youth. It was spring, and the sky was blue, and dragons glided outside—not haggard survivors, but gleaming dragons of blue, gold, and green.
"I'm home," he whispered.
He left the bed and found that he wore a green tunic with a silver collar—stars, he remembered this tunic!—and that his body was younger, slimmer, not scarred from war. He looked at his shoulder where, a year ago, wyvern acid had burned him; the flesh was unblemished. He touched his cheeks and found them smooth, his beard gone.
Are these the halls of afterlife? he wondered. He had always imagined them like glittering columns and starlit halls. This felt more like a memory come alive—a memory of youth when everything was bright, fresh, and pure in the world.
He moved through his room, laughing softly, disbelieving. He ran his fingers over his cherrywood table. He lifted the statuette of a turtle, the one he had carved for Solina. He looked out the windows to see Nova Vita roll across the hills, bright in the spring sun, her birches rustling.
This is Nova Vita years ago, he realized. The potter shop below the hill was only being built now. The cypresses outside his window were still young.
It's ten years ago, he thought. Maybe nine. And I'm only eighteen here, a mere youth and prince, not a haunted, scarred king.
Under scrolls and books, he found his handheld mirror and looked upon his reflection. His cheeks were softer. His brown eyes had seen less pain. No scar rifted his face; that face was young, thoughtful, and pale.
"Solina always did say I was too pale," he mumbled.
"You always were," came her voice from behind him.
He turned to see her at the doorway, and his breath left him.
She stood barefoot, leaning against the doorframe, and gave him a crooked smile. She wore one of his old tunics. It was loose around her, and she was naked beneath it; he could see the golden smoothness of her legs and the tops of her breasts. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, rivers of platinum like water under moonlight. She was young here in this memory, closer to twenty than thirty, and her face glowed with youth, and her blue eyes stared at him with all the temptation and coyness of forbidden young love.
She's beautiful, he thought. This was not Queen Solina, the cruel tyrant of Tiranor, the mad woman she had become. No. This was his Solina, the young Solina he had loved, the Solina he had pined for, the Solina she had been. This was the woman who had filled his bed for years, then his dreams for years after that. This was Solina of sunlight, of stolen kisses, of maddening love and sex and flame.
"Solina?" he whispered.
"I am here, Elethor," she said. She walked toward him, took his hands, and smiled. "It's me, El. It's me. Do you remember?"
Her hands were soft and warm. He held them and looked at her, and looked around, and his eyes dampened again.
"I remember. Solina, how—"
She placed a finger against his lips.
"Does it matter?" she whispered. Her smile left her, and her lips trembled, and she embraced him. She clung to him desperately, and her fingers pressed against his shoulders. "Hold me, Elethor. Hold me tight."
He held her. They stood like this for long moments, and her tears wet his shoulder. He caressed her hair, and suddenly he was no longer King Elethor of Requiem, a jaded warrior. That man faded away, and he was Prince Elethor again, eighteen years old and caught in her light, and this was real. This was him again. This was home, this was youth, and the world was bright and no darkness could fill it.
"How can this be, Solina?"
She looked at him. A tremulous smile found her lips, and she touched his cheek.
"I made this place for us," she said. "Do you remember this day? It's the day your father, brother, Lyana, and all the others flew east for some fair. You and I remained here in Nova Vita—no duties, no dinners, no obligations, just… us. Just a perfect day of sunlight and being lazy and…" She lowered her eyes shyly. "And making love." She looked back up at him, her eyes damp. "It was our day. A perfect day. It was the best day of my life, El—the best one ever. It is the best day. We can relive this day now! Again and again forever, and… and the others will never come back. There will never be war