Lanie Bross: Fates

“I love you, too,” he said, and reached for her.

The sun burst free of the horizon.

A shriek of rage split the silence. Miranda lunged for Luc; Corinthe screamed something. Miranda was on top of him, stronger than he could have imagined, teeth bared: an animal. She tried to wrest the knife from his grasp; he put an elbow into her side and felt her release her grip. Sweat dripped into his eyes and Corinthe was still screaming and he stumbled backward, gasping, clutching the blade.

And then Miranda lunged for him again, came charging toward him, howling, transformed into something not human, and instinctively Luc swung the knife.

Just as Corinthe threw herself between them.

Another cry shattered the quiet.

Time stopped.

Sound stopped.

Corinthe was pressed against him, leaning into him, her lips only an inch from his. So beautiful.

Then she gasped and time started again and she fell, holding the handle of the knife that protruded from her stomach.

“Corinthe! Oh my God! Corinthe!” Luc caught her and gently eased her to the ground. And the sun sank with them; it retreated toward the horizon, leaving only shadows and violet light in its wake.

“What do I do?” he asked desperately. Luc looked up to Miranda, hoping for some kind of help. But she was frozen, white, motionless.

“Idiot,” she said. She sounded almost disgusted. “It should have been you.”

“You did this to her!” he yelled at Miranda. “ Do something!”

Miranda didn’t even look at him. “She made her choice,” she said. Then she turned and began walking away.

“Please!” he called after her, even though he knew it was no use. His fingers were shaking. There was so much blood. It was everywhere.

“Look at me,” he said gently, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “Corinthe, I need you to look at me.” Her chest was rising and falling in shallow movements, and her skin had taken on an unnaturally pale hue.

Her eyelashes fluttered open and she looked up at him.

“I couldn’t let you kill her,” she whispered. “It’s not who you are.”

He couldn’t think. His pulse thundered in his ears. Panic squeezed the breath from his lungs. “Corinthe, what can I do?”

“There is nothing left to do. It’s too late for me,” Corinthe whispered. She smiled, just barely, and lifted her hand, reaching for the flower. She snapped its stem in half. “The flower gives life, but is deadly to whoever picks it. It doesn’t matter for me. I’m already dying. It’s all in balance. Life and death.” Corinthe’s eyes were the same violet color as the sky. “Now you can use it to save your sister.”

“No,” he said. His tongue was thick with emotion; he could hardly speak. “Corinthe, stay with me.”

She shook her head. “No, Luc. I finally understand. …” Her body trembled with a flash of pain as he watched helplessly.

He was crying without knowing it, choking. “Shhh. Don’t try to talk.” He felt as if he was going to be sick. He stroked the hair away from her forehead, completely helpless. “I’m not going to let you go. This isn’t how it ends, okay?”

She shook her head. That faint smile passed across her face again. “Luc, it was all wrong. Don’t you see? The last task, the last marble. The knife. The rising sun. She made me believe one thing, but it was a trick. I misunderstood everything. I had it backward the whole time. I was the one to die, and you were the one to live. This is what was always meant to be. I feel it. I know it’s true.” Corinthe threaded her fingers through his. She smiled and looked up at the sky. “Look.”

The sun was gone now. The twilight had been restored in moments, like a giant sweep of soft velvet. Millions of stars had appeared, more stars than he had ever seen or even imagined.

It was breathtaking.

A smile passed quickly over her face; then she seized up, as though in sudden pain. “It was always my destiny to die,” she said. “This is how it was supposed to end. And I can go now, knowing that it’s right. I want it, Luc. I want my fate. I want you to live. I love you,” she said again.

“No,” he said. His tongue was thick with emotion; he could hardly speak. “Corinthe, stay with me, please. I’m going to make you better.”

“No,” she murmured. She squeezed his hand weakly before her fingers slipped free of his.

“I love you, Luc,” she whispered once more.

“I love you, too,” he said.

He leaned down and their lips met.

And for the first time in all the length of the universe, they kissed.

She tasted like wildflowers, like sunshine and honey, like the air before a storm. He wanted to kiss his breath into her lungs, kiss his blood into her veins, kiss his heartbeat into her chest. And in his head he saw little explosions, stars being formed and re-formed, worlds where time ran in deep, endless pools.

“Thank you,” she said. She pulled away, and closed her eyes again. “You made me … happy.”

He laid his forehead against hers. “Please stay with me, Corinthe. Be with me. Choose me. I need you.”

Her smile this time was the barest flicker, like a candle trying to stand up to the storm.

“I did choose you, Luc. Luc … I …” For a second a tremor went through her, and she inhaled, as though she wanted to speak.

But she didn’t speak.

She didn’t move, or breathe.

Luc felt as though a giant weight were crushing him from all sides. Tears blurred his vision. A low, animal sound worked its way out of his throat.

It wasn’t fair.

He had finally found love, and then he had lost it.

And somehow, all of it had been fated: Corinthe’s choice, his love for her, her sacrifice for him. Somehow, there was supposed to be meaning in all of it.

He pressed a lingering kiss to Corinthe’s lips and cradled her body against his. “I love you,” he whispered urgently. “You are my Other.”

A distant memory ticked his mind.

A voice whispered through his subconscious.

There might be a way.

“That story Miranda told you—about a Radical who turned back time—it wasn’t just a story.” His throat was so raw it hurt to speak. He knew she couldn’t hear him, but he pressed his lips to her ear anyway. “Rhys told me there was a way. I’ll have him do it again. I’ll find him and he’ll rewind time and everything will be okay. I’ll go back and save you.”

Luc looked down at Corinthe’s face, traced his fingers over the curve of her chin. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this.

He pressed one last kiss against Corinthe’s lips and gently eased her off his lap.

“I promise I’ll find a way, Corinthe. I won’t stop. Not for anything. Not ever.”

Luc stood over Jasmine, watching the covers rise and fall with her breath.

Her dark hair spilled over the faded green pillowcase. Her eyelids fluttered as though she was dreaming; she was still pale, but her lips were losing the last of their blue tint. The flower’s nectar had worked exactly as Corinthe had said it would: it had cured the poison in Jasmine’s blood.

When he’d returned to San Francisco with Jas through a Crossroad, they’d emerged near the rotunda to find the city recovering from a massive quake. As he struggled with Jas, who was still too weak to walk back to their apartment, he saw signs of devastation everywhere: crumbled buildings, flipped cars, and streets with gaping crevices, like grins.

And though it felt like days—weeks, even—that he’d been gone, a flashing daily lotto sign indicated that only a day had elapsed.

How was it possible that only one day had passed in this world, when he and Corinthe had gone through so much?