“I dumped quite a long tale upon him this morning,” Iohmar says, remembering Ascia throwing herself into the old fae’s arms and Galen bursting into tears a moment later.
“Hmm.”
Rúnda watches the rippling creature pluck individual grasses slowly, without greed. It doesn’t appear interested in them. Soon, Iohmar will bring Ascia here, and she can meet the creatures her magic taught to speak.
Rúnda’s fingers find the backs of his. Her words are a whisper. “You are doing a brave thing.”
Tears burn his eyes. He has been an inexcusable amount of ridiculous these past days.
Their kiss is so soft that he could be caressing the wings of a butterfly—a few stolen kisses hidden among the spring grasses. She closes her eyes and leans the bridge of her nose against his, their faces tucked together. Warm wind curls her hair and tickles it across his cheeks.
“I do not believe my illness is something that will fade,” he tells her, speaking soft enough that it doesn’t feel as if he’s breaking the surrounding magic. “I do not believe it will ever be accustomed to the way it is threaded to Lor’s life. I am strong as ever when I recover, but it was not the shadows that caused it. My appearance was different because of them—they clung to my skin—but this illness . . . it was my own actions, a change in my own magic, and I believe it will return.”
Rúnda raises her face to his.
“I fear it a little. I . . . cannot help the feeling,” he tells her. “But it is not something to dread, not even something to be upset over. It is simply how my magic heals itself. I realize I have not told you as much about it as I could have, but I will answer any question you ask. And . . . if you wish it, I will send my crows when I am ailing. It would . . . comfort me, for you to be by my side.”
Her eyes shimmer, lips quirking. “You are very loved, Iohmar.”
He presses his lips to the soft skin in the corner of her eye, allowing himself to be held. “As are you.”
“I think this is a ploy to see me more often.”
“Once more, you’ve seen through my ruse.”
“Hmm.”
“Come with me. I wish for you to meet Ascia.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “I know that name. You’ve spoken it before. Long ago.”
“Yes,” he says, rising and pulling her in the direction of a sunbeam breaking the twilight sky.
“Oh no,” she says, digging her bare feet into the soil. “This turn is mine, king beneath the earth.”
Iohmar smiles.
Tugging him into the clearing, she wraps her arms about his chest. He tugs her to him. Gales rise, twining their clothes, tangling Iohmar’s hair about his horns. Winds sweeps them up with chill hands, whipping them back toward the great mountain and over the sky.
32
The End
Seven crows fly to their king beneath the earth.
They speak to him of humans and strange magic, of jewels they collect from mortal lands.
Iohmar sits at his desk and listens to their gossip. When he is ill and Lor is nestled in the covers beside him, he lets them sit on his wrists and cackle on and on as Ascia perches on Galen’s knee and draws, her shadows slipping into dark spaces of his room, watching over him. Sometimes, he holds Galen’s hand. Rúnda shoos the birds when they become pests.
They speak of the rippling lands and their growing trees and spreading waters, of Rúnda’s ships sailing the great, wild waves, of vast deserts and the moments when the trees in the heart of the woods wake from their slumber and sing. And once or twice they bring him news of great flying beasts impossibly like dragons in places far and far from the king beneath the earth.
They do not speak of sunlight or bring news of shadows, for those dwell within his mountain.
Thank you for Reading!
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About the Author
Emily McCosh is a graphic designer and writer of strange things. She currently lives in California with her two parents, two dogs, one tree swing, and innumerable characters who need to learn some manners. Her short fiction has appeared in Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Shimmer Magazine, Galaxy’s Edge, Flash Fiction Online, Nature: Futures, and elsewhere.
Her fantasy and science fiction collection, All the Woods She Watches Over: Stories & Poetry, and was a finalist for the Next Generation Indie Book Awards, and she publishes an ongoing web novel titled In Dying Starlight.
Find her online on her writing YouTube channel and TikTok full of wild writing skits and bookish content.
Website: oceansinthesky.com
YouTube: Emily McCosh
TikTok: emilymccosh
Instagram: emily_mccosh
Facebook & Twitter: @wordweaveremily
Acknowledgments
