BEXLEY BRIAR
Seraphina burns bright silver in the near distance, and for the first time Bexley sees her as something beautiful, something dangerous and elegant, good-looking in a way that reeks of power, of self-control, that Bexley has never truly had. Where Bex is warm and soft and only sharp on the inside, Seraphina is something cool and regal and utterly unflappablele, and more often than not Bex nearly resents her for being so capable. Who gave her the right to be so lovely and dangerous - so always-right? Inadequacy is a rock in Bex’s stomach. As the Sovereign turns, she feels something sharp and fear-inducing move in a spasm up her spine, sinking anxious teeth into the spaces between her vertebrae, and she forces herself to stand still as the distance between the two closes, despite the fire that flickers just under her skin and the loud, insistent bang of her heart against her ribs.
Her necklace suddenly seems to weigh heavy. Does Seraphina’s too?
Of course not. Of course not, she reminds herself, she is not weak. Clack-clack-clack come steps on the sooty concrete, and Bexley watches the descent with cool bright eyes, a bird poised to fly and yet containing its wings. From behind that cloud of shining white hair, she registers the tiny dip of Seraphina’s head and returns it, struggling the suppress the curiosity that such a gesture inspires. When the sun queen speaks, Bex can’t help the surprise that flits across her features, an expression of genuine shock, as pleasant as it might be: I want you to become Solterra’s regent.
The world melts away. Blackness, at the corner of her eyes, threatens to infringe. All at once she is a child again, quiet and frail in the towering woods of Greer-Briar, and Una’s white-hot voice rings through her ears: power will only leave you if you let it. A whirlwind of floods and fires and crashing rocks comes speeding across her vision, and for a moment she stands silent, outwardly almost vacant, as she reminisces on just how goddamn long she has been without power over her life, her surroundings, even powerless over herself, beaten down by every irresistible whim, every fleeting urge, every sight of her gnarled face in a mirror.
No longer.
Yes. Of course. A sheepish grin flickers across those white lips, and Bexley does not bother hiding the excitement that lights like stars deep in her eyes. If you are the sword, I will be the smile. It is an honor to serve Solterra.
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