Page 118 of Spring Guardians & Songbirds

“She cares for Nia.”

That is what I was afraid of. “Care is overrated. I cared about this little cactus plant once when I was little—perhaps more than cared. I adored it and made it the best of my friends, yet I let it starve and die when all I had to do was water it once in a long time. And do you want to know the lesson it taught me?”

“A cactus is the worst plant to make friends with?”

“That, too, actually, but no. I learned that something that needs my constant care to thrive is tiring. What happens once Moriko realises she has to constantly water this relationship they have for it to exist? Nia wants to feel it, it is how she is. She wants to bask in it. Because she craves it. What happens when Moriko can no longer give Nia what and how she wants it.” A hard lesson I’d learnt from my mother. Except that I’d always been the cactus, and she’d grown tired of watering me though I never asked to be watered much. Her care and the way she cared were like a drug, one she grew tired of giving. I never asked for water altogether, all I wanted was a bit of her sunshine. At least then I would have withered under her rays. But then like every abandonment, I learned to be a weed and feed on my own. And once I did, another’s care never mattered much to me—leastways not to crave it.

He suddenly halted and so did everyone. Turning to Moriko and Nia, he said, “Would you give us a moment?”

“Please steer from daggering each other. Let’s keep this bloodless, shall we?” Nia warned, following after Moriko.

“This was not about a cactus, was it?” he asked, and I faltered for a moment.

“Twas,” I said, folding my arms nonchalantly.

He ran his fingers through my hair. The action was so soothing, my eyes shut, and I accepted the comfort—it was how a woman in love would have acted. “Who would starve this cactus? I would have overwatered you. Made you the best of my friends.”

I scoffed. “Me and you would have never been friends under any sort of circumstance.”

“How so?”

“I’ve wanted to fuck you the first time I’ve laid my eyes on you. And I don’t have those sorts of friendships.”

The way his temple twitched had me thinking the man was chained and imprisoned—already suffering under my tortures. “Are we pretending?”

“When have we ever stopped?” Liar. Liar. Liar. Sick. I was so sick.

When his mouth began lifting to a smile, I turned on my heels and walked the rest of the corridor distance. At the last turn, a glistening open space lined with chairs came into view. Pillars rose to the open ceiling, and between them, thin layers of gossamer swayed at the touch of the summer breeze serving as walls. In the middle of the pillar circle floor stood a gold painting of the sun and right above the open ceiling rose the heaven of Hemera, parallel to it. The heaven followed the rulers of Solarya, wherever they were, it stood above their heads. A crown in the sky.

King Magnus Vayr sat in a ring of chairs circling the open space that wasn’t quite a room. Tall and lean with a rich dark brown skin that became a pool of shimmers under the sun, Cora took side next to her husband. The sun queen was a thing of distinct beauty, something I’d only read of in tales of fairies and nymphs. Magnus on the other hand was a massive man, an inch or so taller than Kilian, long thinly braided hair beaded with gold bands and pearls, his Solaryan attire of a sheer white blouse and a loose white kilt ended above his knees to reveal muscle carved through hard work. The rosy scars contrasting his dark skin highlighted the number of years he’d spent as a warrior in his father’s army before he was king. The two were mighty in paeans and panegyrics sung about them, but they were mighty before us, too. The light and the healer. The couple the whole realm spoke highly of.

The couple exchanged a strange look before focusing on me like I was some fascinating creature and I couldn’t help the irritation bleeding in my voice, “I am told it’s rude to stare.”

“You speak Tahuma,” Magnus said with some humour, pointing for us to take a seat.

However, on our side, there was only one seat. For Kilian.

“Apologies,” Magnus said with absolutely no apology. “We entertained the idea of this meeting without considering you might be telling the truth. You ought to forgive us that we thought it to be but a time wasting sham.” He barked a laugh. “The hunter and the hunted married and in love at that. Who would think of such a carefully spun tale?”

Kilian guided me to take a seat while he leaned on the seat arms, slinging an arm protectively around my shoulders. “Worry not,” he said with bite in his words. “We are well accustomed to your quirks. You have been ruling this kingdom for sixty years. It ought to catch up with us.”

My eyes snapped to Kilian and his unusual tone.

Magnus’s artificial smile twitched just a little. “Henrik was always so soft spoken.”

“My father is dead. A fact you are well known with.”

I couldn’t help but feel strange at the man beside me. The way he spoke was not one I’d witnessed before, not even in his meetings.

The Sun King faltered a little. “As I expressed in the letter we sent, your father was a great loss to this continent. To be taken from sickness at his young age was very unfortunate. We were very sorry for your loss.”

“Were you?” Kilian asked with some surprise. “I wouldn’t have thought that when you sent eight ships to attack Lyra a week later. The men were quick to speak after some care from our Empaths. The mind is a breakable, dainty thing.” He crossed one leg over the other. “Not exactly certain what you were wishing to achieve with that…little gesture.”

My mouth parted a little. What? Was this the scale of their animosity?

Magnus laughed—it was one of unease. “A test for the new king.”

Kilian looked as stern as ever. “One would think it was a test for a kingdom with a new king. Did I pass this test of yours or fail, Magnus?”