Luminous

71 - Dying Wish

(A few months earlier)

In the loose embrace of pale fingers like spider legs, the melted arrowhead gleamed orange in the firelight and silver in the moonbeam.

Sylvia pulled up the blanket to shield her son's hand from the night chill. With a tender finger, she guided streaks of damp hair away from his sweat-peppered forehead. Coris's breath petered through his parted lips, ragged and feeble. Even under the influence of laudanum, his brows remained crinkled towards each other in apparent pain.

Sylvia lay down beside him, smoothing his hair as she whispered tender words of reassurance, even as she knew her son would not hear them. Familiar, heavy footsteps clomped on the carpet towards them. She looked up to find her husband of twenty years standing on the other side of the bed, his head bowed and his eyes downcast. His hands were overflowing with curious silhouettes, and he set them down beside their son before one could tumble and startle him awake.

"Found these stashed away in his drawer." He reached across and offered Sylvia one of them, then settled back down with a tortured sigh, his head in his hand, "How long has he been hoarding them?"

Sylvia turned it over and over in her hands, as the firelight revealed it was a baby rattle. She raised her gaze to the pile of whatnot before her husband and made out a jumble of dolls both human and animal, wooden tops, dream-catchers, and cloth balls. She whipped around to her slumbering son.

"Oh, Lexi."

Her heart throbbed in anguish as his raised voice echoed in her ears. The times they had argued. The harsh words they had traded. And all this time, he had suppressed this hopeless craving under his cold, unfeeling façade. Kellis's sigh chorused with hers.

"He wants to leave behind a child. Understandable."

"Why won't he just admit it?"

"Probably doesn't want to orphan it. Or burden it with The Axel."

Sylvia allowed silence to descend between them as she recalled, recoiled and recovered. She knew Coris wasn't to blame. She knew Kellis had never meant to harm their little boy. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that had Kellis been more honest, more fair and less exacting as a father—had she herself been a present mother, had she not been so distracted, so occupied with enjoying whatever was left of her youth—Coris would never have felt the need to turn the whole of Latakia against him, just to win their love and approval.

Sylvia blinked away the burning sensation in her eyes, swallowing them to the depths of her heart. She squeezed the rattle to still her trembling hands and ground herself in the present.

"We have to find him a wife." She hung her head, sighing, "But, who would willingly have their daughter marry him? Unless..."

Sylvia trailed off as the notion crossed her mind. Kellis nodded.

"Olivis Crosset would be delighted."

Sylvia tensed. She knew that tone—it was as if she could hear the calculations going on in his brain. Her grip on the rattle tightened.

"Lexi would never go through with that."

"We'll take good care of the lass. She'll be honored and respected." Kellis insisted. Sylvia shook her head, her eyes fixed upon the bed.

"It's not enough." The tip of the arrowhead peeked out from Coris's blanket, and she glared back at its challenging glint. "He's still holding out for her."

Kellis was silent for a breath. Then, he heaved another sigh. Sylvia shared his dilemma. They had choices, of course, but what use were they when all those choices had irreconcilable drawbacks? One was a known enemy. The other, Coris would refuse point-blank out of honor. Whereas the last—