Whispers Waltz Around Our Dreams . . .
Losa hadn’t opened her aura since strangling it back on the mountain. She could feel it writhing helplessly inside of her, pressing against its confines like an eruption building in a bomb, and still the stubborn princess crushed it without mercy or concern for her own safety. When she felt herself wanting to open up just a little . . . to reach out for consolation . . . she gritted her fangs and choked back harder, desperate to prove her own strength at the expense of sanity. Losa knew this pointless game of “I don’t need anyone” was dangerous. The rainbows were not created to be alone or isolate themselves—their entire purpose revolved around the sharing of their presence. Their availability to the world was an obligation, a duty, even, for their lives exuded the peace and happiness meant to heal life itself. Selfishly hiding an Arcus Irae away for ones own pleasure was tantamount to guarding a stream during a drought, or eating a feast while all around you starved—hence why Duma’s imprisonment of the rainbows struck the land as so heinous. From the time she’d been born, Losa had not belonged to herself: she belonged to the kingdom. To her people. To any and all that sought her help, her guidance, the mere joy of her laughter. The throne meant abnegation of the highest order. And yet here the ex-heiress suffered of her own poison, willingly committing the very sin Duma had been denounced for.
She had severed herself from everyone. Her Ofers, her mate . . . her sister. Her own heart. And the pastel dancer had the nerve to weep about it while she tightened her soul’s tourniquet herself. Equal parts selfish and repentant. Because what she was doing was wrong, and the pain of that knowledge bound punishment to action. Losa deserved to suffer for hiding her suffering. And still this agony fell short of what she craved, what felt right to atone for all she’d failed to do. If she could eat out the pulse in her chest, she’d do it. If bleeding out would solve anything—anything at all—Losa would stand on a rock and open her arteries for an audience. She’d bare her neck to a vampire. Please. I’ll do anything. Just make it so I can’t mess up anymore . . .
A fist formed at the back of her throat, tears threatening to spill. With a quiet growl, Losa swallowed them back—gagging on the damned lump—and picked up her pace. Dawn traced thin wisps of rose and buttercup through the cornflower sky; she’d chosen to leave Dierne Hrof just as the sun rose, so that no red-eyed leech might dare cross her path. Morning never kept other dangers away . . . but at least she could leave her fear of the undead back at Aindreas’s kingdom. Long legs carried her effortlessly across the terra so that the soft sylph seemed to glide over the grass. Mountainous terrain gradually rolled into gentle hills . . . then vast plains . . . all as the sun climbed higher in the heavens, casting a golden halo about her sorbet robes. When Losa scented the air, she drank in the heady perfume of blossoms and fresh grass. The one she searched for had not left his cologne anywhere along her path . . . though to be honest, Losa had no use for such trails. This other Arcus Irae—an unknown male—projected a heartsong she could follow with her eyes closed. All the ex-royal needed to do was focus on his aura, and the boy would lead her straight to him.
By the time noon hung directly above and the sky blazed perfect blue, the night-gloved lady realized she required a break. As much as she appreciated the distracting burn of exertion sizzling in her lean muscles, the rainbow couldn’t trot much farther; she forced herself to make a detour toward the sound of running water, her treacherous thirst taking precedence over her search. Just a sip of water would do . . . just enough to prevent her from dying, or collapsing before she’d discovered the male Arcus Irae’s whereabouts.
Paws crept to the bank of a massive river—too wide and wild to swim across by herself. A finger of the current curved into the banks, forming a smoother inlet, and here Losa dipped her head to drink. She hadn’t realized how hot she’d grown until the crystalline coldness poured down her tongue. With a murmur of appreciation, she dunked her whole crown in—tossing it back to spray glittering droplets across her back. Bliss. Or as near to bliss as she’d allow herself, given that her soul remained firmly locked within her bones. Would she risk unleashing the barest thread, if only to alert the other rainbow to her arrival? Or would she simply greet him out of nowhere, relying on her impossible gown to prove her bloodline? Surely the boy would feel confused, presented with an Arcus Irae that felt as empty as a shell . . . but Losa had more to worry about than the brute’s comfort. She needed to know if he’d found safety, first of all, and to offer him sanctuary if not. She’d lost her status—rightfully so—yet Losa could not exorcise the overwhelming drive to protect that seethed within her. Somehow Losa still knew how to act like a princess, and if she had to pull rank on the soldier to get his attention—
Movement slithered from the corner of her vision. Losa stood bolt upright, cotton candle hackles lifting like the plumage of a bird along her nape. She hadn’t realized that she’d been followed . . . or that she’d crossed paths with a stranger. Swiping moisture from her lips with her tongue, she boldly called out. “Hello? Who goes there?”
☽Arcus Irae Princess | Sister to Zawyne | Chained to Duma | Bound to Hurricane | xathira☾