Page 4

Each second seemed stretched into a minute. Then an hour. Time slowed to a stop.

Areanel’s trembling hands clenched, fisting the white grains of sand between her palms as she hesitated. It was a split second of doubt—that this was real. That it wasn’t some form of torture concocted to break her down. But, oh, was she wrong. As soon as she lifted her shaking hand towards the broken boy, she knew.

Smoothing his damp curls, still sticky with blood, Areanel removed any obstructions from his face. That vice-like grip around her heart squeezed ever tighter, forcing her to feel the overwhelming despair.

A strangled, fragmented sob spluttered from her quivering lips as cracks began to fracture through her denial. This was real. Her son was dead.

Power roiled, whipping back and forth as the flame inside her rose alongside her battling emotions.

Heavy footfalls hammered against the ground. ‘Resmundur!’ Areanel heard Rymedur’s voice shout from a distance, but she could not tear her blurred vision away from the fragile form that was once her brilliant, lovable boy. ‘Resmundur!’

Booted feet rushed towards the lake, and the sound reminded her of a war drum. Thump. Thump. Thump, the boots fell in a rhythm. But they were too late. Resmundur’s heart would no longer thump again. Shadows crept across the sand, stretching ever closer.

‘Areanel!’ Rymedur called to her, and a sound like a sigh of relief escaped him. Areanel heard his hastened steps slow, along with those who had followed. ‘Thank the gods you found him. Is he alri—’

His shadows paused their hectic movements. His words, his steps, his breath—his very heart—stuttered. She knew he had seen what she had. Knew that he had witnessed the same horror she was experiencing.

The shock. Denial. Guilt. Grief. It was too much.

She needed it to stop. Wanted it to end.

Areanel felt like she was drowning. The world leeched itself of colour. A burning sensation bubbled within; she struggled to breathe.

Shadows took corporeal form, whipping towards her and the figure cradled in her arms.

‘No.’ Rymedur dropped to his knees beside her. His broad shoulder knocked into hers, jostling her to the side, but Areanel refused to move.

She clung to the small, broken figure in her arms, eyes glued to his face. Features unrecognisable—but never to her. Areanel would know his delicate face even if she were blind. She was his mother after all.

‘No. No. No.’ Rymedur’s voice cracked. ‘Resmundur, wake up. Wake up, son.’ A warm hand came to rest on their son’s chest, still cradled in Areanel’s protective arms. His shadows curled around them, and a different kind of chilling despair settled deep within her bones as they climbed and crawled over Resmundur’s disfigured remains.

Salty tears lined tracks across her cheeks before falling onto her lips. Words lodged in her throat. Clogged full of the emotion she did not know how to voice, prayers long forgotten—because what god would allow such a heinous crime to claim her innocent child?

‘What hap—’ Rymedur’s stuttering sob forced her to focus on his words even as the world spun. ‘What happened? My sweet boy! W-why were you out here all alone in the dark?’

Blinking back furious tears, Areanel finally forced her gaze away from the remains of her son and glanced around, finding a dozen pairs of eyes staring back.

She hated their looks of despair and pity. Her brothers looked as broken as she felt, but it was her father, with his stoic, immovable presence that made her pause.

Something flickered in the corner of her eye. The dense forest canopy that bordered the lake was oddly silent. Not a single sound. Then, a streak of silver dashed within the darkness, so unnaturally fast that Areanel could not see what it was.

Rymedur hunched over, his hysterical cries and desperate pleas shattering her already broken heart and the fragile hold she had on the power within.

Resmundur felt too cold in her arms. His tiny body, broken and torn—almost like he was gorged on by the sirens that infested the lake—grew rigid.

Areanel shifted her weight, bringing him closer so that she could warm him with her body, but her swollen belly prevented her from drawing him near.

Moving her arm to wrap around his gnarled shoulder, she noticed something peeking from beneath, hidden by blood and his shredded cloth.

She pulled it out, one arm still wrapped around her son, then shook with rage as she stared at the torn red rag.

How many times had she seen the same dyed rag? Blood red with the symbol of Tar-Angulócë; a silhouette of a dragon in flight at its centre. A symbol to those who opposed their monarchical state.

This belonged to a rebel. And if this were here, then…

This was her fault. It should have been her. Resmundur was an innocent victim, but she was not. Why hadn’t she come sooner? She could have stopped this from happening.

Shadows continued to whip and lash around her as though they were in pain, and Areanel felt their sorrow like a palpable, living thing.