Chapter twenty-seven
Alessia
My hands tremble as I disperse the last of my healing magic through Aurelio’s body. I’m fighting unconsciousness as my head injury and the magic overuse join forces to threaten my wakefulness. I keep going round and round in a cycle of nodding off, jerking awake, seeing Aurelio’s wound, and frantically trying to feel him more.
“Gods, why do you have to be so brave?” I whisper. “You could have run away. The Oni was probably after our meat; you can smell it from miles away, as good as it smelled roasting over the fire. It probably would have stolen our food and left.”
But of course, there’s no guarantee the Oni would have taken the food and left us alive. If Aurelio had run, who knows what would have become of me? I was out cold for a full five minutes, which is plenty of time for a powerful Oni to make quick work of me. Guilt pools in my stomach as I watch Aurelio’s shoulder continue to bleed.
“You weren’t just protecting yourself, you idiot. I know you were protecting me,” I breathe.
I pour the last of my magic into Aurelio’s wound. I think I lose consciousness, because when my eyes flutter open this time, the gray haze of dawn is appearing over the horizon. Our fire has burned down to just coals, and Aurelio’s shoulder has finally stopped bleeding. I scramble to his side, checking the wound, only to sigh gratefully to see that it’s closed enough to heal on its own.
“I should probably clean that before it gets infected,” I mumble.
Just as I step toward the brook beside our campsite, however, my knees tremble violently, then suddenly give out. I blink up at the sky from the ground, my body refusing to respond to my pleas. All my muscles have completely shut down while I’m in the process of replenishing my magic reserves.
“Well. This is poor timing,” I say.
I lay there, completely still aside from the occasional rise and fall of my chest. This is the annoying part about ancient magic: no matter how hard I try, I will always hit a point where my body completely shuts down on me, and there’s nothing I can do. It’s a liability in close battles, especially battles against powerful monsters such as Oni. If I’d been adventuring alone, I would be nothing more than a pile of half-eaten flesh right now.
I find I’m able to move my head just the slightest bit, so I turn it to look at Aurelio. He’s still sleeping peacefully, a slight smiling gracing his face as he lays there. I can’t believe he managed an Oni completely on his own. It’s a step up from the average wendigo, but when it came down to it, he performed. He refused to lose.
Or…was it that he refused to let me die?
My face burns as I think about it. Aurelio had been shouting furiously about something that included my name while I was lying there, half-conscious after the Oni’s initial attack. I’m pretty sure he was telling the Oni off for hurting me, as far as I can remember. It’s not like the Oni can understand him, or that it would do him any good in battle; the only reason he would have shouted that is because he was truly furious about me getting hurt.
I’m starting to understand why people dream of knights in shining armor coming to save them, I think to myself, smiling. I’m just glad I can be his knight in shining armor, too.
The sun rises, and I watch it from the ground, still unable to move as the first rays of sunlight peek out over the forest. At least I’m able to witness the land washed in the beautiful orange-gold rays of morning light; it’s rare that I get an opportunity to simply lay around and watch the sunrise. I usually spend all my waking hours running like a headless chicken, putting out fires, managing idiots, and correcting issues before they become mini explosions. The life of a queen is busy, and there’s never a dull moment.
For once, I find myself wishing I could be a simple adventurer. The thought strikes me as odd, because I’ve spent all my young life training and preparing to be Queen of Celestia, and I’ve never regretted it, nor have I wanted anything else for my life. The life of royalty has suited me well, and the parts that aren’t so great have always been overshadowed by the glory of high-stakes decision making, intense training, and the great payoffs of risk taking at such a high level. Being busy is my favorite thing to be. I’d be bored if I’d grown up a commoner.
Still…there’s something appealing about watching this sunset, with nowhere to be and no one demanding my attention. There’s nothing saying I have to get up anytime soon, that I have to be at breakfast at a certain time, or that I have to rush to prepare for my entire day in the span of the first thirty minutes I’m awake. I can simply relax and watch the sky.
Is this what they talk about in those books? I wonder.
I glance over at Aurelio again, his angelic face kindling the warmth in my chest all over again. I’ve read great stories of heroes, and I’ve read classic coming-of-age tales, and I’ve even read some romances, but I never understood why those stories about common folks living an ordinary life appealed to me so much. The storytelling was phenomenal, of course, but there was something about it that held my soul in its warm embrace that I just couldn’t put my finger on. Common folk rising to occasions; lords and ladies running away to be with their commoner lovers; kings and queens choosing a simple laborer to be their forever loves; commoners becoming knights, then taking on the role of royalty…the list goes on and on, and still, I hung on every word, each story transporting me through the life and livelihood of a person in a station of life I can hardly understand.
I’m starting to think that the stories did not appeal to me because I could empathize with the heroes and heroines, but because I wished I could understand how they felt. Their slow mornings fresh-brewing coffee; their days spent toiling away in the fields, side by side with their children; their moments of weakness and terror, transformed into moments of heroism; their nights spent combing their wives’ hair, or bathing together with their lovers; it’s all so mundane, something that I thought boring as a child, but when I look at Aurelio and picture us doing the same…it brings me unfathomable joy. It’s magical, plain and simple.
I would never abandon my station in life. I am the Queen of Celestia, as is my birthright, and as is my choice. I’ll always do what is necessary to bring glory, safety, security, and prosperity to my people, but I have a feeling I will always long for the days when things become simple, and it’s just Aurelio and I, walking hand in hand through life.
I’ve fallen so hard in so short a time, I think to myself, shaking my head. It’s ironic how incredibly weak I thought those characters were, falling head over heels like they did. I still don’t believe in love at first sight, and I highly doubt those stories were realistic, but the one thing I have learned is true is that you can fall in love with someone in a single moment, even if you’ve known that person all your life. All it took was a spark, and my heart caught fire so unexpectedly. The harder I tried to put the flames out, the more I fanned them.
The way I feel about my husband was said to be inevitable, but I beg to differ—I think we’ve created these feelings, accidentally, through momentous occasions, through mundane moments, and with all the surprise and embarrassment a human being can feel. Those books couldn’t have prepared me for the way I feel now. When I hold Aurelio in a warm embrace, I feel as though I’m holding my entire world. The love I felt from others before can’t compare to the way this feels. It’s like comparing sun-warmed stones to a raging bonfire. It’s so unpredictable, changing intensity and direction on a whim like the wind, and I have absolutely no control over it.
Honestly? This is the one thing I don’t mind having no control over.
I feel the strength returning to my limbs, and bit by bit, I manage to stand up. When I finish steadying myself, I stumble toward our wood pile, grab a few more pieces, and toss them onto the hot coals of our fire pit, fanning the flames until they catch onto the dry bark of the wood. Soon, the fire is crackling again, and the meat I’d stored in the metal box is roasting on the spit for reheating.
Naturally, the tantalizing scent of roasting meat finally rouses Aurelio from his sleep. He sits up groggily, wincing as he tries to move his left shoulder.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’re still bound to be sore,” I say.
Aurelio blinks blearily at me. “Alessia?”
“Yeah, it’s me, you big dummy. Who else would it be?”
