“That’s one person. I can’t find cats to pawn off on every suffering soul,” he said.
The air was like a light perfume, the home of the poppies, everything it should have been. Agnes said that once upon a time, people came from all over for a chance to see them and even take a nap in them. What once was truth slowly faded beneath doubt and speculation. Each red petal is only a petal instead of an instrument to deter reluctant heroes into a long sleep.
“Maybe instead of focusing on the past, the answer is to adapt to the present. To leave behind a future that’s better than what you were born into,” she said.
Among the sweetness was a hint of cinnamon that wrapped around her like a warm hug. Familiar. Proud. The smile of a parent who watched their child do what they never could. The embrace of a friend who knows every inch and dark crevice, but loves all the same. The touch of a lover, safe, knowing that if the world ended, they would still choose that one moment.
“Maybe I just need the right person beside me to remind me that the impossible is possible,” he said.
She could feel his eyes on her, but she refused to let him see the sting of his words. Words she should have been celebrating. All her life, she worried about the day Brielle chose a husband. She worried that she’d lose her. Worse, she worried that he wouldn’t love Brielle the way she deserved. That he wouldn’t be good enough for her.
Then came Ira. An idiot and a dreamer. His half-mad scheme is a testament to poor judgment and foresight. His optimism waslike a beacon in the darkest night. It didn’t matter if everyone told him he was on a fool’s errand; he believed enough for all of them. A ridiculous blind faith that was a comfort most people would never know. A strength that meant he never gave into self-doubt or let fear of failing keep him from trying.
The perfect compliment to Brielle. Brielle, who believed in fairytales and that the world was made of more good than bad. A woman who saw a blank canvas and painted a symphony of colors and beauty. A dreamer who saw a broken orphan and called her beautiful.
Between the two of them, Meridea would soon flourish and become more than it was. A place where children got to be children and parents knew security and safety while they watched. A brand new era.
There was no sadness in that story. Her best friend would be loved and cherished. The world would be a better place. Luci would still have Brielle and be able to work with Noah and make elixirs and create.
A beautiful future for everyone.
Cynics didn’t reform overnight, though, with one good deed. At least that’s what Luci attributed to the stabbing in her chest that ebbed until it was a slow stream of aching. The kind of ache that bespoke loss.
“Meridea will be better because of its future monarchs,” she said.
Her voice was hollow, devoid of any of the hope the statement warranted. In truth, she was adrift. Lost without Brielle to anchor her. The sooner they finished this and got back to her, the better Luci would feel.
“Luci-” Ira began.
Throwing her hand up to the sky, Luci took a long breath.
“We are wasting time. We should pick up our pace,” she clicked her heel into Cinnamon, and like the coward she was, she ran.
Chapter twenty-four
The Blue Mountain
To be in a place where magic is present is like breathing air for the first time. It nurtures everything and becomes life.
-Tales from Meridea, Volume I
Asetting sun painted the sky orange and pink while the Blue Mountain loomed above them, touching that very sky. They’d left the poppies an hour ago, and with every inch closer to the mountain, Luci wondered how they would make it to the summit. One thing became very clear as a narrow opening beneath the mountain came into view.
“We can’t bring the horses,” she said.
“No.” Ira frowned. “We’ll leave them with some food and water. It should only take a day or two to reach the top.”
“On what basis are you making that assessment?”
He shrugged, dismounting. “Max.”
Of course. All of this was a glorified itinerary set by an ornery child. She lost her mind the night she agreed to go to the ball. There was only one explanation for the decisions that led her to this moment.
Her legs protested and screamed as she swung her leg over. Whether it was the long ride or the despair over the turn her life had taken, she lost her balance when her first foot hit the ground, and the other remained stuck in the stirrup attached to Cinnamon. One moment she was looking straight ahead, and the next she was staring up at wispy clouds slowly passing by.
Heart in her stomach, she prepared for the hard embrace of the ground, but it never came. Instead, arms wrapped around her, and warm breath crested over her neck as she fought to catch her own.
“The epitome of grace.” Ira chuckled.