Eiagan's Winter - Chapter One

Blood. Each fractal of snow absorbed the warm liquid, melting and mixing with it until the pool surrounded Eiagan’s war-torn body. She was dying, of that Eiagan was sure. She would have deserved it, too, if it were not for the throbbing pain in her chest. Regret. She had been a fool, and now she fought to bite the lump in her throat, the ache of loss that spread through her body with each breath.

Snowflakes danced with stars against an ebony backdrop as the fat flakes swirled around her, taunting her with their beauty. They blanketed the dead balazorian trees, bowing their thin, black branches into submission. Leafless, they welcomed the ornamentation to augment their gangly, ravaged appearance. The corzaloan trees, however, shook the frigid flakes from their thick, sturdy branches, shirking the responsibility of harboring that which it despised—winter. Eiagan’s Winter. Though inanimate, it seemed even the trees despised her.

Eiagan’s muscles burned with the heat of a thousand brands, yet nothing could scar her porcelain skin. Though, perhaps, now it might? Life without immortality seemed... unnatural, and her wounds no longer healed as before. Eiagan singled out a particularly flighty snowflake and followed its spiral toward her. It landed on her nose and dissolved in death. Still, she lay unmoving in her venture toward her own end.

The earth shook, vibrating her across the rough terrain with each rumble. The dragons. Their cacophony echoed through the land. Eiagan shivered. They were no longer under her command, and that which she did not control, she feared. She should, for they hunted her. Fear sickened her.

Eiagan groaned and willed each muscle to flex, to lift her above the puddle of sticky blood that reminded her she was mortal again. Her winter melted around her even as the snow fell. She failed. She failed herself, her sister... her brother.

Eiagan’s legs argued with each step as she forced one foot in front of the other. She pushed herself forward through sheer determination to prove her enemies wrong. She would not be eliminated so easily. They could not kill her, not even as a mortal woman.

In the distance, a speck of darkness divided the soft white sheets of snow that confused Eiagan’s direction. She stumbled and fell. Her face smashed on the jagged rock of the broken path, and she grunted, biting back a pathetic whimper. Eiagan pushed herself up and on into the darkness, toward the cave of Porvarth, Protector of the Weak. Porvarth could not deny her. It was in his blood, a curse to help those weakened regardless of the color of their souls. Eiagan’s soul was blacker than tar, a stark contrast to her smooth, unblemished, pale skin—formerly unblemished. Eiagan pressed her hand against the gaping wound in her abdomen and winced as white-hot pain ripped through her body. She was unaccustomed to pain.

Once inside the safety of the cave, Eiagan rested a moment against the frigid wall. A flicker of light emanated from the bowels of the blackness, distracting her from her agony. Porvarth was awake. Eiagan ambled toward the light, using the wall as a guide. The light. The light never appealed to Eiagan. It was far too bright, too cheerful, and unwelcoming of her darkness. Still, she sought its warmth and comfort in her darkest moment.

“Porvarth!” Eiagan’s gurgled scream was quieter than expected in the hollow cave.

The light flickered and grew brighter. A tall shadow cast against the cavern wall, illuminated only by the light of the loxmore, the rare species of infuriating winged people that often drove Eiagan to the brink of homicidal rage. As Porvarth came into view, his shadow shrank, his light dimmed, and his gaze settled on Eiagan with all the disdain a half-naked winged man could muster.

“What do you want?” Porvarth asked, but Eiagan suspected he already knew. The loxmores always did, and they never failed to undermine Eiagan’s plans. This time though, Porvarth’s gifts would prove helpful.

“I am injured.” Eiagan’s lips quivered, revealing her pain. It angered her. “Fix it!”

Porvarth stepped forward and bowed his head. “A fatal wound if left unattended. How inconvenient. Follow me.” The loxmore turned on his bare heel and illuminated his own way into the depths of his home.

“Do not believe for a moment you can make demands of me. I will be your queen again, and when I am, you will regret your insolent mouth.” A surge of anger billowed from beneath Eiagan’s wounded abdomen and forced itself into her chest where it constricted her breathing. Chills shot down her spine, her legs, her toes. Her skin ached with heat. The homicidal rage. If she slaughtered the loxmore, perhaps her day would improve?

“Here,” Porvarth said, pointing to a granite slab adjacent the far wall. “Rest your evil bones.”

Eiagan ignored his slight and took in the appearance of the room. Cauldrons of days-old stew spilled on the floor, slimy and crusted with a distinct rotted aroma that assaulted Eiagan’s nose. Bile rose in her throat, but she choked it down. To her right were piles of worn clothing, bloody and mud-stained. They, too, offered a displeasing scent. Utensils and plates, goblets of all sizes, books with broken spines and torn pages, baubles collected as payment from patients all littered the cavern floor.

“I abhor disorder and filth.” Eiagan’s icy eyes darted, searching for an empty place to set her feet.

Porvarth paused his busy hands and lifted his gaze to meet hers again. “I abhor tyrannical queens. It appears we are at an impasse, daughter of Icluedian.”

“Do not call me the daughter of anyone. I am no one’s possession, nor have I ever been such a useless thing.” Eiagan felt Porvarth’s contempt for her. Each time she spoke, his ethereal glow brightened and burned hotter.

“Still, at an impasse.”

Eiagan laughed. “No, ungrateful loxmore, we are not. You are required by the laws of your kind to help the weak, the curse bestowed upon you by your lineage. You cannot turn me away, even if it is your deepest desire.”

Porvarth dipped his head to his work again, and a knowing grin spread across his face. “Ah, do you admit you are weak?”

The very word cut her like a fiery blade. Weak. Eiagan detested the insinuation she was anything but fearless, but if she denied Porvarth his fleeting moment of satisfaction, he would be allowed to turn her away. She could not allow her pride to set her servant free. Eiagan swallowed the horrible taste in her mouth and spit out the distasteful word that would delight the silly-looking man. “Yes.”

Porvarth chuckled. “Indeed. And now you know some miniscule measure of how your countrymen suffered for centuries.”

“I do not care how they felt. I only care that my birthright was taken from me. I will kill all those who turned against me,” Eiagan vowed, not only to herself but to her departed siblings. One day, she would regain that which she lost by foolery and the blind faith her moronic people placed in their so-called savior, Moriarian of Varrow.

“They were never with you, to begin with. How can one turn away from that which one never gave the dignity of honorable, willing allegiance? Forced alliance, servitude, a miserable existence—that was all they had, and for what now? It was a solemn state meant to weigh so heavily on the shoulders of your kingdom’s people, they might never—”

Porvarth was interrupted by a mighty boom that reverberated through his home and vibrated in Eiagan’s throat. A second, more impressive explosion deafened the queen and the loxmore. Porvarth plugged his ears with his slender fingers. His wings closed around his body to protect him from falling bits of stone, but Eiagan suspected the vellum-like appendages were worth very little in the way of protection. Eiagan hesitated, her attention drawn to more pressing matters than the devastation of her former castle. Instead, she worried herself with a more immediate threat to her health and life—the pending collapse of the loxmore’s cavernous home.

“Will the walls hold?” Eiagan asked, but Porvarth’s ears were still plugged. She groaned and stood, clutching her bleeding abdomen. Many long, excruciating strides brought her to Porvarth’s side and revealed the devastation in the distance. A smoke plume ten marticks wide spread across the horizon, blotting out everything as far as she could see in either direction. Flames licked the sky, casting an eerie glow between the particles of dust and smoke. People screamed, begged for death to ease their pain. Their calls echoed through the land, traveling all the way from Eathevall, the epicenter of Moriarian’s treacherous deceit.

Eiagan smiled.

“Wh-what is this devastation? What has happened to Vidkun Castle? What is that sound? This should have been a day of rejoicing, of proclaiming a new ruler to the land of Goranin,” Porvarth said. His ruby eyes refocused on Eiagan, but there was no happiness there.

“That, Porvarth, is the true sound of suffering.” Eiagan pressed her fingers deeper into her wound, staunching the flow of blood.

Porvarth scoffed. “You take delight in the misery of others and wonder why your people forced you from your throne?”

Eiagan laughed. “You detest me for all I have done, but you are a fool. There are men far darker than me who wish to rule all the land they can see, to rule worlds, universes... and they shall. You do not know the evils I kept at bay for centuries, but you will. You will suffer a fate worse than any I bestowed upon you or your miserable countrymen. Mark my words, Porvarth, carve them in stone this very night. You will regret dethroning me. You will see. Oh, dear Porvarth, you will see.”

Porvarth shuddered and gave one last glance to the destruction in the capital region before committing himself to his duty—healing Eiagan. Nothing could be done for the villagers in Eathevall now. The loxmore pointed to the granite slab again. “Go now. I will heal you, and you can be on your way to revel in your righteousness.”

“Do I sense a bit of sarcasm in your tone, loxmore? It is not my fault the people were tricked. I did try to protect the kingdom from the evils of the world, but behind my back, your countrymen opened the door for Moriarian, your savior. Tell me, what do you think of your savior now? What of yourself? Do you feel like a fool?”

Porvarth pursed his lips, and his eyes shifted in color. Green, how lovely. The queen scolded herself for noticing the shift in tone at all. She should plan her retribution on those who betrayed her, not waste time pondering the turn in color of a nonsensical man’s eyes. Eiagan settled her weary body on the slab and placed her arms at her sides.

Porvarth closed his eyes, settled his palms on her wound, and chanted. “Emporani imprisonastus devis monstronticali—”

“Wait!” Eiagan grasped the man by the throat before another word escaped his lips. “Tread carefully, Porvarth, or you shall bear my wrath.”

“I’m sure I do not know what you mean,” Porvarth said, but his eyes betrayed him. Purple, the color of a lying loxmore.

Eiagan narrowed her eyes and pulled Porvarth’s face mere mixlins from hers. His fear seeped into her nostrils with each puff of breath as it toyed with the tendrils of her tangled hair. Eiagan inhaled his fear. It empowered the mighty warrior, pushed her into a state of euphoria like nothing else. Porvarth’s eyes darted everywhere but would not settle on her face, an act Eiagan decided was as good an admission of guilt as any. Porvarth’s ridiculous attempt to imprison Eiagan in the cave was thwarted.

“I am sorry. It will not happen again,” Porvarth said and bowed his head.

Eiagan released him. “If you try it again, I will lop off your wings and serve them for supper. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes. Very clear.” He eased Eiagan on her back and chanted again. “Elixirprim pastimus mastinatoric perpetum deloriana.”

The wound healed, and the pain diminished. Porvarth sighed. His hands slipped from her stomach and fell to his sides, smearing his worn pants with her blood. When Porvarth stepped away, Eiagan noted his slouched stature. “What is wrong with—” The loxmore fell unconscious. “What in the name of—what will I do with you now?”

A third explosion rocked the cavern, forcing Eiagan to choose. She could not very well leave Porvarth in the crumbling cave to die. What if she needed him to heal her again? A fourth blast brought down horse-sized rocks Eiagan barely escaped as they crashed around Porvarth.

Eiagan cursed the stars excessively and kneeled. She pulled the man against her body, draped his arm over her own shoulders, and dragged him to a safer place. Eiagan lumbered toward the exit—what was left of it—with her healer packed to her side. Outside, the snow still fell, but it mixed with ash and smoke, destroying the pristine picture Eiagan loved. It was the only thing she loved, for love was a fool’s errand, and Eiagan was no fool. Winter had never failed her, so it had proven itself worthy of her affection.

“You are a heavy bundle for a fairy species, Porvarth. Wake-up!” Eiagan dropped him on the snow between two corzaloan trees. The trees had given up their fight to shirk the blanket of ice, yet the ground surrounding their mighty trunk was melting. How curious, Eiagan thought.

Porvarth stirred. He groaned and settled his hand on the crown of his head.

“What was that episode?” Eiagan asked.

Porvarth gazed up at her, his eyes sapphire blue. Eiagan had never seen that before. No creature, human or otherwise, had blue eyes. “Your darkness...” Porvarth began then faded dramatically.

“I demand you tell me why you fainted like a small child!”

Porvarth lowered his gaze. “Your darkness was too much to bear. You took life from me, a vast amount.” He stood on weak legs and wandered toward his demolished home. He paused at the entrance. “What happened?”

Eiagan was too focused on his initial statement to concern herself with anything more. “I did not put a hand on you after the healing.”

Porvarth turned to face her, his eyes still as deep and dark as before. “Do you understand my work or my species at all, or do you go about life under some ridiculous premise the world revolves around you alone?”

“Bite your tongue, you disrespectful—”

“Or what? You’ll kill me? Do you not see that I am dead already? Did you study anything in school, or did you pass with your beauty alone?” Porvarth asked. Eiagan’s daily lessons were not at all like those the village children attended, but she knew a little of the history of his kind. That, however, was not what caught her ear.

“You find me pleasing to your eyes?” Eiagan took some delight in Porvarth’s attraction to her, though she could not pinpoint any reason she should. What good use could a man with whisper-thin wings be to her, a mighty warrior queen—besides healing her wounds, of course?

Porvarth balked but did not outright deny. “You are wicked. Now leave me so I might recover—or do you wish to rob me of my remaining life as well?”

Eiagan had no desire to weed through the semantics of loxmore life and death, so she smirked and turned away from him. When she navigated the forest in her search for a healer, the rugged terrain was hidden behind curtains of falling snow. A deep crevasse separated her from the capital region of the kingdom she once ruled with a heavy hand, and she skirted that very crack for most of her journey to Porvarth. Her pale eyes focused on the distance. How to cross?

She paced as she evaluated the jutting rock and steep drops. She settled on a path and pulled her sword from its sheath. Faced with uncertain odds, the sword offered strength and tipped the results in her favor in most circumstances. Her actions forced a shudder from Porvarth. His eyes were ruby again. Alive and well, all things considered.

An acrid scent filled Eiagan’s nostrils, and the snow and ash turned to blood. It rained drops of thick, sticky scarlet all around. It matted her hair and streaked her face with the signs of war.

Porvarth glanced upward. “Dear me...”

Eiagan followed his stare. The dragons carried the dead away to their nests and blood rain oozed from the ravaged bodies. “Come on. You cannot stay here, or you will be taken.”

“I would rather take my chances with the dragons than follow the likes of you.”

Eiagan lunged at him and pressed her blade snuggly against the life source pulsing in his neck. “I have had just about enough of you, loxmore. I detest needing anyone, but your ability is of use to me. Come along or die again, only this time I will ensure a more permanent death.”

Porvarth gasped and swallowed against the blade. A slight nod.

“Good, now, stay quiet and do as I say. I am going to take back what is mine, Porvarth, Protector of the Weak, and you are going to help me against your will or with it. I do not care.”

Porvarth studied Eiagan’s face. His eyes flittered over every feature as Eiagan stared at him with icy resolve. When his eyes connected with hers, his gaze wavered, and he looked to the ground. Eiagan lowered her blade and placed a finger under his chin. A small push and he lifted his face to hers once more. “Say your thoughts, loxmore, then bury them forever.”

Porvarth’s lips parted, quivered with fear. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

He nodded. “Yes, I find you quite beautiful, but your soul is black as night and cold as ice. I fear...”

His dramatic pause irked Eiagan, for she had more important things to do than worry about her soul. “Go on, get on with it. Tell me all about my evil ways and where my eternal soul shall rest when I die—not that I intend to die.”

“I fear I am not strong enough to aid you in your quest.”

“Not strong enough, or unwilling?”

“Both. More that I am not strong enough, for there is something else in you I believe terrifies you more than dragons or death or the loss of your birthright.” Eiagan regarded him with caution. She was unaware his kind possessed the ability to see more than the surface. Perhaps he lied to save his own hide? “There is a drop, the tiniest sliver of light in you that carries great potential, Eiagan. I will accompany you of my own free will but know this, I will never stop fighting for that smidgeon of light. I will never cease in my attempt to sway you from the darkness. I will not allow you to lose your only redeeming quality. Somehow, I will make you good.”

Eiagan contained her urge to smack his face. She pressed her lips into a thin line and turned her back to Porvarth. She sensed him behind her like a heavy burden she couldn’t shirk no matter how she tried. Without him, she would die. Unaccustomed to weakness and pain after centuries of life, his ability would provide her security on her travels. However, she could do without his prophetic nonsense. She sheathed her sword and took a step, the beginning of her long journey with Porvarth.

The crevasse was wider than it was when Eiagan saw it last. Years, centuries passed, but the deep hole conjured memories Eiagan wished would stay deep in the recesses of her mind. They taunted Eiagan, tugged at her focus and pushed her to admit her sole fear for all the years she was immortal—that she might be weak. She had become complacent, and that allowed her people to believe she was weak. For that, she paid dearly. Eiagan’s thoughts continued to build. They grew heavier on her shoulders until the pain gurgled in her chest and screamed for release.

“You are quite solemn. More than usual,” Porvarth said as he followed closely behind Eiagan. She hated the very idea that Porvarth was necessary, that she must care for his life as if it were more precious than her own.

“Hush, loxmore or I will relieve you of your tongue.”

She scanned the division between Parazalorian and the Smolzark Territory. The crevasse had lengthened, too, just as Eiagan suspected. Once creating only a minimal border to the west of the caves, dividing Parazalorian from Eathevall, it grew and stretched its arm along the southern border as well, blocking easy access to the Smolzark Territory. Deeper into The Dark Forest of Parazalorian lay creatures Eiagan only studied in her meager lessons with her mother, the very same lessons Porvarth was sure Eiagan avoided with a few smiles and eyelash flutters. Whatever death lay in the blackened woods was of no consequence to Eiagan, for she had already settled on a path in the opposite direction.

 “We must go down, then up,” Eiagan said, pointing toward a steep decline which was, by all accounts, a death sentence. The granite cut down and jutted out into a platform about seven rubinians down, almost two levels more than the height of her entire castle. To assume it was a steady stage was insanity, but the drop from there to the floor of the fractured landscape was less fatal than from where she stood no matter how deep it was. Eiagan steadied herself for the free-hand dive into the unknown. Porvarth peered over the edge. His ruby eyes followed each nook and handhold until they disappeared into the blackness. He cocked his head toward the left and sighed.

“It is suitable for committing suicide, mortal queen,” Porvarth said. “However, if you insist, I am happy to watch you fall to your death. Do you need a small push to get you going?”

“I will smite you where you stand, winged weakling.” Eiagan’s fingers curled around the gilded hilt of her sword. The loxmore tested her, but Eiagan could not murder him. Maim and torture, perhaps, but to kill him would be a toll Eiagan could not yet afford to pay.

“I am not much for standing. I prefer to flutter.” Porvarth lifted his body to hover just out of Eiagan’s reach.

“In the hole, flighty man,” Eiagan said and turned her own focus toward the steep slide. Eiagan shifted her furs to a more suitable position for the descent and kicked her boot toe into a small opening. It held. Her muscles burned as she eased her lithe body over the edge, a mortal pain she would never grow used to. Immortality had weakened her and driven her to the false assumption she would never be anything less than a pristine specimen of a human being.

Porvarth fluttered along beside her, offering no aid. The gray rock was slick with blood, forcing Eiagan to rethink her steps and adjust her foot and handholds. She tentatively placed her fingers on a chunk of rock that felt secure, but Porvarth scoffed.

“Might reconsider that particular hold, dear former queen.”

“I only keep you so that you may heal me. Do not test me. I can find another of your kind.” Eiagan’s lungs were already worn and tired. She sucked in another breath and adjusted her feet so she could reach a more suitable hold for her hand.

“I regret to inform you, you are not nearly as frightening as a mortal woman,” Porvarth said. His flapping created a breeze that forced air and dust into Eiagan’s eyes, burning them so she could not see well.

“Stop fluttering about and move!” Eiagan drew her sword and swung at the loxmore. Her moment of weakness caught her in a precarious position. The blade nicked the man’s face, springing small droplets of blood.

“Ouch,” Porvarth spat, but Eiagan was otherwise distracted. Her hand slipped, but she refused to release her sword. Momentum swung her body backward, and she fell. Eiagan cursed the loxmore and her own misguided rage as she fell toward the bottom of the fissure. Eiagan’s black hair surrounded her head in a thick blanket of flying tendrils that blocked her view. Her arms flailed as she swung her sword toward the stone with the foolish thought that it might catch.

Porvarth was gone. The useless man disappeared the moment an opportunity for freedom arose. Eiagan continued to fall, well past the platform, on into the darkness.

Whoomp! The air in Eiagan’s lungs whooshed out. Her body’s rocketing descent into the hole ceased. Slowly, Eiagan settled on the rough ground at the bottom of the crack. Porvarth’s ruby eyes came into view, his ashy blonde hair slick with blood that cemented it to his face.

“You fall fast. Though, I did waste a moment considering my options.”

“Release me!” Eiagan shoved Porvarth’s hands away from her and rose to her feet.

“A simple thank you would move me to feel some sort of appreciation on your part,” Porvarth said as he wiped his dirt-smeared brow.

Eiagan ignored his remark and walked toward a suitable place to climb the other side of the ravine. Shadows passed overhead, smaller than that of a dragon but more substantial than any bird. Eiagan and Porvarth pressed their bodies against the rock, blending with the shadows until the monsters passed. Porvarth’s fear brightened his glow and created a homing beacon for whatever flew above.

“Turn that off!”

“I cannot! I’m sorry!” His light intensified with each word.

Eiagan gripped his bicep and pulled him toward her. “Get down. Cover yourself with your wings.” She removed her bear skins and covered him. The light dimmed but peered from under the edges of the skins, refusing to be silenced. Eiagan pursed her lips. She covered Porvarth’s body with her own, extinguishing the last rays of light which betrayed their hiding place. The creatures called to one another and passed the opening again.

“Chykles,” Porvarth said.

“I know what they are. I created them, foolish—”

“I’m aware. When one chooses to breed that which should not be bred, one must often suffer the consequences. Your choice to breed a dragon with a tristabordas was less than ideal given their lack of loyalty.”

 Eiagan grew weary, her body pushed to the limits of its own mortality. She did not have the energy to defend herself if they attacked. The sleek bodies of her creation, her beautiful chykles who guarded her with much ferocity, now sought her out for slaughter. When the last of her beloved creatures passed, Eiagan released Porvarth. She took a step forward and stumbled.

“Stop, please. Let us make camp here for the night,” Porvarth said.

“I do not need to sleep. What I need is silence.” Eiagan’s thoughts swarmed. Visions of her brother threatened her sanity. She must continue. She must.

“You might not wish to admit such things, perhaps you have forgotten, but bodies need rest. I only have so much life to lose for you, and I would like to live past your revenge mission. So, please, I beg of you, rest before you use me all up with childish threats and immature acts of violence.”

Eiagan sneered at Porvarth. Every ounce of her being detested his knowing stare. “Fine, but only until first light, then we move on.”

“Fine. Up ahead there, it appears to be a suitable place to make camp.”

Eiagan followed the path of his finger. Leave it to a cave-dweller to find the smallest hole in a rock to make camp. Still, there was no alternative, so she snatched her bearskin cloak from Porvarth and slipped it over her shoulders. She marched toward the cave, focused only on the task ahead.

Porvarth managed to maneuver his muscled body through the small opening. His light illuminated the small, dingy space. Eiagan groaned her disapproval aloud, but he disregarded her and reclined against the far wall of the cave. Eiagan tossed her covering to the ground and tried to rest as her thoughts raced. She planned to work through each problem, to formulate an obtainable goal that would both alleviate her frustration and aid her in her ultimate plan—destroy the Savior of Goranin, the new King Moriarian who fooled her subjects into handing over her precious kingdom.

“Your thoughts must plague you. Your face is marred with anger,” Porvarth said. Eiagan raised her gaze to meet his but said nothing. “Why?”

“What do you mean?” Eiagan’s eyelids threatened to fall. She couldn’t be sure Porvarth would not run during the night, so she reminded herself sleep was only for the weak and pried them open.

“Why must you be so vengeful?” Porvarth’s own exhaustion pulled him toward fitful sleep, evident in the faintness of his voice.

“Why do you care?”

“I do not care. I am only curious. What must I do to quell the thirst for blood? Is there any way to quench the hunger that eats your soul until nothing remains but emptiness?”

Eiagan exhaled, measured so that she would not slit his throat for asking such things. What right did the loxmore have to speak to her in such a manner? His ruby eyes shifted to match hers, a near-white gray that lied about the color of the soul behind them. Porvarth’s soul was most likely bruised but still worthy of saving. Hers, if she even had a soul to speak of, was lost to pain long ago.

“I will never be what you want or hope for me to be, Porvarth. Before we continue this journey, know this. This is who I am, and I have grown to appreciate my character despite every argument I should not. I will never be kind or good, nor will I ever love another more than myself. I am stronger this way. Nothing can hurt me as I am. If you desire a friend, a confidant, or someone to converse with on this arduous journey toward almost certain death, and you believe that I might be that for you, I assure you, you are mistaken.”

Porvarth’s dry lips parted. His tongue darted out to wet the parched skin, perhaps buying a moment for his brain to process her statements. Whatever the intention for his pause, it did not destroy his hope.

“But you can change, Eiagan. Don’t you see? It is in you. I saw it. If you would only open your heart for a moment—”

“There is no exception, Porvarth. One cannot change that which does not wish to be changed. Goodnight.” Eiagan rolled with her back to Porvarth, convinced he would do her no harm. He would not flee, nor would he attempt to kill her. Eiagan knew these things to be true. Porvarth had hope, and if Eiagan knew anything about the irrational emotion, it was this—hope kept people on the hook. Hope forced people to remain in impossible situations for no other reason than the blind desire to prove them not impossible. Porvarth’s hope that Eiagan could change was a prison of his own making.

“Eiagan, please. I’ve seen it in you. I felt it when—”

“Goodnight, Porvarth.” Eiagan tucked her bearskin around her head, blocking the incessant chatter of a hopeful fool.