s journey is often defined by the hardships and difficult lessons. Often enough, it is the small moments in between that end up meaning the most.
Tales from Merida, Volume II
Freshly inked black hair pulled back into a long braid, Luci leaned over and pressed a kiss to Brielle’s forehead. Over the course of the night, she fought fevers off and on, but when her eyes opened, there was a clarity that sank into Luci like a potent pain reducer.
“I’m glad you finally believe,” she whispered, her pale lips pulling up.
Luci choked back the lie, swallowing it whole. Not now. Not here. She wouldn’t lie to Brielle when it could be the last words she ever spoke to her.
“Midnight, but you are dramatic,” she wheezed before a coughing fit took her.
Helping her to sit up, Luci held her through the attack, wishing all the while that love was enough. If it were, then Brielle would have never known sickness. It was never enough, though, and since logic and reason abandoned them, all that was left was magic.
Lying her gently back down, Luci cleared her throat, hoping it would drown out the lump forming in it.
“Have faith in the vision,” Brielle whispered.
Her infinite eyes bore into Luci’s, and everything Luci ever believed in was in that gaze.
“I will,” she said.
It seemed impossible that a woman on her deathbed should roll her eyes, but then again, it was Brielle Treveon. It dislodged a piece of hope from Luci’s chest, and it floated up, soft as a bubble, popping when it met the surface. She was Brielle, but she was undeniably sick.
“Don’t you dare say goodbye to me, or I will be angry with you,” Brielle said.
Her cheeks were hollow, and there was no color to her at all. It was worse than Luci could ever have imagined.
“Send in Ira,” she ordered.
Luci nodded, a rogue tear slipping down her cheek. No goodbyes. There was only one thing when it came to Brielle.
“I love you,” Luci said, lip quivering.
Brielle squeezed her hand, and it was a weak sort of grasp, but it meant more than all the gold in the kingdom.
“I love you too,” she said.
Her hand ached in protest as she withdrew it. She couldn’t save Brielle from her bedside any longer. Delaying now felt like a nail in the coffin. Without leaving room for retreat, Luci stood and made for the door. The bag she’d packed was already gone, taken by Prince Ira to be saddled. He’d shown no emotion at her announcement that she was joining him. Instead, he simply nodded and told her that he would come collect her bag shortly, but that they needed to leave shortly.
It was odd to see the grimness of illness on his usually smiling face. It was out of place and foreign to him, aging him, and then many creases appeared around his eyes. That was the power of illness. It took, and it took until you looked around at the devastation, there were only shells of what had been.
There was no stopping the tears that flowed freely once her back was to Brielle. All she could do was keep her body from shaking. Opening the door, she kept her head down, finding brown riding boots standing to the right of the door.
“She wants to speak to you,” Luci whispered.