Healers leaped off his back, three women
clad in the red robes of their order. They rushed toward Amity with bandages
and ointment and prayer beads.
As
they tended to her wounds, Korvin knelt beside her. At first his eyes were
hard, but then they softened and he touched her hair.
"That
was foolish, Amity. But I'm glad you're alive. Stars, don't do anything so
foolish again."
"You
shouldn't have helped me," she whispered, then grimaced as the healers
rubbed ointment onto her wounds. She managed a grin. "I'd have looked
stronger defeating him myself."
"You'd
have been a corpse for Shafel to parade to his troops." He held her hand. "You
must learn wisdom."
She
cried out in pain as the healers splashed ointments into a wound, then managed
another shaky smile and wink. "I'll leave wisdom to you, old man. I'll
take the guts and glory."
As
they wrapped bandages around her, the sun vanished and darkness cloaked the
mountain. Holding Korvin's hand against her breast, Amity slept.
ROEN
He held Fidelity close as the world
burned around them.
Ash rained from the
sky, and trees burned on the horizons. Smoke churned above like clouds, and the
smell of the fallen forest filled their nostrils. As Roen held Fidelity against
him, he lowered his head, consumed with his love for her, with his grief for
his father, with his grief for the forest.
Old Hollow, the most
ancient oak in the woods, had burned. All the trees around it, millions of souls,
had fallen in the fire. The maples he had tended to since they were saplings.
The pine he had nursed back to health after a lightning strike. The coiling
network of mossy roots, fallen logs, boulders rising from piles of fallen
leaves—all living things to him, beings as wise as men. The animals of the
forest—the swift hawks and falcons, the deer, the scurrying mice, the
dragonflies and fireflies, all dearer to him than humans. All fallen to the
fire. All gone. The forest that had been his home had been a nation to him, a
nation as real as Requiem.
That nation is gone.
"I will no
longer hear the birds," he whispered, voice hoarse. "I will never
more watch dapples of sunlight dance upon fallen leaves. I will never more hear
the rustle of branches, never more see the beauty of mist floating through
autumn foliage, never more smell the fresh green spring, never more feel the
crumbly soil beneath my fingers and the smooth trunk of Old Hollow." He
rested his chin on Fidelity's head, squeezing her against him. "But I have
you, Fidelity, and I promise to always protect you. To defend you like I could
not defend the forest."
She placed her hand
against his cheek. She stared at him through her battered spectacles; one of
the lenses had smashed in the mad flight. Her golden braid hung across her
shoulder, its tip seared. Burn marks spread across her clothes.
"I'm so sorry,
Roen. I'm so sorry." She held him close and whispered into his ear. "You
never wanted to fight this war. You wanted to remain in Old Hollow. With your
forest. With your father. I came into your life, and now . . . now both are
lost, and I cannot tell you how sorry I am, how much I grieve." She looked
up at him again. "How much I love you."
He held her hands and
squeezed them. "For a long time, I didn't understand. I didn't know why
you cared so much for Requiem, for a fallen kingdom. But I know now. I
understand. Requiem to you is like the forest, a memory of something precious,
something lost. Something that meant the world, that meant countless lives all
woven together into something beautiful. And you lost Requiem as I lost the
forest. But we'll keep fighting, Fidelity. Always. To remember them. To keep
the memory alive of both Requiem and its woods."
"And we'll plant
saplings," she said. "In the ashes of the burnt forest. And we'll
plant the seeds of Requiem and her memory across the Commonwealth. We'll
regrow, rebuild, remember. I promise you. Together."
Her leg was cut and
bandaged, and Roen lifted her in his
clad in the red robes of their order. They rushed toward Amity with bandages
and ointment and prayer beads.
As
they tended to her wounds, Korvin knelt beside her. At first his eyes were
hard, but then they softened and he touched her hair.
"That
was foolish, Amity. But I'm glad you're alive. Stars, don't do anything so
foolish again."
"You
shouldn't have helped me," she whispered, then grimaced as the healers
rubbed ointment onto her wounds. She managed a grin. "I'd have looked
stronger defeating him myself."
"You'd
have been a corpse for Shafel to parade to his troops." He held her hand. "You
must learn wisdom."
She
cried out in pain as the healers splashed ointments into a wound, then managed
another shaky smile and wink. "I'll leave wisdom to you, old man. I'll
take the guts and glory."
As
they wrapped bandages around her, the sun vanished and darkness cloaked the
mountain. Holding Korvin's hand against her breast, Amity slept.
ROEN
He held Fidelity close as the world
burned around them.
Ash rained from the
sky, and trees burned on the horizons. Smoke churned above like clouds, and the
smell of the fallen forest filled their nostrils. As Roen held Fidelity against
him, he lowered his head, consumed with his love for her, with his grief for
his father, with his grief for the forest.
Old Hollow, the most
ancient oak in the woods, had burned. All the trees around it, millions of souls,
had fallen in the fire. The maples he had tended to since they were saplings.
The pine he had nursed back to health after a lightning strike. The coiling
network of mossy roots, fallen logs, boulders rising from piles of fallen
leaves—all living things to him, beings as wise as men. The animals of the
forest—the swift hawks and falcons, the deer, the scurrying mice, the
dragonflies and fireflies, all dearer to him than humans. All fallen to the
fire. All gone. The forest that had been his home had been a nation to him, a
nation as real as Requiem.
That nation is gone.
"I will no
longer hear the birds," he whispered, voice hoarse. "I will never
more watch dapples of sunlight dance upon fallen leaves. I will never more hear
the rustle of branches, never more see the beauty of mist floating through
autumn foliage, never more smell the fresh green spring, never more feel the
crumbly soil beneath my fingers and the smooth trunk of Old Hollow." He
rested his chin on Fidelity's head, squeezing her against him. "But I have
you, Fidelity, and I promise to always protect you. To defend you like I could
not defend the forest."
She placed her hand
against his cheek. She stared at him through her battered spectacles; one of
the lenses had smashed in the mad flight. Her golden braid hung across her
shoulder, its tip seared. Burn marks spread across her clothes.
"I'm so sorry,
Roen. I'm so sorry." She held him close and whispered into his ear. "You
never wanted to fight this war. You wanted to remain in Old Hollow. With your
forest. With your father. I came into your life, and now . . . now both are
lost, and I cannot tell you how sorry I am, how much I grieve." She looked
up at him again. "How much I love you."
He held her hands and
squeezed them. "For a long time, I didn't understand. I didn't know why
you cared so much for Requiem, for a fallen kingdom. But I know now. I
understand. Requiem to you is like the forest, a memory of something precious,
something lost. Something that meant the world, that meant countless lives all
woven together into something beautiful. And you lost Requiem as I lost the
forest. But we'll keep fighting, Fidelity. Always. To remember them. To keep
the memory alive of both Requiem and its woods."
"And we'll plant
saplings," she said. "In the ashes of the burnt forest. And we'll
plant the seeds of Requiem and her memory across the Commonwealth. We'll
regrow, rebuild, remember. I promise you. Together."
Her leg was cut and
bandaged, and Roen lifted her in his
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