Rothe's Arc

Chapter 10 of 11

The brazier still burned when they returned to the cottage. Miri set the cracked lantern on the table and sat on the edge of the bed. Rothe drifted close, watching her hands. She had guided the dead through the fire without flinching, but her fingers trembled now. He waited. Whatever came next, he would stand at her side again. Miri pulled a small glass vial from beneath her pillow. The liquid inside glowed soft silver. "Father left it for me," she said. "He said the crown will pull me thin if I stay only half rooted here." She looked up at Rothe. "If I drink, I cannot follow the spirits across. I will stay. With you." Rothe gathered his light into a steady shape beside her. He could not lift the vial. He could only hold the fire she needed to see by. He brightened, and she understood. She drank. The glow sank into her skin and faded. Outside, in the grass beneath the window, small yellow flowers opened in clusters and would not close. They burned soft as candle stubs, scattered with pale gold sparks. Miri rose and walked to the door. Rothe followed, and this time the air moved around him like it moved around her. At the monument, the brazier waited. He raised his hand, and the flames rose at his thought alone, climbing high and steady, shaping into a crown, a tower, a gate. He held them without strain. The fire was his now, fully, the way breath belonged to the living. Beside the brazier, a tall carved pedestal had risen from the stones, blue and gold light running through its veins. Miri set the cracked lantern upon it. The water inside stilled. The flame above burned even. "This is ours," she said. Rothe stood at her left, fire steady in his palm, and knew the threshold had a keeper now. The mortal road still waited beyond the trees. He could not yet guard her there. But he would learn. He had time, and so did she.