A Shade of Dragon 3(57)
Nell cocked her head and smiled, even with her eyes still faintly pink from shedding tears. “How do you know about Romeo and Juliet?”
I grinned. “It would depress you to realize how well-educated I am.”
My grin must have been contagious, as it leached onto Nell’s mouth in turn. “Then you’d have known that they weren’t real.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. But give me my point, would you?”
“Your point?” she goaded, feigning obliviousness.
“What do the gods know about you or me? Who is to say that they didn’t pair me with Michelle from sheer spite, or boredom? So… just forget them.” I ran my fingers lightly over her cheekbone and into her hair, tucking a strand behind the crest of her ear. “I want to follow my heart. And if the path under my feet doesn’t take me in the same direction, I’ll cut a new path. I’ll shave my obstacles down into stepping stones.” I took a deep breath and offered her a deeper smile, a warm smile of sympathy and consolation. “I knew that I was throwing more than just a weathervane into that vortex. But—Nell—look at where manipulating the stars has brought my people. You said it yourself earlier today. Maybe, if we hadn’t altered those discs to make us the most comfortable and secure people on this island, we could have avoided the war altogether. Maybe we should just stop trying to force our flawed notions of perfection.”
“Your logic is inconsistent,” Nell complained. “In one breath we should denounce fate, and in the next, we should allow it to run its course.”
“In all our breaths,” I said, “we should let ourselves be happy… and trust the pieces to fall in the right places. Or not. And it doesn’t matter. The question shouldn’t be, ‘Was I perfect? Did I do everything the way I was told that I should? Did people stand back in awe of me? Did I beat everyone else?’”
Nell grimaced, and I knew she was disturbed by the notion of being non-competitive. You didn’t have to be a psychologist to understand that the basis of her friendship with Michelle was largely a twisted urge, in both of them, to show the other one how they were supposed to do it.
“The question,” I finished, “should be, ‘Was I fair? Did I treat others with respect? Did I enjoy my choices? Did I appreciate what I had?’” I put my mouth close to her ear, to make sure that she could hear this. “I appreciate what I have,” I whispered. “I couldn’t ask for anything more. And tomorrow, if the gods themselves came to the coronation and offered me the stars in exchange for you… I wouldn’t take a single one of them.”
Nell smiled at me, and though the sadness had broken away from her, her eyes still shimmered behind tears. “You wouldn’t?” she replied, hoarse with the restraint of a sob.
“Of course not.” I laughed and touched her cheek. “A teaspoon of star stuff weighs about ten million tons. How impractical would it be to own one? Where would we even put it?”
Nell laughed, but shoved at my chest and broke eye contact, trying to step away from me and my insistence on merry-making, but it was the night of my coronation! The war was over—for now, and maybe forever, at last—and we were wed! I pulled her to me and crushed her laughing mouth against mine, driving one palm into her reams of silken hair and the other lowering to caress the curve of her lower back. I felt the chill from the window melt off of her as our body heat mingled, built, and coalesced.
“Be serious,” she breathed between our mouths, though I knew that she didn’t mean it. Her body bowed and flowed with mine as if we had been welded together.
I pulled away from her—only enough to gaze into her eyes—and offered my own ragged, windswept smile. “I am being serious,” I told her. “I knew when I threw that astrolabe into the portal that I was sacrificing more than just our eternal summers on the island. But… I don’t need any more than just you. Perhaps the astrolabe gave my dynasty a power which was too great, and too far-reaching, to bind the hands of the gods as it did. To ensure that our wishes were always held in their favor.” I cradled her torso against mine, pressing our foreheads together so that there wasn’t even a sliver of space left. “We have destiny, and we have free will, and that is enough for me.”
That night we slipped off into an easy sleep, side by side, docile and complete, and were awoken in the morning by an elated Altair. Elated, and rambunctious. Nell didn’t even stir, save to sigh sleepily and turn from the source of the sound. It was I who grumbled and nestled deeper into Nell’s dark hair, glaring up at him from the warm nest of blankets.