26. Twenty-Three

The battle was over, the field won, but the cost had been high. Too high. I picked my way through the carnage, the elation of victory swiftly fading as I surveyed the sea of broken bodies strewn across the blood-soaked earth. So much death, so much suffering, and for what? One elf's ambition? Yes, I sought to build a better world, but perhaps I had reached too high, too fast if this was the cost.

Beside me, Daraith and Niro walked in grim silence, their faces etched with the same weariness and sorrow that I felt in my bones. We had shed an ocean of blood to get here, and I feared that even more would be required before this war was truly over.

It was Niro who spotted him first.

"There, by that overturned cart," he said, pointing. "Is that..."

My heart seized in my chest, a sudden, icy dread flooding my veins. No. Please, gods, no. Not him.

I was running before I even realized I had moved, heedless of the bodies I stumbled over, the blood and filth that splashed my boots. The world narrowed to a single point, a flash of red hair stark against the churned mud of the battlefield.

I skidded to my knees beside Elindir's prone body, barely registering the dull ache as I hit the ground. My hands shook as I gathered Elindir's limp body into my arms, cradling him against my chest. His head lolled back, eyes closed, face ashen beneath the streaks of blood and grime. Crimson stained the torn fabric of his tunic.

"No, no, no..." The words spilled from my lips in a desperate litany, as if by denying it fiercely enough, I could somehow change reality.

This couldn't be happening. Not Elindir, not my fierce, beautiful prince who had endured so much, fought so hard to be by my side. He was supposed to be safe on the castle walls, far from the clash of blades and the chaos of battle. That had been our agreement, a promise I had extracted from him before riding out. So why was he here, sprawled broken and bleeding on this godsforsaken battlefield?

With a trembling hand, I brushed the matted hair back from his brow, my fingertips ghosting over the too-pale skin. He was so still, so utterly motionless and colder with every passing second.

A ragged sob tore from my throat as I clutched Elindir's lifeless body to my chest, my fingers tangling in his blood-matted hair. This couldn't be real. It had to be some cruel trick, a waking nightmare conjured by my exhausted mind. Any moment now, those eyes would flutter open and he would flash me that impish grin, teasing me for my worry.

But as the seconds ticked by and Elindir remained still and cold in my arms, the awful truth sank in. He was gone. The one person who had seen past the mask of the ruthless rebel king, who had stood by my side through every trial and hardship, was lost to me forever.

Grief crashed over me in a suffocating wave, stealing the breath from my lungs and wrenching another agonized cry from my lips. Sobs wracked my body as I rocked Elindir back and forth, as if I could somehow pour the warmth and life back into him through sheer force of will. Hot tears coursed down my cheeks, mingling with the blood and grime caked on my skin.

It wasn't supposed to end like this. We had fought so hard, sacrificed so much to build a better world—a world where our love wouldn't be condemned, where we could live in peace. And now, with victory finally within reach, the gods had seen fit to rip Elindir away from me.

A hand grasped my shoulder, squeezing gently. Daraith.

I didn't look up, couldn't tear my eyes away from Elindir's lifeless face. "Bring him back," I rasped, my voice raw and broken. "I don't care what it takes. You brought back an army, you can bring him back."

"Ruith..." Daraith's normally impassive voice held a note of pained sympathy. "The soldiers I raised were a parlor trick, their souls long fled. To bring back Elindir as he was...it would require a ritual of immense power and sacrifice. The cost would be—"

"I don't care about the cost!" I snarled, finally raising my head. "I'll burn the world to ash if it means I can have him by my side again. I would face the gods themselves and drag his soul back from the Otherworld. There is no price I would not pay, no line I would not cross. So tell me what I must do."

Daraith was silent for a long moment. "Very well. But this is no simple working, no minor invocation. To restore Elindir fully—mind, body, and soul—will require a ritual of immense complexity and power, the likes of which have not been attempted in an age. We will need time to prepare."

I gathered Elindir's cold, lifeless body in my arms, cradling him against my chest. "We don't have time. Every second we delay is a second his soul drifts further from this world. I will not lose him to the Otherworld, Daraith. I cannot."

Daraith inclined his head. "Then we begin immediately. But Ruith... this working, it will require a sacrifice from you."

I swallowed hard, a leaden weight settling in my chest. I had known, in some distant corner of my mind, that it would come to this. That the universe would demand its pound of flesh. And I knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that I would pay it gladly.

"Take from me whatever you must," I said, my voice hardening with resolve. "I will pay any price so long as it brings him back to me."

Daraith again inclined his head and said simply, "Follow me."

I followed him, carrying Elindir's lifeless body through the castle gates, my arms aching from the strain. Daraith glided ahead, leading us around the side of the keep to a long overgrown entrance. Soldiers and servants alike shrank back as we passed, their faces pale and eyes wide with a mixture of fear and reverence. They knew, even without being told, that something momentous was about to unfold.

Daraith paused before the overgrown entrance, his pale hand outstretched. The air shimmered and warped around his slender fingers as he traced a complex sigil in the air. There was a deep, resonant thrum, like the tolling of some great unseen bell, and the vines and brambles shriveled and crumbled to dust, revealing a heavy stone door engraved with eldritch runes that pulsed with an eerie blue light.

"This way," Daraith said, his voice echoing strangely in the sudden stillness. "The path to the ritual chamber lies beyond."

I followed him into the darkness.

We descended a narrow spiral staircase, the damp stone walls pressing in on either side. The air grew colder with each step, heavy with the must of ages and the coppery tang of old blood. Deeper and deeper we delved, into the very bowels of the castle where the secrets of centuries lay buried.

At last we came to a heavy oaken door, its ancient timbers black with age and bound in iron. Daraith laid a pale hand upon the wood and murmured words in a language I did not know, their cadence low and hypnotic. With a groaning creak, the door swung inward, revealing a cavernous chamber hewn from bedrock.

"This was once a place of power," Daraith said as we crossed the threshold, our footsteps echoing. "We stand upon the resting place of a dead god. Náthella, mistress of the unsanctified dead."

The chamber was immense, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadow far above. Towering columns of rough-hewn stone marched into the gloom, their surfaces covered in a complex web of runes and glyphs that seemed to writhe and twist in the guttering torchlight. In the center of the space, a great circular dais rose from the floor like the altar of some dark and ancient god.

I carried Elindir's body to the dais and laid him gently upon the cold stone. In death, his vibrant red hair was stark against his pale skin. My heart clenched in my chest as I brushed a lock of hair from his brow, fingers lingering on his unusually cool forehead.

"Tell me what I must do," I said as I turned to face Daraith. "What sacrifice must I make to bring him back?"

"To breathe life back into your beloved's body, I will require a bone from your own body," he said. "A rib would be ideal. And..." He paused, letting the moment stretch taut with tension. "A sample of your seed."

I frowned and fought the urge to decline out of pure revulsion. To give a piece of myself, in the most literal sense... It was a violation, a defilement of the highest order. But for Elindir...

I closed my eyes, steeling myself against the disgust that threatened to overwhelm me. When I opened them again, I had found my resolve. "And the price? What will this ritual take from me beyond flesh and fluid?"

Daraith's eyes turned solemnly back to Elindir. "The bone, once removed, will never heal. It will be a constant ache, a reminder of how you have cheated death. Neither you nor your lover will ever give life to the world. Your seed will become barren, as will his."

I stared at Daraith, the weight of his words settling like a leaden shroud. To never father children, to have that chance forever ripped away from us both... It was a steep price, a sacrifice that cut to the very core of who I was as a man and a king. My line would end with me, the Starfall dynasty fading into the annals of history.

But as I looked upon Elindir's still, lifeless form, encased in its icy cocoon, I knew there was no choice to make. He was my heart, my soul, the very air I breathed. A life without him would be no life at all, a bleak and colorless existence bereft of warmth or joy. What good was a legacy if it meant facing the long centuries alone?

"There is but one more part to the price, my king," Daraith offered. "One you should be aware of."

I turned to face Daraith fully, my jaw clenched against the dread pooling in my gut. "Speak it then, necromancer. Hold nothing back."

Daraith's gaze held mine. "You will lapse into a death-like state for twenty-four hours. You will experience death in his place, and whatever lies beyond. This will happen upon the completion of the ritual and every year hence on the anniversary. Do not accept these terms lightly, my king. Many have been driven to madness by this part of the ritual alone."

My breath hitched. To experience death, to cross that veil into the unknown realms beyond, not once but every year for the rest of my days... It was a prospect that chilled me to the very marrow.

I had seen death, dealt it with my own hands on the blood-soaked fields of battle. I had watched the light fade from the eyes of friend and foe alike, their last breaths rattling in their chests as their souls were ripped from their mortal shells. But to face it myself, to step willingly into that abyss... The thought alone was enough to make my heart quiver.

And yet, as I gazed upon Elindir's corpse, his features as perfect and serene as if he were merely sleeping, I knew there was no other path forward. Without him, I was lost, adrift in a sea of despair and loneliness. No price was too high, no sacrifice too great, if it meant having him by my side once more.

I drew in a shuddering breath, squaring my shoulders. "I accept the terms."

Daraith inclined his head, a glimmer of respect flickering in his obsidian eyes. "Very well, my king. We shall begin the preparations at once."

He turned to Aryn, who had followed us down. "We will require a surgeon and a death-touched mage. There are certain components that must be gathered, sigils that must be drawn. The ritual space must be prepared with the utmost care and precision."

A commotion at the entrance of the ritual chamber drew my attention. A messenger, pale and wide-eyed, stood at the threshold. "Your Grace," he gasped, bowing hastily. "Prince Khulan from the Yeutlands is demanding an immediate audience. He says it is a matter of utmost urgency."

I scowled, a surge of irritation rising in my chest. The audacity of this foreign prince, to make demands while I stood vigil over Elindir's lifeless body... "Tell him I am indisposed. Whatever business he has can wait until I have seen to my prince."

The messenger blanched, swallowing hard. "He anticipated you might say that, Your Grace. He bade me tell you that the matter concerns the lady Altani, and that any further delay would get…as he put it, bloody and boring."

My jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in my cheek. But before I could voice my refusal, a cool hand touched my arm. Daraith stood beside me, sympathy written all over his face. "Go, My King. See to this Yeutlander prince and his urgent business. I will watch over Elindir and begin the preparations for the ritual."

I rounded on him. "I will not leave him. Not now. Not after everything. He needs me here."

"I know your heart is heavy, but the ritual preparations will take time. Hours, perhaps a day. There is much that must be done—precise sigils to be drawn, rare components to be gathered. And the surgeon must be summoned and briefed. Go and see to this Prince Khulan and whatever urgent matter he brings before you. I will watch over Elindir and begin the rituals. He will be safe in my care, I swear it."

I closed my eyes, warring with myself. Every fiber of my being longed to stay here, to kneel at Elindir's side and never leave until he drew breath once more. But I knew Daraith spoke true. The ritual would take time, and as much as it pained me, my duties as a king could not be set aside, even now. Especially now, with the future of the kingdom balanced on a razor's edge.

"Send for me the instant the preparations are complete," I said and turned to place a small kiss on Elindir's cold forehead. "I will return soon, my prince. Wait for me, just a little longer."

Straightening, I turned to face the messenger. "Very well. Take me to Prince Khulan. Let us see what business is so urgent that it warrants interrupting a king in mourning."