“the terribility of her isolated dominant resplendent propinquity: her omens of tempest and of calm:"
Isra knows--
That she has the power to change the world, to free it or to destroy it. She could level mountains into yellow-flower meadows. A wasteland could become Utopia or Eden could become the end of the world where things go to die. Solterra could become more than endless sand where the sea touches it gently and waters nothing. And when she looks at him, with his golden-glow and his bone pale hair, when she looks out past the monster blazing in her eyes, all she can see is sand, sun, and something like hope.
Maybe it's the breathlessness of his voice that reminds her of the wind. Or maybe it's the way that he turns away like she's something too heavy for bones and skin and eyes to told. Maybe it's only the way Eik is a constant pressure in her head and like breathing she does not need to think of it to know there is air in her lungs. Maybe it's each one of those things that settles the beast in her to something tame enough to put together all the pieces of him and give it a name.
Orestes.
The new king of Solterra, the court she killed for. She wonders if his desert has told him of the battle, of how she gnashed her teeth then and tasted blood and dirt. And she wonders if they told him to beware the queen with magic enough, power enough, love enough to take his castle from him.
She does not follow him when he moves away from her (and she thinks it's the only smart thing he's done so far). She does not do any of the things she knows she should do, because she is angry.
Isra is angry.
She's angry that her city made another maze. She's angry that she's supposed to remember only gently how Acton died trying to save her and how even now when she licks her lips like a wolf she can still taste the iron sting of his blood. She's angry that she's supposed to smile like a mother should and lead her city like forgiveness is the only thing racing in her blood. She's angry that she's supposed to be soft and that she cannot love her stories the way she used too. She's angry that there are still evil men and gods in this world and she's supposed to turn away and worry only about her city. She's angry that everyone is moving on around her like her city didn't burn, and her people didn't die, and that the gods didn't let her city flood and thunder-birds come.
She's so, so angry. And right now she knows there are only the two of them in the maze. She knows she could kill him and there would be no one to see.
“You won't get out that way.” Isra says in the space between his breathless words and his taunting of the beast (and she wonders why he cares so little for his life when his desert city is in ruins and needs him). Around her the golden flowers sigh as their metal hardens until their faces are pointed back at the moonlight instead of his soft-light.
Her hooves still make no move to join him. This maze is hers now and she's not ready to leave. Her magic is still an itch she needs to scratch and her rage, her anger, all the sharp pieces still need somewhere to go. Because, she tells herself, it's better than tasting blood.
The wind, the howling moonlit wind, whispers through her spiral horn when she tosses it to the dark place between two golden, barbed stalks. When she does the stalks turn to rubies red as blood and diamonds brighter than he could ever think to shine. They fall to the ground and it sounds like rain.The path goes on until the darkness swallows it, but it looks straight. “If you go that way it'll lead you back to the city.” She doesn't say and away from me but it's there in the way she looks at all his golden skin like the sight of it is leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.
Isra moves to turn away and let the darkness of her garden wrap once more around her. But before she does she turns to look at him once more-- a dragon roars in the distance even though he doesn't need to.
When she says, “the father of my children will always love the desert.”, it sounds like a warning with a mouthful of teeth. Like she'll come calling if he betrays the desert Eik loves in any way.
And she wonders, again, if his people warned him of the queen that came to kill their last king.
@orestes
