Avery (Random Romance)

  ‘I am.’

  ‘I’ve had Migliori tended to,’ he went on calmly. ‘It’s a long flight home.’

  My heart constricted.

  ‘Will you leave in the morning?’

  I could do nothing but nod.

  Ambrose smiled a half smile. ‘Your family will understand, when they see you. They’ll know it was right for you to live.’

  My throat was too thick to speak.

  ‘Things will be different now,’ he murmured under his breath, eyes darting up to the horizon. ‘Our countries are finding ways to live alongside each other without bloodshed. They’re finding ways to forgive.’

  I nodded jerkily.

  ‘And I’ll muddle through as best I can.’ He grinned.

  ‘Ambrose,’ I said. Panic struck – blind panic – and a sense of my own foolishness. Speak, I willed myself. You must speak.

  ‘Mm?’

  The water had been still but suddenly I seemed to be able to hear the sound of crashing waves in my ears. I could feel the rocks hard and smooth beneath my feet.

  Ambrose turned his back to the sea, looking at me with hooded eyes. He was beautiful in the sinking sunlight. He was always beautiful.

  ‘What’s wrong, Ava?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I murmured, voice scratchy. Then I said, ‘I love all the pieces of you.’

  He froze, his tall frame finding an impossible stillness.

  ‘I’ll do anything for you,’ I whispered. ‘You’re so … you love so big, Ambrose – so bravely. You’re the best person I’ve ever met. You’ve saved my life and taught me what it means. You give so much and ask for nothing in return – nothing. I’ll— I’ll do anything, if only you’ll consider me the way you once did. If you could just … think about it? One day, when you have time? Because I’ll be here, forever – for the rest of my life and yours. I’ll wait until … I mean, I’ll do anything. I’ll give you everything I have, which I know isn’t much, but I’ll love you, as high as the sky and as wide as the sea. I’ll love you like a wild thing who cares about nothing else. I’ll be yours, every piece of me. I’ll fight for you. I’ll die for you – gladly. I’ll—’

  He held up a hand, a quick brand that stopped me in my tracks. There were tears streaming down my face and I hated them, but they didn’t matter – only he mattered.

  Ambrose stared at me.

  I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear the terrible vulnerability. I knew what was coming, the rejection. There was no way in this life that he could feel anything other than resentment for me. In ten months he hadn’t said a single word about his feelings and, in truth, I believed they died when his brother did. Yet here I stood, rambling like a lunatic, unable to give up hope.

  ‘I would never presume to deserve you,’ I whispered.

  He shook his head, very quickly. ‘Ava—’

  ‘Please, listen to me. I don’t … I could never expect to have you. I’ve been cruel and selfish. I didn’t understand what a gift you were, but I need you to know that there’s someone in this world who loves you more than life, more than anything. Who admires you and respects you and trusts you. I belong to you, Ambrose. Only you, and I’ll die for you—’

  ‘Stop, Ava!’ he said very loudly.

  I stopped. My chest felt empty, like someone had hollowed it out and left me only the ugly, bleeding remains.

  ‘I don’t want you to die for me,’ he said clearly.

  I held myself very still, knowing I had to endure this – had to endure the heartbreak I deserved, the heartbreak my dumb blindness had earned for me. But then he moved, my Ambrose. He turned very, very slightly, just enough that the light of the sunset caught his eyes and showed me how they glistened.

  I froze, not understanding his tears.

  And then he said, ‘Are you really so blind?’ Smiling, he shook his head. ‘I’m yours. I’m completely yours, and all I want is for you to live.’ And then he crossed the rocks and took me in his arms, ducking his head to kiss me breathless.

  Our gazes were gold, but it didn’t matter, I didn’t even care. I would have loved him no matter the colour of his eyes.

  Roselyn

  I didn’t make wishes anymore. These days I had so many to make, but as most of the wishes were impossible they hurt me too much when I did make them. I still counted. Out on the coast of Pirenti, next to the oyster farms, there was a lot to count. I was finally away from the fortress, from all the people with their pitying, staring eyes. The only people who came here were the ones who needed my help, and that was all I’d ever need – my medicine, and Thorne, of course. Out here, with my son, there was a great deal to count.

  Sometimes I counted the rhythm of the waves slapping onto the shore. Sometimes I counted all the fish I could spot. Sometimes it would be the birds I saw, or the many thousands of oyster shells I could see out my window. Often I counted the steps between patients’ beds, how many centimetres of liquid I gave them to drink, how many stiches they might need.

  Mostly I counted my son’s breathing, how many times he cried during the night, all the little sounds he made during the day, how many times he laughed in a week … I’d named him after his father, and they shared the same deep blue eyes – eyes that seemed to make the laboured beating of my heart so much stronger.

  And always, every night, the three of us would count the stars until we fell asleep.

  Ambrose

  Slowly, very slowly, we started to see the change that came over my country. When she was here, Ava would tell me stories about all the men and women and children she came across – all the stories of how happy they were and how well their families thrived. No longer were the men employed to leave their families for military training or to fight in wars that killed them.

  She would tell me softly, in the darkness of night, how a child’s laughter had made his mother smile, or how she’d seen a woman working in the field alongside her husband, or how the oyster farmers on the coast had waved to her in the sky as she flew past on Migliori.

  Most days she would also talk about Avery. She told me story after story and he grew so vivid, so real in my mind that it came to me quickly that I missed him. I actually missed this man I’d never met, with an ache that set my bones alight. It was a strange emptiness I couldn’t fill.

  One day I told her a thought I’d had on one of my nights alone. It was simply this: the bond didn’t tear a couple apart when one of them died – instead, it finally joined the two halves of one soul together, and that’s why there was so much of Avery inside her.

  The day I told her that was the day she asked me to marry her.

  Then she told me more stories about Avery, long into the night, and I felt my eyes change colour, as they often did now. When she disappeared, as I always knew she must, off to her duties, I was comforted by the fact that I knew without needing to be told that she would come back to me. For all the days that the world turned.

  She didn’t dress as a boy anymore and sometimes I found that I missed Avery – the Avery she had been, as well as the one in the stories. That’s when we would ride into the forest and stay there for days at a time, surviving only on the food we caught ourselves, sleeping by the fireside at night, swimming in the ocean and telling each other stories. Once, not long ago, we even sailed back to our island and visited the Kayans there, setting free all the prisoners and sending them home. In doing all of these things I’d remember that my best friend – the determined little pretty boy who’d started all of this in the first place – was still there, inside the woman I’d come to love more than I’d thought possible. He was still there, in her spirit, her passion and her arrogance. He was there when we argued, when we cried, when we laughed and made love.

  And so it made Thorne’s absence just that little bit easier to bear, having someone with whom to share his loss. I had my people spend a moment each month remembering him, always frightened that his memory would somehow be entangled with the memory of the Barbarian Queen. His son would come and liv
e with me when it was time for the boy to start learning how to rule Pirenti, and even if I had children of my own, Thorne’s son would always be heir to the throne. It was all I could do, in this life, to show my brother how much I loved him and to acknowledge all that he’d sacrificed in order to make us into a new country.

  Ava

  Grief is a funny thing. It can make you feel like you’re broken, can make you believe you’ve lost a part of yourself, that you’re incapable of smiling and laughing, but the truth is, it’s all an illusion. The only thing that can allow you to see through it is the people in your life, no matter what size or shape or sex they are, no matter which country they come from or whether their eyes change colour. Just the people.

  On the eastern side of the fortress, there was a wide balcony that curved around three walls of the top floor. It was a different balcony to the one that overlooked the courtyard where all our ugly memories waited – this one overlooked the ocean. At the end of this balcony was a large iron statue, and standing before this statue was where I found him, as I’d known I would.

  This feels like coming home, a newly awakened part of me acknowledged as I arrived here after having been gone a month. He was as still as the statue itself. Ambrose had been this way since his brother’s death – quieter, more thoughtful, and gentler. It was always the stillness that struck me, though – it wasn’t something I could understand, as I had restless tremors beneath my surface at all times.

  Footsteps as light as I could make them, I approached soundlessly and slid my hands under the back of his shirt. He didn’t startle, and I knew he must have heard me. The warm pulse of his blood beat beneath his skin and muscles, and I pressed my lips against his spine.

  ‘Maria, I’ve been waiting for you,’ he said.

  ‘Very funny, idiot.’ I dug my fingernails into his skin, making him wince and grab me.

  ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, kid,’ he smiled.

  ‘Sure you wouldn’t prefer Maria?’

  ‘After much comparison, I’ve decided she’s not as good at kissing as you are.’

  I punched him in the shoulder and he laughed, kissing me soft and sweet. I breathed in the scent of him, relief swelling at the simple pleasure of having him close.

  ‘Your parents?’ he asked softly, resting his forehead against mine.

  ‘Tired, sad and kind.’

  One of his large hands moved to cup the back of my neck. ‘I want to meet them.’

  ‘Da won’t even speak your name.’

  ‘He’s a wise man,’ Ambrose replied. ‘I haven’t earned that right yet.’

  I shook my head. ‘You’ve earned it a thousand times over. He’s just old-fashioned.’

  ‘A name is a powerful thing.’

  ‘Yours, King Ambrose of Pirenti, belongs to you.’ I swallowed, meeting his eyes. ‘And so does mine.’

  He nodded, the smile in his eyes growing sad and proud at the same time. He ran his fingers along my jawline and then we turned together to look at the statue.

  Thorne’s bronzed face was in shadow as the sun sank behind him. I thought it a perfect likeness, except for the eyes. I believed they were much cleverer in real life than they were in this statue. In two days it would be the anniversary of his death.

  I watched as Ambrose reached out and ran a thumb along the smooth surface of Thorne’s clenched fist.

  ‘You were the giant,’ I heard him tell his brother.

  Sighing, he turned and faced me, and I saw him pull himself out of the grief, as if he could be strong enough to do so by will alone.

  ‘I have an idea,’ I said.

  ‘You, my love, are full of ideas.’

  ‘Would you like to go for a ride?’

  He smiled slowly, pale blue eyes sparkling. ‘With you and Migliori? I can’t think of anything I’d love more.’

  The people of Kaya have always died in pairs. It is our gift; it is our curse. For a woman who has bonded twice, who has loved two men in her life and who knows the intricacy of both the pleasure and the pain of it, you’d think I would know the answer, but I don’t. I still don’t know whether the bond is good or bad. But if I had to take a guess, I’d say that you can choose – you can make it whatever you want. If you let it, it will seem like a curse, but if you are strong enough, and brave enough, you can make it a gift, the most precious gift you’ll ever be given.

  The people of Kaya die in pairs. With the forging of the soul magic, so is forged an unbreakable bond between those in love. When one dies, so shall the other, and forever will it remain so …

  – extract from the words of Agathon of Sancia First Warder of Kaya

  When one dies, so shall the other, and forever will it remain so … unless in the turning of the world the day comes when one is born with both the frozen blood of the north in his veins, and the hot winds of the south blazing through his soul. Then shall he, and only he, have the power to break the unbreakable bond.

  – extract from the full and hidden words of Agathon of Sancia

  First Warder of Kaya

  Here ends book one of The Chronicles Of Kaya

  Read on for an extract from Thorne, the next book in The Chronicles of Kaya series

  Chapter One

  Thorne

  There are red clouds in the sky and they are dripping blood.

  I tilt my face back to feel the drops on my skin and taste them in my mouth. They are acrid and familiar, their thickness as always a disturbing reality. I can feel them filling me up, filling from the tips of my toes, up my legs, my stomach and chest, my arms, my neck, right up through my throat and mouth until they reach the very top of me. When I move all I hear is slosh, slosh, slosh.

  And then I am leaking blood that is not my own, and it hurts, it hurts.

  ‘Thorne.’

  It’s feathers and rosewater and shadows, that voice. It’s every part of me that I like.

  ‘Thorne.’

  The blood explodes from my skin, tearing me to pieces—

  I felt a sharp awareness of my body, the giant hulking weapon I hated. I used it to orient me without opening my eyes. There were rough linen sheets beneath me, rubbing against my arms and legs in an irritating way I was all too accustomed to. Smells hit me – lamb and rosemary stew boiling on the stove, and the scent of soap so familiar it filled me with comfort. Beyond those, as always, was the confusing smell of the ocean. This, I had always thought, would follow me to my grave. I was aghast to feel liquid still on my lips, trickling into my mouth, but when I licked it I tasted not the heavy iron of blood but the fresh salt of tears.

  Clicking my tongue in irritation, I dashed the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand and opened my eyes. In one lurching, graceless movement I was sitting up, looking at my mother. The rising sunlight made her look wraithlike; her burnt ochre hair hung tangled around her porcelain skin and her eyes were very large.

  ‘Just a dream, Ma,’ I murmured. ‘I’m fine.’

  She kept looking at me and I wondered where her mind was this morning. ‘You screamed,’ she said softly, her voice the delicate sound I’d known all my life. That voice was the thing I knew best in the world.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What was it this time?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Please?’ she asked, just like a frightened child.

  I hesitated, then decided as I did most mornings – but not every morning – that the truth was best for Roselyn. ‘I was full of blood. Not mine.’

  Something passed her eyes, too quick for me to interpret. ‘You’ve not spilt a drop of blood in your whole life, Thorne of Araan.’

  I climbed out of bed and made my way to the kitchen. Sometimes I didn’t know what world my ma lived in.

  Grabbing the oldest, stalest loaf of bread from the bench, I tore into it hungrily. Once I’d finished the loaf I sat at the table and let Ma serve me a big bowl of stew. Then I ate a second bowl. She poured me several glasses of goat’s milk to go with it, and
the meal filled me up somewhat, though in an hour or so I knew I’d be starving again. My body annihilated food as if it might starve at any moment, which was painfully inconvenient most of the time. Thankfully, the men in Pirenti understood. No, actually – they thought they understood, but they didn’t, not really. Not one of them truly knew what it was to yield a berserker’s appetite.

  I was the last man in the world who did.

  My mother put an unopened envelope on the table before me, then sat down and stared at it.

  ‘How many times?’ I asked.

  ‘Twelve.’

  So I opened and closed it twelve times before I read it. Once I’d finished I looked at her swiftly. ‘When did this come?’

  ‘This morning.’

  ‘It’s from Ambrose.’

  She went still like she always did when my uncle was brought up. Her brown eyes probed me, eyes that were vastly clever but absent more often than not.

  ‘He wants me for business. Says that I’ll be away for weeks, maybe months, if it’s all right with you. Ava will come and stay with you while I’m gone. Which means the twins too.’

  Roselyn loved the twins. She considered and I watched her lips move very slightly with silent numbers. Her eyes drifted to the window and she disappeared. I reread the letter, cleaned up after my breakfast and then sat down again without her noticing a thing.

  ‘Ma?’

  Her eyes travelled a long way back to rest on me. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I don’t have to go. Ambrose would understand.’

  Her eyebrows knitted together. ‘Don’t be silly, darling. I have to get used to it at some point – you’re all grown up now. I’ll be perfectly fine.’

  I reached out and threaded a hand through her soft hair. As always, I was a creature made of uncertainties. I wanted to stay – there was never an inch of me that felt okay about leaving her here on her own. But I wanted to wander, too. I wanted to see something other than the endless oyster farms that spread before me, silver and flickering in the moonlight. I’d cut my feet on those shells a thousand times, and each time I’d smiled, because my own blood was nothing to fear.