Rest In Pieces

2

James

Back and forth. That was how James paced as the days dragged on, the light faded away. It was dark in his cell. He was lucky to catch a ray or two during the sunrise.

Footsteps. Those were rare. James' head snapped up as he heard them. It must have been days since someone had visited, perhaps more.

James gripped the bars when he saw who turned the corner. He did not rattle them, but he pushed. Oh, he pushed. He would get to them.

"What are you doing here, Arcane?" James seethed, glaring at the tiny thing. Her hair had been cut short since he'd last seen her. Her eyes were still slits.

"She is not Arcane anymore." Airo's voice was calm. His eyes were steady.

"And you," he said, with a sly grin. "How did you even get down here?"

"The old King is dead," Xadya announced. She looked up at Airo. "Long live the new one."

"Enough of you, please," Airo requested. She rolled her pale eyes. James noted colour flushing against her ears. Perhaps they weren't lying.

"Let's see your markings, then," James ordered. Her eyes narrowed as she tested him. James did not back down. Xadya had always been ranked higher than him, but he had no trouble ordering her about. Especially since she'd locked him away.

James stared her down, watching closely as she pursed her lips. Then, she turned so Airo could unzip her dress, exposing her back and shoulders to him. Each one had been seared off individually, leaving dark scars on her skin as replacement.

She would never look the same.

"Her heart beats," Airo said proudly, guiding her as she turned back to face him.

"Impossible," James snapped.

She raised her eyebrows, challenging him. "Would you like to feel it, Jamie?"

"Don't call me that," he sneered. "And yes, get over here."

"You are harsh today."

For her, James was harsh every day. He ignored her. She came close and he stuck his hand through the bars, feeling her ribcage. It held her beating heart.

James met her colourless eyes, hand moving to her neck so he could feel her pulse. "You look different," he said softly, reaching for her hair.

"Did you not hear the part about my father being dead?" Airo demanded, impatient.

James squinted at him, searching for an answer.

"Oh," he realized. "You're home."

"Yes," Airo breathed, "I'm home."

Airo

Xadya was not the first ex-Arcane to exist, but she was the first Airo had seen up close. Watching her was something he had missed terribly when he was away.

She still carried herself the way they did. She still looked just as intimidating. When Airo requested her excommunication, the practitioners warned him she would never fully return to herself. Not from before the Initiation. But certain parts, the rough parts, would fade.

Airo watched her shoulders, held evenly along her spine, stick-straight. Her hands shook often, but she clasped them away, forcing the movement to stop. And she muttered. The voices rarely stopped, she had said.

"Xadya," Airo said, snapping her out of her trance. "Come." He beckoned her with two fingers, and she was at his side almost instantly. "Which one, do you think?"

She looked at him sideways. "Did His Highness really just call me over here to pick an outfit?"

"Quit calling me that."

Xadya sighed, pointed at the left option. "Black one. Blue doesn't suit you."

He turned to her, tilting his head. "Are you in any pain, mì dazhka?"

She squinted. "That was quite random."

"Answer," he ordered, and she caved.

Xadya would not look at him. "A little." She swallowed, perhaps over a lump in her throat. Xadya did not cry. "I suppose I knew it would last a while."

"Perhaps we should cancel tonight," Airo suggested with a shrug.

"I don't think we can cancel your coronation, Airo." She was teasing, but quickly corrected herself. "Sir," she stammered. "S—sorry."

"It's all right," he soothed, rubbing her back just gently. She wouldn't do it again.

Xadya shook her head as if she didn't know what came over her. And then she hurried into her rooms, away from him.

"Xadya—" Airo called after her, but she was gone. "Hey," he said softly. She stood, staring into her wardrobe, contemplating her own outfit. Or perhaps her mind was elsewhere. "It's all right."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, as he folded her up in his arms, gently stroking her hair.

"I am not my father," Airo soothed to her. The King had been cruel, even to his comrades, and did not have many. If Airo was not careful with Xadya, he would lose her too.

Xadya's shoulders dropped as she melted into him further. Airo was able to reach into her closet and pull out a dress he knew she'd like. Then, as she clutched his doublet in her fingers, he unzipped the back for her, leaving it for when she was ready.

"Get changed, dazhka," Airo urged. "We have an evening to get through."