I Shall Rewrite the Stars

Chapter 29

***

Peace is a blissful, wonderful feeling.

I long for the sensation, missed already when it begins to fade. Only as a heaviness gnaws at me, a vile taste on my tongue and dull ache in my head revealing that I’ve returned to the waking world, do I realize what peace is.

Or rather, what it was.

Gentle arms, unyielding though kind; a large hand, guiding and protecting through every course of my young life.

The more awake I become, the more they fade, and the worse I feel. Too many times to count I heave torrents, until my sore throat can take no more and my weak lungs ache for breath.

At some point, whispers gradually form tangible words around me, and Cearion’s voice changes to Juba’s to Aakesh’s and back.

“If she never wakes, it will be all my fault,” Cearion says. “I thought I was strong—at least strong enough to protect my family. Now look at us-”

“Alive and breathing, for the most part,” Juba says. “Just as your parents wished for you.”

“Should I be happy that I am still here, when they are not?”

“You should be happy that Selene changed your fate.” His voice lowers, laced with sadness. “Imagine what she lived in her visions. You pity yourself now, but she lived a future where one by one, your entire family left her all alone in a wickedly cruel world.”

A bit of time seems to pass, and Aakesh begins a new conversation.

“I never told her to trust me, though I knew she wanted to,” he says. “Even when I walked away, she didn’t appear the least bit upset. She could have died, and not once did she...”

“Selene’s a selfless person,” Juba tries, while Cearion scoffs.

“Leanie’s been taught all her life to put her people first. Being away from home doesn’t seem to have changed much. She sees you as hers, so she’s done all she can for you.”

Such conversations keep me company, until my lids twitch, and my tired eyes look up at the blurred edges of fleeing stars.

“-we’ll speak about it after you’ve recovered,” Juba whispers, his gaze turned up toward the sky. Against my shoulder, his thumb rubs soft circles. Beneath my cheek, his heart beats an even rhythm. Around my neck, his scarf keeps me warm. “I can never offer you a grand palace, but a simple life might still…”

“Juba?” I ask in a dry croak.

His eyes shift toward me, lining with silver as our eyes meet. “Selene?” Juba whispers, the happiest smile lifting his lips. “You’ve slept for days.”

“I…” I cough. “Forgive me-”

“Drink. Then we’ll talk.”

A small mud-cup presses to my lips, its contents strong and burning. I manage two sips, groaning at the taste.

“What is that?” I ask.

“A medicinal wine,” Juba says, setting the cup at his hip. “I mixed in a pinch of herbs from a vial-”

“Do not waste your medicines on me,” I huff weakly. “You worked too hard to gather and hide them.”

“I would use all I have, if it would revive your health.” Juba holds my eyes, his thumb brushing along my cheek. “You’ve been so violently ill, Selene. None of us were sure if you’d make it.”

“The spirits of the moon and sea were furious,” I admit. “Despite the odds, it appears that fortune has favored me this time.”

Juba sighs, leaning so close, his breath fans my lips. “Never again ask me to continue living, if you have any more intention of sacrificing your own life.”

“I’ve no skill for fighting,” I say. “Wielding the blessings of the spirits, was my only option to help stop Cyrus.”

“And I will not fault you for defending yourself, even to such an extreme. But I fear you’d have done all you did, even if Cyrus hadn’t incessantly targeted you.”

“Should I have sat on the side and watched you all die-”

“You should have kept faith in us. And if we’d failed, then you should have set your mind to living on without us.”

I wish for all the world that I could keep my head high and glare Juba down. But exhaustion maintains its hold on me, forcing my cheek back to his chest.

“I’ve done so once before. Never ask me to do so again,” I whisper, as my eyes slip shut.

Juba’s thumb resumes its circles, this time against my temple, whilst his fingers weave into my hair. “I know what life was before we met, and I’d rather die than return to it,” he says. “But you’d wish for me to go on, if you died.”

“It was one of my last thoughts in the life I foresaw.”

“Is that a part of what it means to love, then? To wish for someone to keep going, to find happiness again, even if you can’t share it with them? Even though they were so imperative to everything that made you the happiest?”

“I…I think so,” I say. “I was never able to share my true feelings, and you were never meant to use the word love when speaking to me. I know what I feel, what I believe myself to feel, but I don’t know what it means to love and be loved in return.”

“Since the night I heard your true feelings, I’ve thought endlessly about the two of us," Juba admits. "What do I feel? What do I want? What should I do about it? Where do your feelings, wants, and needs intersect with mine? Do I acknowledge you at all, knowing the risks it poses to us both? If I don’t, can I live knowing that I have broken your heart?”

“Do you still struggle with such questions?”

He nods. “Many of them, and many more since we spoke in the cave. Together we have laughed, fled in terror, fought for our lives, confronted great powers of the world, taken chances, made mistakes—we’ve shared so much in so little time.”

“It feels like a lifetime,” I say, to which he smiles.

“It does. A lifetime I never dared dream of! Though I doubt many could dare dream of all we have faced.”

“Does having faced it bring you happiness?”

“Meeting you has made me realize that I’ve never lived till now. I went through the motions of life, but I never truly lived until we met, Selene. Of all that you’ve gifted me, a second life is by far what I feel the most grateful for.”

My heart shivers, torn between joy and disappointment. “A second life that you can live how ever you desire.”

His gaze softens, a breathy laugh bubbling from his mouth. “Why do you sound as if I might spend that life without you? Do you believe me so selfish, that I’d accept this gift and forget its giver?”

“You owe me nothing, Juba. So long as you live and breathe, and are happy, I have all I could ask for in return.”

His hand shifts to lace our fingers. Then slowly, Juba sets my palm over his heart. I feel it beat, quickening and warm beneath his tunic. “Tell me what this is,” he begs. “Tell me why my heart does this when you’re close. Why it races when I think of you. Why it aches when you’re sad or hurt or afraid.”

All the air flees my lungs, and Juba presses my palm further into his chest. “Tell me why the thought of losing you changed everything in an instant. Why did all I’d considered that I might feel—that we both might feel, become so apparent the moment you lost consciousness?”

“You might just be…overwhelmed,” I try. “The gravity of the situation-”

“Didn’t bring anything new to the surface. Instead, it took so many questions, too many hesitations, and forced me to see a future where I make the same mistake in this life, that I must have made in the life you foresaw.”

I swallow hard, almost too frightened to ask, “What are you saying?”

The pink gracing Juba’s cheeks darkens, but his gaze never wavers from mine. “I don’t want to rush anything. I don’t want to swear oaths or promises, or begin planning a future so far away we can barely glimpse it. All the same, I cannot—will not, leave you guessing at the truth that lies in my heart.”

He pauses, taking a breath before he says, “I don’t know what love is, and surely not what shared love must be like. But what else can I rightfully call what has grown between us? What else can make me feel so much that I’ve never felt before?”

“Juba,” I ask, needing to know—to be sure—to hear it said aloud. To hear the words I was fated to die longing for. “Do you love me?”

His lips part in the most brilliant, beautiful smile. “I think I do. And if I do, then I want to know more. I want to know how much more I can love you—how much more I can feel just by knowing that you love me in return.”

“I’ve waited two lifetimes to hear that,” I say, breathing a laugh as tears fill my eyes. “Yet it has come when I am ill, and unable to face you as I’d like to. I don’t know if I should feel ashamed or embarrassed or-”

“Nothing of the sort,” Juba says, nudging my cheek back to his chest. Setting my hand in my lap, he squeezes it tight. “If this was the wrong time and place, then it is my fault. You’ve nothing to feel bad about.”

“I’ve imagined so much, yet here I lie like-”

“Like the most beautiful person I have ever met. Strong enough to overcome terrors beyond mortal comprehension. Brave enough to face it head on. Kind enough to consider all else, when you could easily think solely of yourself.”

“You truly believe such things about me?”

“I love you, so of course I do.”

A warmth washes over me, heating my cheeks and chest, swelling to fill my being until all that remains is happiness. Pure, unwavering happiness. “Say it again,” I beg. “Please-”

“I love you,” Juba says. “I must have loved you in the future you saw, too, and I will forever curse that foolish me for never telling you so.”

More tears slip from my eyes, both for the me I am now, and the me who was destined to die all alone. “Again,” I whisper, eyes clenched as Juba’s arms tighten around me.

“I love you,” he says against my hair. “I loved you then, I love you now. I will love you over and over and over, no matter how many lives we live—I’m sure of it! For whatever our fates might be, loving each other must be a destiny that no one and nothing can change.”

Basking in his confession, which he whispers each time I ask throughout the night, Juba and I cling to one another till the sun has risen and the last pinks faded from the sky. Choosing to keep our newly disclosed love to ourselves, until I’ve spoken with Cearion that is, we loosen our grasps only once a murmur breaks the loving bliss that has encased us.

“Up all night again, huh?” Cearion groans around a yawn. “I’ll take over. Get some sleep.”

“I can stand a couple more hours awake,” Juba grumbles, craning his neck to look back. “But you can keep Selene company for a bit. She should eat soon, if she can stomach it.” He looks at me. “Do you think you could hold down something small?”

“I’m not hungry,” I say. “I feel-”

“Leanie?” Cearion gasps, falling to his knees beside Juba. Eyes flooding with tears, he rips me into his arms, swaying us while he cries, “You woke up—you’ve finally woken up!”

“You’ll make her heave again if you keep shaking her!” Juba snaps, to which my brother stills.

Holding me close, Cearion sets his eyes against my shoulder. “I thought I’d lost you, too,” he whispers. “How could I face a future without Mother and you? I couldn’t—I can’t do this all on my own.”

“You could, and if you must, you will,” I say, smiling when he jerks back with an angry glare. “There’s so much to talk about, Ceari, though I’m honestly too tired right now.”

“But?” he asks.

“But in the future I saw, there were many times after you’d died, when I would think of you. I’d hold my head high, and try to be as brave as you’d wish me to be.”

Lips quivering, Cearion hangs his head. For all the grief he gives Helios about being a crybaby, he’s always been just as fast to burst into tears.

Though, I suppose I am the only one who is ever there to see it.

“You won’t re-live such a terrible fate,” Cearion says, sucking in a deep breath as he meets my eyes. “I won’t allow it—I refuse to let such a thing happen in this life! So don’t you dare act so recklessly, again.”

“If it means saving our lives, I will do so without apology,” I say.

“As your pharaoh, I forbid it.”

“Ceari-”

“You will live a long, long life this time, Selene,” he huffs. “We’ll gather Heli and Ptolemy, save Kemet, fix everything there, and reign in peace and comfort till the end of our days! Just as Mother and Father wished for us.”

Knowing he will not waver, I nod, prepared to voice my relent. But as my mouth opens, Cearion says softer, “If the worst does somehow come to pass, if I’m meant to die in this life, too, then swear you won’t come after me a second time.”

“Never,” I say. “I’m not strong, and I have little of Mothers gift for wisdom, but I am still alive. So long as my heart beats, I will come to your side when trouble arises, Ceari. Never will I betray or abandon you.”

Though he sighs, his lips rise back into a lopsided smile. “The correct response to your pharaoh is: as you wish. But we’re both new to our titles, so we’ll work on getting used to the formalities, together. Alright?”

“Right." Turning to Juba as he kneels, my stomach growls at the sight of a small, brown-filled wooden bowl in his hand. “Where did you find rice?”

“Aakesh decided that Arun would recover best at their temple, so they began the journey home yesterday evening,” Juba explains. “Aditya arrived this morning with the rice and a jug of wine, courtesy of his brothers.”

“Oh. How kind of him.”

“Don't feel down already. We’ll join them at the temple once you’re well enough to stand,” Cearion says. “Worry about yourself, till then.”

“For once we agree,” Juba says, smiling at me as he scoops a bit of rice with a wooden spoon. “Eat as much as you can manage.”

“Eat it all,” Cearion commands.

I laugh, accepting a bite whilst the two bicker.

This is such a happy scene. So normal. So wonderful. It stirs my heart, and suddenly, I wonder if bliss can exist beyond Mothers arms and Fathers hands. If so, then I will find it—more of it. I will hold it close and never, ever will I let it go.

***