Entwined

Three vines grow up between the statues, in the Valley of Graves.

Sometimes the king's children wander. Sometimes they beg for stories.

The three vines spread and twist, around the statues and each other. Two of them bear flowers in red and gold.

"What about this one?" the eldest asks, pointing to the vine with purple flowers, streaked with midnight black. "Why are the thorns so big and sharp?"

The High Mage is ancient, and fearsome, and wise. When she answers, it's wistful, and bitter, and fond.

"Oh," she says, "If you knew him, you'd understand."

Ghost Sarai

Viren kept everything he could think of: breath, blood, hair... even a trivial volume of tears. He couldn't take bone without raising suspicion, and by now it most likely meant nothing. Yet Viren persisted, refusing to succumb to frustration and despair.

The spell should have worked! He should have been able to tether the queen's soul, to feed it with his own life force, and to grant her the chance to return to inhabiting a body. All the time and energy he had to spare after casting the titan's heart spell had gone into searching for ways to strengthen the connection that should have been made. Yet his efforts had seemingly failed, and time was running out.

Viren slumped on his workbench, surrendering to sleep reluctantly in the wee hours once again. He awoke to the feeling of icy mist on his face and neck. An echoing suggestion of a voice said, "You do look sweet when you're sleeping, but this mess is all your fault!"

Viren sat up quickly, striking his head on a shelf. In the darkness of the room, he could make out a shimmering apparition bearing the likeness of queen Sarai.

"I never gave you permission, you know. Discussing a possibility isn't the same as agreeing to try it. But since it's done, I want to talk to my husband."

Viren felt sick. Harrow would never forgive him for meddling with hope and grief, and life and death, especially without the queens' consent. Hopefully, this was just another dream.

"Dammit, Viren, don't be a coward! If you won't do it willingly, I'll find a way to make you!"

Sarai's voice sounded different now, like it was vibrating inside his own head. Suddenly Viren's own right hand smacked him in the forehead.

"Ohh... this is... interesting..." Sarai sounded grimly amused. "I'm new at this, so if I try making you walk, you'll probably fall, or smash into things..."

Taking the hint, Viren made his way to the king's chamber.

***

Harrow was as incredulous, confused, angry, sad, and resentful as Viren had imagined. But after he had interrogated the mage and demanded more research and answers, he turned all his attention to the ghostly form of his beloved wife.

Viren's physical presence was needed, but he was able to wait by the door, beyond the reach of their private words. Harrow called him back to say goodbye as Sarai was fading from sight.

"She thinks she'll be back, but..." Sorrow made the king's voice break. "...she isn't... certain..." Viren nodded gravely.

"Thank you, Viren," Harrow whispered, pulling him into an embrace. "Thank you for giving us this."

***

"I want to touch him."

This time, when Sarai's sudden presence startled him, Viren dropped a jar of moth antennae, which was luckily enspelled not to break.

"I think it would work. I've tried it while you were sleeping."

"Tried what while I was sleeping?!?"

"Touching things. With your hands." He must have looked scandalized or suspicious, because she quickly added, "Harmless things! Like your blanket... and your hair. It feels so good!" She turned a piercing gaze on him. "Don't you dare take that for granted while you have it!"

Viren looked away, trembling.

"I'll do my best, Your Majesty."

Her expression softened.

"I don't think the dead need titles."

"I'll do my best, Sarai, I promise."

***