104. Flags

My husband and I sat in silence for some time.

I focused on the satisfaction of eating and drinking and the clean feel in my mouth while I waited for the pain to ebb.

“What happened to Cian?” I asked.

Alric folded his hands across my stomach, letting me slide down his chest a little, my head falling farther back on him for support.

“The king ran him through on the sword my brother forged for him.

He did not live much longer afterward.

Our prince is not pleased.

Nor is Jeremanthy or any other general.”

“Why not?”

“Because it is unlikely Cian acted entirely alone.

Now we cannot ferret out who else conspired against Tintar.”

My husband sighed.

“I should care but I do not.

There are enough men who do care that I feel I am free to not worry about that.”

“He had such power,”

I said.

“That wall of rock.

He did not even have to bleed first.”

My goddess spoke in my ears, I do not write the rules, girl.

The fates do.

He gained all of that magic because he claimed it with his soul.

He gave his soul for that power.

I tried to guide him from this.

Alric nodded.

“The wall was astounding.

Until you resurrected the stone drakes.”

“Who is archpriest of earth now?”

He waited a moment and replied, “Hazel is acting as provisory archpriestess.

Until our king chooses another.”

“He should choose Hazel.

She is wise and very gifted with magic.”

Alric made a hmm noise.

Then I asked, “Where is my hand?”

He shifted his weight behind me and I sensed an unease in him.

“The king had it— He had it stripped of the flesh.”

He stopped speaking so as to compose himself before continuing.

“He had it cleaned and it is displayed now, the bones, in his throne room.

Along with your sagaris.”

I thought of my ranunculus tattoo on the back of that hand.

I thought of the little quill and the large scars from The Gleaming on the palm.

“I suppose I am one of his trophies now.”

Alric said nothing.

A abundance of regret grew inside my heart and I began to sob, heaving, ugly, breathless, my eyes awash with tears, my chest struggling to take in air.

“I cut off my fucking hand,”

I keened when I caught my breath and could speak.

“I cut off my hand.”

Behind me his chest shook too and I heard him trying to catch his own breath.

“I— I know,”

he said, tears in his voice and then they fell from him, hot and wet in my hair.

“I know, wife.

My brave, brave wife,”

he sighed into my hair, his words shaky.

“My Edith.”

His arms pulled me as close as he could without hurting me.

I was weak, too weak to even lift my arms and try to return the embrace.

We stayed this way, weeping together for some time, my sobs loud, even shrill, animal-like, his tears tempered by his need to catch his breath and kiss the parts of me his mouth could reach, my ears and temples.

“I cannot— I cannot even cut my own meat now,”

I said eventually.

“I will cut your meat,”

he said, his voice firm.

“I cannot tie my own stays or dress now,”

I said.

“Or the laces of my boots.”

“I will tie them,”

he answered.

“I cannot stand to be a burden,”

I started, but he interrupted.

“You never have been a burden to me,”

he spoke over me with frustration.

“Edith, you are my wife.

I will care for you for the rest of my days.

Please, stop.

Desist in this, please.

I cannot stand to hear you say you cannot stand to be a burden.

You are— I cannot say it.

I cannot say what you are to me without— without—”

and he began his own unrestrained sobs, burying his face in my hair.

His breathing became a shuddering.

“Alric, please,”

I said, my words tired but a surprise in them.

The tonic was finally having an effect, but I sensed he was on the edge of a collapse.

“Please don’t cry.”

“Don’t cry?”

he rasped.

“Don’t cry? Edith, I thought you were gone.”

“I came back.

I came back to you,”

I offered.

“I had the chance to leave and I came back.”

He collected himself and then said, “Tell me what you mean.”

I tried to lean back to see his face but I could not quite see him.

“I mean I was as a spirit in Nyossa.

And I saw you there.

You were praying.

I called to you, but you did not hear me.”

“I prayed at this bedside day and night.”

I smiled, hoping he could see it though I could not see him.

“The goddess told me to claim my life.

So, I did.

Because I wanted to live.

Because I wanted to see you again, to be with you again. But,”

and here I paused, my voice tearful again.

“I am afraid.

I am afraid to live a life with one hand.

Does that make me weak?”

I began to cry again, softly this time.

He did not reply at first, but then said, “If it does not hurt you, can you stand enough to look out at the balcony? I can carry you, if not.

I want you to see something.”

“Alright,”

I answered, blinking away the fresh tears.

“Walter thinks you can walk tomorrow, but perhaps it is too soon today.”

“No,”

I said.

“I want to see.

I can do it.”

As delicately as he could, Alric stood, laying my now unsupported head down on the pillows.

He came around to the right side of the bed, lifting the covers and pulling my legs out and setting my feet on the floor.

He then sat next to me, on my right side, his left arm around my waist and helped me to sit up and we stood together.

He took my right hand with his right hand, guiding it around his neck to rest on his right shoulder.

My legs were unsteady, but I could actually move them, unlike my arms.

My left arm hung loosely, the lightning strikes of pain in it dulling now.

“Is my forearm tied with something other bandaging?”

I asked as we carefully stepped together to the balcony, my progress slow.

“It is a splint.

The bones are broken, remember?”

“Oh, I have already forgotten.

Thank the gods for lightleaf.”

“I will show you this and I should not, but I want you to see it.

Then you will rest.”

“Then I will rest,”

I repeated.

We shuffled out onto the balcony, which was a rocky ledge with wrought iron fencing on the edge.

I realized the prince’s chambers looked out over the Pikestully side of the bluff, not out at the sea.

And what I saw took my breath away.

From every rooftop of every house and business, every stable, every inn, every forge, shop, shed and sign, a flag in the shape of a left hand waved on the breeze.

They were cut from all varieties of cloth, old capes, bolts of fresh fabric, striped tents and blankets.

They were in different colors, each one, some muted shades and some vibrant.

Some were small and some were the size of a bear’s pelt.

The wind twisted some so that they looked like right hands from where they were strung.

“Oh my,”

I breathed.

“Do you see that?”

Alric asked, his mouth on my ear.

“Every person in that city below us owes you their life.

Every single one.

Perch told me that all four temples are filled with those in prayer for you.

Especially the women.”

“They— they pray for me?”

“Every citizen, but the women are the ones who sit continuously, asking for you to live.”

He kissed my temple.

“That is what I asked for.”

He rested his head against mine, his chin at my cheek and we looked out at Pikestully over the balcony.

“All those flags are for me,” I said.

“Edith, you saved our city and our country.

You brought peace to the continent for the gods know how long, perhaps forever.

You are the savior of Tintar and master of the stone drakes.

The people will never cease in thanking you.”

We slept together in a prince’s bed that night, his arms around me, his kiss on my brow.