Utopia Falling, page 33
With a statue-like gaze, fixed and off somewhere else, Reyne remained silent and stone-faced. He said nothing, nor signaled his support or opposition to either Mera’s or Mithany’s demands on him.
With a muffled huff, Mithany dropped her eyes and shook her head in disbelief.
Mera continued as though he’d been declared the victor. “Mithany and Arek, you two’ll stay behind and stand vigil at the family plot, mourning Reyne. It’s going to be hard on all of you. I’ll do everything I can to keep Reyne safe. I’m sorry Mithany, you can’t come with us. You’re the linchpin in the deception for Evidar hunters. You’ve got to be the one they see mourning.”
Bending her knee behind her, the sole of her boot scraped across hard ground. Her arms folded over her chest and her upper body leaned back. She pulled in a deep breath through her nose and her chest rose as her lungs filled with the night air. Mera appeared to be waiting for her acceptance, but she had none to offer.
Mithany and Mera glared at each other. She didn’t give an inch. Mera shot a hand forward and grabbed her wrist. He led Mithany by the arm far from Reyne and the others—out of earshot, where he made his final push. “Unless you want him dead, I have to take him away. He knows in his head he has to go, but his heart won’t release him. Neither of you can let go of the other. You have to be the one. It has to be you. He can’t… You have to. There is no later… He’ll be dead if he’s still here when later arrives.”
“I didn’t agree to any of this.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“You want me to be the one to push Reyne out of the nest? We’re days away from a new life together as husband and wife.”
“Scary people want to kill Reyne. He’s walking around with poison in his body from the first attempt. He won’t be so lucky next time. Reyne must leave otherwise they’ll kill him.”
“… unless I let him go.”
“Yes.”
“It ain’t fair! It ain’t fair to either of us. And by that bitch Teth, it wasn’t fair to Daedyn!”
A tsk escape Mera. His tone softened. “You’re right, it’s not fair. That doesn’t change what you have to do.”
“Why?! Why is this happening?”
“Why’s got nothing to do with this anymore.”
Without giving Mera the answer he demanded, other than the sour expression on her face, Mithany turned away and made for Reyne’s side.
She stopped, took Reyne by the hand, breathed slowly to calm herself, and looked down at Daedyn’s final resting place, contemplating the finality of death. Clarity of thought inched forward, taking over from where anger previously held ground. As difficult as it was to admit to herself, Mera was right. Accepting what she had to do did little to placate her fears—the harshest amongst them, losing Reyne forever.
“Give us a moment alone,” she said without turning to face Mera.
Mera nodded, and with Brenal and Arek in tow, they all walked far enough away to give the two a modicum of privacy.
Neither Reyne nor Mithany spoke for what seemed like a lifetime. Their eyes, filled with tears, fixed on the spot enveloping Daedyn’s shrouded body. The indifference she experienced previously radiating off Reyne was gone.
“He’s there with Mom and Dad,” Reyne said, breaking the silence. “It’s all my fault. I should’ve listened to that miserable fuck. I should’ve listened.” He lifted his gaze to meet Mithany’s. Holding her face in his hands, he delicately kissed her. “I can’t lose you too.”
It’s in his eyes, Mithany reminded herself, It’s always in the eyes. His beheld love, yet in there she also detected grief, sadness, confusion, and so much more. Mithany glimpsed all of it behind Reyne’s tear-filled green orbs. More than she wanted to believe, she spied unfathomable pain lurking there.
She had to let him go.
Yet, Mithany needed him now more than ever: to lie with him, to hold him tight, to wrap him in an embrace that would last forever.
Where would she muster the inner strength to do what Mera asked of her?
His eyes wouldn’t release hers. Love poured through their gaze. Her heart pounded. Oh god, I have to let him go.
Mithany turned away. It hurt too much. She couldn’t bear her pain. Even worse, she couldn’t bear his. The anguish he tried to hide from her proved too much for her gentle heart to bear. A future of profound loneliness looked back at her and almost broke her then and there.
All her love for him… all his love for her… burning into their souls—laid bare for her to see. Have strength, she told herself. Be strong for him. But she wasn’t—she couldn’t.
The diminutive young woman waged an all-consuming internal struggle to summon the courage for what came next. If she demanded it, he would stay.
She witnessed his inner ordeal about leaving her behind. Comprehension of the tremendous heartache Reyne silently endured throughout her protestations leached into her heart. The realization Reyne’s torment was all about her crushed her like a boulder dropped on her chest. And she understood, losing Daedyn fed into Reyne’s fears. The premature passing of his parents, the progenitor of the primordial fear driving him in life—to hold on to what he loved before death stole it from him.
The only option to protect her from the same fate as Daedyn was for Reyne to get far away. The internal conflict rended him apart. To hold on to all he loved, he had to let it go. Protecting her drove him, and leaving her was the only way to achieve it. But she hadn’t let him go, and her demands on him fed the torment in his soul. He wouldn’t leave unless she released him. Mithany came to understand all of it. She came to recognize the inner struggle thrashing at his very being. Unless she released him, this pain would kill him, if the hunters didn’t do it first.
While Reyne struggled inwardly with his unsolvable dilemma, she and Mera openly battled for his soul. They both argued to possess his future. She demanded he stay. Mera demanded he leave. Written all over his face, torment, driven by the opposing forces of love and terror, lay bare before her. She finally accepted what she had to do.
She had to save him.
She yearned to hold the love they shared through touch. Her heart burned to physically connect. As Mithany kissed him, his lips gently warmed hers. Love poured through them as their souls reached out to join as one. His kiss told her he never wanted to leave her, but he couldn’t live with himself if anything happened to her.
He had to go to keep her safe.
He had to stay because he loved her so much.
His eyes didn’t raise up to meet hers. She knew he didn’t have the strength.
She decided for them both.
She had to do it for him.
Mithany cradled his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. It was in that look he spoke to her in a way his words failed to. He told her he had to leave, but he didn’t have it in himself to do it.
Mithany had to gather all the inner fortitude her petite frame afforded to let go of her hold on him. Not for her sake, but for his. The intense consequence of her decision seared agony into her chest, as though someone had cut her open, exposed her beating heart, and ripped it from her trembling body.
She loved him even more because he couldn’t leave her. He was willing to face his own death to stay by her side, but he wouldn’t—he couldn’t—face her death. Mithany hurt so much, yet she had permitted herself to be the reason for his anguish. She loved him too much to let it continue.
It took all the courage she had to let the words escape her mouth, “I love you… but you have to leave me.”
Reyne’s head hung limp before her. Mithany waited. When he lifted it and their eyes met, she saw puddles had gathered in his. Words clumped in her throat as she held back the force of emotion choking off her voice. She would never have the strength to speak the words again if she didn’t speak them now. Mithany compelled them onward through strength of will, up through her heart, out through the tears, and into her throat. A faint hint of sound escaped. “It’s alright, my love, I release you.”
Water in her eyes clouded her vision. It was time for Reyne and Mera to leave. They had about an hour before the sun would be up, and Mithany understood Reyne had to be out of Hensdale long before.
The two lovers faced each other. Bringing his hand to her face, with his thumbs, he wiped away the water trailing down her cheeks. A single tear formed in the corner of Reyne’s eye. He told her, “I love you with all my heart, and no matter how long it takes or wherever I have to go, I will return to you.”
Gently at first, she pressed her lips to his. As her passion grew, she pressed against him harder and harder while her fingers rifled through his hair. One kiss to hold her desire for him until they were together again.
They pulled apart, and she reached down to clasp his hand in hers. Their eyes locked, and nothing on Earth or in all the heavens had the power to distract either of them in that moment.
In what sounded like a whisper, he said, “I’m ready, Mera.”
The sound of it tore her heart from her chest.
So much more than just his hand slipped through her fingers as he walked away. Looking back, he didn’t need to say the words. She saw it in his eyes. Love was always there when he looked at her. Remember that look, she told herself, those beautiful green eyes, unknowing how, or when, or if, she would ever see him again.
When Reyne turned away, her life changed—never to be the same.
Alone at the base of the Big Alphen, crying a flood of tears, with her face a concoction of salty water, snot, and mucous, she gulped at the air, grasping for breath. She watched the two men walk away. As the dark of night stole him from her vision and he faded from her life, her legs grew weak, and they failed her. Mithany fell to her knees. She turned to the heavens, clenched her fists, and poured out a soul-piercing scream of anguish.
And it was at that moment…
… she broke.
Breakfast Games
Teth: 28th day of the Salmon Moon
Kaythlin | Jerithan
Bells chimed throughout the Temple Palace announcing the eight o’clock hour and an end to morning devotions. Jerithan and Kaythlin sat alone in the First Lord’s private dining room. Each came with their own agenda, determined to dominate the other. First Lady Kaythlin reflected on how she so enjoyed the challenge of a head-to-head diplo-speak battle for information. She didn’t expect the impending mental engagement between herself and First Lord Jerithan Cree to move her to the same level of ecstasy Madrotti took her body to—over and over—only hours earlier. Although, she hoped the rewards of the mealtime encounter held the promise of an altogether different type of fulfillment from what she anticipated as an intellectually satisfying indulgence. With battle lines drawn, metaphorical combat broke out over breakfast between the Temple of Life and the Kingdom of Adelle.
First Lady Kaythlin approached the contest, as would any soldier facing an enemy, donned in proper battle attire and armed with appropriate weaponry. Kaythlin selected her civvies but was born with her weapons. She approached the imagined theater of conflict in a red-colored top, standing out in stark contrast to the greenery of the room’s decor. Most camo functioned to blend into the surroundings, but Kaythlin selected hers to stand out. Dictates of the psychological attack she planned required his full attention on her. She was armored in a fine, loose-fitting silk blouse that left her ample breasts to sway freely, untethered by the absence of restrictive undergarments. Nipples, experience taught her, could be quite distracting, and she planned to bring hers to bear. Deployment took little effort, a body shift here, a sway there to brush them against the silk fabric with the slightest of movements. She expected they would manifest as tiny weapons, once armed, aimed directly at his ability to concentrate on the business at hand. A tactical strategy borne out of her enemy’s weakness, lechery, aimed to disrupt his powers of unbroken, clear thought—if only moment by moment. A veteran of an untold number of diplomatic and other high-societal engagements, Kaythlin knew well that a momentarily exposed flank could doom an opponent.
A black leather skirt, comprising little material, completed her would-be uniform. With Kaythlin seated at the breakfast table, the very short dress remained sequestered as though in a foxhole during most of the battle-meal and didn’t expect to see much action. Kaythlin considered its potential deployment in retreat.
Her hair pulled back in a tight bun exposed the delicate yet gracefully aging features of her face. Deep-red lipstick intended to playfully tug at his keenness. She wanted him distracted, disarmed, and vulnerable once engaged in the arena, and getting and keeping him off-balance was the goal of the clothing she selected.
Astute enough to maneuver the political waters to anchor his ship in the harbor of the First Lord’s velvet chair, he had weapons of his own, known to be an intelligent, shrewd, cunning, and strategic thinker.
Look for the trivial things. He won’t make the big mistake. It will be the small missteps that will give him away. She needed every advantage she could get. From years spent in the political trenches, she learned to never underestimate an opponent, none more so than Jerithan Cree. Self-assured in her assumed superior intellect and matched with her god-given assets, all pointed at a probable victory in Kaythlin’s mind—if all went as planned.
Plans were only plans, and few survived intact upon first contact with an enemy. Kaythlin and Jerithan had to let it play out on the imaginary field of battle: the breakfast table. This was his game, and on the fictional chessboard, he played green in place of white, and instead of black, she played the color of her lips—red.
She appreciated he’d expect something from her in exchange for the information he provided at the Feast of Teth Ball last evening. Just how much information concerning Adelle’s push for electrics at the upcoming Council meeting would she reveal, she had yet to decide. A decision to be made in the ebb and flow of battle.
Skilled at diplomacy and with a reputation amongst the congregation of being thoughtful and pious, the public held the First Lord in high esteem. Kaythlin went deeper in her understanding of the man. Reputations are often the product of well-planned marketing campaigns for people in the public eye. Well-placed Adelleian informants and years of experience dealing with Jerithan exposed the First Lord’s true nature to Kaythlin. A man consumed with his own self-importance, and a bit of a letch, formed the foundation of her assessment of Jerithan Cree. The Gift of Flesh stood out as his weak flank. Her approached focused on that very weakness as an opportunity to be exploited.
Time to deploy.
Kaythlin arched her back, taking in a slow, deep breath. She could feel her body strain against the silk fabric. Covertly, she spied his eyes dart across her chest ever so discreetly and caught the corner of his lips rise ever so slightly.
Got you.
She laughed to herself and held back the urge to roll her eyes. She might have been disgusted with him but for the importance of the outcome.
“My dear First Lady, you must call me Jerithan.”
“Thank you, First Lord—excuse me, Jerithan.” She allowed silence to linger a moment before proceeding. “And you must address me as Kaythlin.”
“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, perhaps you and I might enjoy a friendly meal.” The First Lord grinned.
Kaythlin smiled back. “Jerithan, thank you for inviting me to share this delightful meal with you this morning.”
“Kaythlin, I’m pleased to have you all to myself.”
“I am happy to be here, just you and me. Besides, Madrotti’s off to some meeting, preparing for his opening address to the Council. There isn’t anywhere I would rather be.” She let that sink in. “I would not have missed breakfast with you for anything. I am grateful to have the opportunity for this one-on-one time. Just you and I.”
As the imagined-chess-game began, Kaythlin theorized he desired to control the mood by selecting a light, non-aggressive, nonthreatening setting, hoping to put her at ease. She considered it, his first mistake. Few across the continent of Tartica could match Lady Kaythlin in grace and charm. Jerithan dreamed he played in the same league, and his overestimation of his own skills was to her advantage.
Delicate diplomacy abandoned him. Flustered at the sight of strained fabric holding back heaving breasts, Jerithan blurted out, “Electrics. Why now?”
He’d advanced his symbolic opening move, deploying a piece to the center of the board.
Kaythlin tilted her head to the side and brought out her own piece to challenge his. “We can most assuredly discuss that issue. However, with your approval, may I offer a topic dearer to my heart? I am interested in hearing what you have to say about events of the other morning involving my husband and some unexpected guests inside The Stand.”
Jerithan’s eyes lingered perhaps because of the small protuberances making themselves known through the loosely fitting silk top. Constant brushing against the thin red fabric brought them to his attention.
The Voice broke through Jerithan’s preoccupation, “Good thing the Chancellor’s not here today, huh?”
Startled by the Voice in his head and all too aware he’d lingered much too long with his look, First Lord Jerithan returned his focus to her words. Looking up discreetly to gauge whether she was aware of his indiscretion, he concluded she was not. He felt proud, like when he was a little boy stealing hotcakes from the baker, getting away with something that he should not have. It delighted him. It emboldened him. It pleased him more than anything.
“Of course, you appreciate this is of great concern to me, as a friend of both you and Chancellor Tomelai. From my position as First Lord of the Temple of Life, having such a terrible event occur to someone I invited to join me to celebrate the Feast of Teth is an affront to me as well.”
Two servers entered the room. Jerithan turned back to First Lady Kaythlin and offered, “Ah, this would be coffee and tea. I prefer tea myself, however I am given to understand you enjoy coffee.”
