I agreed that he would have made a fine leader, and told him so.
“The bargain price for half a song is a kiss. One kiss that convinces me utterly that, were circumstances different, you would have chosen me. A single kiss that evokes the finest within me. That and your word that you will not wield the song for four human hours from the moment we part.”
“Why?”
“Sh.” He placed a finger to my lips. “Because I said so. Is that not what your Barrons used to say to you so often? Cede me the same respect. What did you say to him that day? ‘Because I asked you to, Jericho, that’s why.’ Trust me, MacKayla.”
I exhaled deeply.
Then I slid my hands around his neck and leaned in. As my eyes began to close, he said, “Eyes open. I am not your Barrons and will never be. Nor would I wish to. I am Cruce of the Tuatha De Danann, High Prince of the Court of Shadows. And you are MacKayla Lane O’Connor, Queen of the Court of Light. Convince me on another day you would have chosen me as your consort.”
I convinced him. I’d kissed him many times before, taking his True Name into my tongue. I saw things so clearly now: good and evil didn’t exist, there was only power and choice. Power went where you willed it, wrong or right, dark or light.
And before he vanished, he passed me the other half of the Song of Making, as he’d said he would, leaving his final words lingering in the air.
Tell the world the legend of Prince Cruce of the Court of Shadows. Omit the kiss, and paint me majestic. Lead my people well, MacKayla.
He’d given us back the world, the universe.
I vowed that I would.
MAC
For the next three hours, I sat in Barrons Books & Baubles, teeth clenched, doing everything in my power to simply hold in the song.
It didn’t want to stay in.
The moment Cruce passed it to me, the second half instantly inverted and joined with the first as if completion was the only way they could coexist within me, eradicating any concerns I might have had about how to flip and join them.
Also eradicating my concerns about how to wield it.
It wanted to be sung. It sensed the distress of the world and sought to repair it. Right now, this very instant. And if I dared open my mouth, it would come gushing out.
But I’d made two promises I intended to keep: wait four hours, and tell the world the legend of Cruce.
So I sat, lips clamped tightly together, holding it in, watching the clock, trying not to think at all. I was so bloody thirsty. Hungry.
Try keeping your lips pressed together for four hours. It’s damned near impossible.
I sat motionless, breathing slow and even, afraid I might burp or sneeze. Holding my mouth closed with my hand, swallowing yawns. Making funny noises in the back of my throat when I needed to cough.
Thinking of Barrons. Of my sister.
I’d lost them both once, and gotten them both back. I’d never been happier, because I’d drunk deep of grief and it had made my joy all the sweeter.
I was going to kill my sister again and quite possibly Barrons. And probably Christian.
There was no easy path. If I didn’t sing it, everything that existed would eventually be destroyed. But to sing it, I had to kill people I loved.
I didn’t trust myself to see Barrons. I knew if he came to sit with me and we tried to spend these final hours together, I’d fail to keep my mouth shut. And the moment I opened it, he might die. Yup. Not in a hurry to go there.
But Alina I could handle, and I needed to see her. She would definitely die and I needed to have one last chance to say goodbye.
I couldn’t talk but I could text.
Alina, I’m at BB&B, please come.
My screen flashed instantly.
What’s wrong????!
Nothing. Promise. Just come.
She was there in ten minutes. We sat on the couch and I texted messages explaining what had happened, to which she replied aloud.
And when the talking was done, my big sister smiled and hugged me and told me that she understood because, although she’d been confused at first, eventually her memories had cleared.
She knew she’d died in that alley.
She told me her last thoughts as she’d been dying. Her life hadn’t flashed before her eyes like people said it did. She hadn’t thought for one minute about anything she’d done or wanted to do, or about money or fame or success.
The only thing she’d thought about at the end of her life was love. Whether she’d said it enough, shown it enough, felt it enough. And when the dying had gotten really bad, she’d escaped into memories of the vast store of love she’d known, and the pain had vanished and she had no longer been afraid.
She said that was what life was all about and if you were wise you figured it out long before you died. I’d given her more time, a chance to say goodbye to the world she’d known, and she was grateful.
And she was proud of me.