He pretends not to notice when she deliberately steps away, but in truth Asterion is relieved. Even so a thought cuts through, unbidden, sleek and quick as a shark through a shaft of light in the water: That’s not far enough to be safe.
Safe from what?
The truth is, there is nothing Seraphina could say that could hurt him. Not her pity or her empathy or her blame; they simply hadn’t known one another that well. He was never at his best, the few times they met - always his heart was freshly bruised, or some new catastrophe was on the horizon (or at the heart of the island). Now, especially, her opinions are nothing more to him than rain on the surface of the sea. After Marisol cut him deep and Moira cut him loose, he feels impenetrable. Not as much like stone as sand, but still.
When she gives her reason - in a tone he well knows, having used it enough himself of late - he tucks his chin toward his chest in a knowing nod. Maybe they are ghosts after all, tied to this place well past time for them to leave. Before, he might have tried to comfort her as she goes on - slave to queen - but now he only watches through dark eyes, studying the gold scars on her cheek and the way her silver hair drifts around her, disregarding gravity and wind.
He thinks, And what has Solterra given you? But he knows that is the wrong question for any monarch.
He thinks, I feel like we are the gods now. And when she claims to have failed her people (even as her own thoughts turn to Solis), he shakes his head. “Do you still claim religion, Seraphina?” he asks.
He does not. But he thinks - oh, he thinks he would like to meet Vespera again.
Because Asterion has seen worlds beyond this one. He has seen a place that could be the island’s mother and maker, and it is no place of gods or piety. He knows there are horses in Novus that would understand this, but he isn’t sure that any of its natives are among them.
Yet there are still other things to talk of along this dark stretch of sea than vanished gods. And when she turns back toward him, that careful distance still between them, he pulls his own gaze from the curve of her sword and back to her mismatched eyes.
“Those I love are here,” he says, simply. Of the irony of it, that these loves may no longer be mutual, Asterion says nothing. Neither does he mention the other part, not after the memory of Raum was invoked (the only true ghost among them) - the other world had monsters, too.
Safe from what?
The truth is, there is nothing Seraphina could say that could hurt him. Not her pity or her empathy or her blame; they simply hadn’t known one another that well. He was never at his best, the few times they met - always his heart was freshly bruised, or some new catastrophe was on the horizon (or at the heart of the island). Now, especially, her opinions are nothing more to him than rain on the surface of the sea. After Marisol cut him deep and Moira cut him loose, he feels impenetrable. Not as much like stone as sand, but still.
When she gives her reason - in a tone he well knows, having used it enough himself of late - he tucks his chin toward his chest in a knowing nod. Maybe they are ghosts after all, tied to this place well past time for them to leave. Before, he might have tried to comfort her as she goes on - slave to queen - but now he only watches through dark eyes, studying the gold scars on her cheek and the way her silver hair drifts around her, disregarding gravity and wind.
He thinks, And what has Solterra given you? But he knows that is the wrong question for any monarch.
He thinks, I feel like we are the gods now. And when she claims to have failed her people (even as her own thoughts turn to Solis), he shakes his head. “Do you still claim religion, Seraphina?” he asks.
He does not. But he thinks - oh, he thinks he would like to meet Vespera again.
Because Asterion has seen worlds beyond this one. He has seen a place that could be the island’s mother and maker, and it is no place of gods or piety. He knows there are horses in Novus that would understand this, but he isn’t sure that any of its natives are among them.
Yet there are still other things to talk of along this dark stretch of sea than vanished gods. And when she turns back toward him, that careful distance still between them, he pulls his own gaze from the curve of her sword and back to her mismatched eyes.
“Those I love are here,” he says, simply. Of the irony of it, that these loves may no longer be mutual, Asterion says nothing. Neither does he mention the other part, not after the memory of Raum was invoked (the only true ghost among them) - the other world had monsters, too.
I see the winter, she's crawling up the lawn;
