Don’t Forget Dessert

They were the color of freshly spilled blood.

As if a touch might cause them to drip their brilliant color over the fresh dirt. Robins sang as Saira let her fingers wander over the petals, gently so as not to harm them. She already knew the pigments she’d mix to capture it. If she moved a couple of things around, she could even hang it over their bed. Without armies to lead, Saira had found her passion for painting could fully flourish. The cottage walls were overflowing with canvases. Her last painting had taken her the longest by far, and now that she was finished, she could already feel another taking shape in her mind.

“There,” Roland said. “All done.” He beamed as he patted the flowers into place. Blood lilies. They’d found them on an afternoon walk by the edge of their floating island. Then this morning, he’d surprised her by moving them closer in secret. “They reminded me of your eyes,” He’d said as Saira tried very hard not to laugh. She’d often read of happily ever afters in storybooks and fairytales, but to see herself actually living one... Especially after the war. Saira swallowed the thought and let her mind focus on feeling the breeze and how it sounded as it wisped by her. Allowing it to soothe her before turning her attention back to her husband.

Even with windswept hair and covered in dirt, Roland looked as handsome as the day they’d met. Burning eyes and a crooked grin. He’d hated her, but then again, they’d been on opposite sides back then. Saira brought a hand to his cheek, caressing it as she searched his amber eyes— when the sun hit them, you could see prickly specks of red mixed with the candle-lit orange. Roland closed his eyes and leaned against her hand for a mere moment before pressing a soft kiss to the inside of her palm.

She’d fought for this, she told herself. She’d earned this happiness. After all the years they spent fighting the Flame Sorceress, they finally won, but it felt almost too good to be true for Saira. The day the war ended, she’d grabbed Roland, and together they built their little floating island. A honey-dipped cottage with its velvety forest high above the rest of the world. The perfect place for their happily ever after. The Flame Sorceress had kept them apart long enough, and they had a lot of time to make up for. In the mornings, if Saira was lucky, she might wake up a few moments before Roland. She treasured the trickle of minutes as she took in his steady intake of breath and how the slight breeze from their window danced around the tips of his auburn hair. He had new scars that she was still learning to memorize. At her gaze, Roland would shift awake with a sleepy smile. He’d peek an eye at her before wrapping her in his arms and peppering kisses until she couldn’t breathe from laughter. All these months, and she was sure nothing could make her tire of hearing him say he loved her.

But not all days were easy.

Some days, Roland would wake screaming, and Saira would have to soothe him back into her arms. Other times, he’d look at his old glass sword and go unsettlingly quiet. Eyes focused on the sword on the wall while his hands clenched at his sides. Like he was on the brink of solving a puzzle that had long been put away. It made Saira’s heart ache to see, but she knew healing wasn’t linear. Her paint room proved it; Roland knew not to bother her while she was painting. Afterwards, however, she’d bring him some ice cream. Strawberry always, and they’d sit together for a long while. They might not be able to erase the past, but they didn’t need to carry it with them always.

“The moon will be full tonight,” Roland teased, and his mouth curved playfully. Through the window, Saira felt her face heat, and she focused on the plates she was washing.

“Is that right?”

Roland bent so she would meet his eyes. “Shall we pack a blanket?”

His gaze was heated as he said it, and Saira refused to think too hard about the last time they’d “slept” under the stars. She cleared her throat. “Good idea, you need to work on your constellations anyway.” Roland huffed, good-naturedly, “I know the stars well enough, thank you.” He rubbed the round belly of the red robin sunning itself on the windowsill. “They are just… different back home,” he said quietly. The bird chirped indignantly when he stopped, and Roland smiled thinly as he rubbed it one last time.

“We’ll need more pillows this time,” Saira said teasingly, hoping it might bring a smile out of him after their activities last full moon. There was no response for a moment, and then Roland barked out a laugh. And it felt like the sunrise in winter.

“Oh god,” he said, holding his stomach from laughter. “The sticks. And your hair!” Saira hadn’t found the rat's nest in her hair the next morning to be quite as amusing, but having him laugh like this was enough.

Saira set the last plate on the rack and wiped her hands, ticking it off her mental list. The afternoon was lovely with birds dancing over their garden. She’d worked on her new painting most of the morning, and now she couldn’t help but feel like she’d forgotten something. Saira turned too quickly, and her foot slipped. She caught herself on the wall just as a sleeve brushed the glass sword hanging there. Her heart jolted as she steadied it carefully. A memory of their past. It’s decorative now, she reminded herself. Roland barely even touched it anymore, much less practiced with it. Calm down.

That night, the full moon looked like a giant ball of freshly fallen snow. Its glow swallowed up their world as it illuminated the barren lands below. The stars bright as fire candles. Saira rested her head on Roland’s shoulder as they argued lazily over constellations before Roland quieted her with a deep kiss and they made love under the great oak. Roland’s breathing evened first. Sleep took him quickly. It never came for Saira. Anxiety bubbled in her stomach sharply for the second time today, yet she couldn’t place what it could be for. She closed her eyes and focused on Roland’s breathing, but something wasn’t right. Saira pulled the silk covers with her as she sat up, digging a hand in her dark hair. Beside her, Roland muttered something she couldn’t make out. Saira lay back on his chest, breathing in lavender and her own argan soap. She pressed a kiss to his neck and felt him tense beneath her.

“Did I wake you?” She whispered. Darkened eyes met hers; she could hardly see any of the red specks in them. Saira climbed onto his lap and kissed him softly. Still half asleep, it took Roland a moment before following her lead.

“Wait!” He yelled, and Saira was off his lap and on the ground. He’d pushed her. His eyes were blown wide, and his chest was heaving. Saira stared, caught off guard, “Is something wrong, darling?” She said softly and noticed his hands were trembling. Saira reached out, but he got up before she could touch him.

“I- uh-” he stammered, looking around slightly dazed, “I’ll get some water,” he said finally, looking back at their cottage. Something was on the tip of her tongue.

“I’ll- I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” he motioned her to wait, and Saira nodded slowly.

Roland disappeared from view, and she sat quietly for a moment, hands settled on her lap.

Sweetheart. Saira did a mental rundown of their day as fast as she could. She’d missed something. Sweetheart. Her heart was pounding in her ears. The lilies, their bath, the kitchen. Sweetheart. The painting.

It hit her like a winter shower.

Roland hadn’t had any ice cream today.

An inky cold spread over her chest. There was only one person Roland called sweetheart, and it wasn’t Saira. Saira’s body felt numb as she raced for the cottage. Crows laughed from their trees, but she could hardly hear them over the wind raging her forward. Whipping dark strands of her hair all around her. Dark clouds had slid to cover most of the bright moon. The cottage was pitch black.

“Darling?” She called and tried to keep the threat from her voice. She dragged a finger along the countertop. Then she snapped with her free hand. A white flame appeared at her shoulder, its ghostly glow illuminated an empty kitchen. The glass sword was gone. Saira ground her teeth as a pounding started behind her temple. Such a waste of a good day. The house held its breath. A creak on the wood echoed sharply, and Saira’s eyes flew to the door. She spoke a spell under her breath, then a ghostly outline of Roland appeared. He was sneaking by the hall, sword in hand. Saira scoffed. Why must he complicate things? She was by the door in an instant, then stopped. She took a deep breath through her nose and held it for a couple of seconds. I mustn't hurt Roland. She reminded herself of the scar she left on his hip to calm her rage.

“Roland, dear,” She called out, “Now let’s not do anything hasty.” She stepped into the dark hallway, letting her flame drift ahead. “Why don’t you come out?” she said, “and we’ll make you better. All right?” A crash sounded above. There was only one door in this cottage with a lock. Saira was already running. She took the stairs two at a time. The door to her paint room was ajar. Roland had his sword pointed directly at her heart.

“Where is she?” He snarled; his tone was a low and dangerous sound. His face was pinched in an awful scowl she was all too familiar with.

“Roland,” Saira said gently, one hand outstretched as if calming a wounded wolf.

“Where is she, you venomous snake!” Roland shouted. Saira flinched at his tone. His eyes were narrowed and his breathing heavy. After all she’d done to keep them safe, every nightmare she’d soothed. A muscle ticked in her jaw as she calmed her temper.

“Darling, I’m not sure I know what you mean.” She took a step closer, and Roland swung his sword. Saira hissed involuntarily as pain blossomed from her arm. A string of red as bright as her blood lilies dripped down her pale arm, and for a moment she found herself frozen by the sight. Then she looked up. He isn’t well, she reminded herself. But she could make him well again, and then they’d keep the past in the past.

“Enough of this now!” She snapped, patience running thin. “Put that ridiculous sword down before you hurt yourself.” Roland’s nose flared, and he gripped the sword tighter. A disgusted look colored his face.

“What, so you can put me under that spell again!” Panic laced his words, and Saira felt the need to comfort him and took a step forward.

“Darling, please. Let me help you.”

“No!” He lunged forward, and Saira stepped back, but her dress caught on a jar of brushes. A moment later, she found herself on the rug with a sword pressed to her neck. She stared up at the prince through dark lashes, and a smirk crept onto her face. “Well, isn’t this like old times?”

“What have you done with Cassia?” he spat at her, and Saira felt the last of her patience die out. She rolled her eyes at him and batted the sword away as if it were nothing more than paper. The sword slammed against the far wall. Not quite like old times, I suppose. I didn’t have all this power before. Roland surged toward her.

“You just don’t learn, do you?” Saira said, and with a flick, had Roland pinned to the red wall. She got up carefully, dusting off her dress, ignoring Roland’s yelling as he struggled. She faced him and, with a snap, a gag appeared on his mouth.

“Cassia,” she said, tasting the name on her tongue. It had been a long while since she’d used it. No room for it anymore. Saira felt the nasty grip of hatred on her throat as she thought of Cassia Tresant. The Flame Sorceress. The leader of the light. The only person to ever really challenge Saira. They were friendly once, but Cassia had always envied her.

For her power, her beauty, even love. Cassia had stolen Roland away.

Saira paced to the back of the room, where two paintings sat covered beneath brown cloth. She ran her long fingers over them before she uncovered the first. A charming image of a king and queen. The man had auburn hair and intelligent eyes; he towered over his wife. A frail woman with chestnut hair braided long and a look of utter terror as she clutched her husband. The king’s glass sword was raised to defend their kingdom. Much good it did them, Saira smiled to herself as she ran her fingers over the vibrant watercolors she’d used.

“Such a lovely thing, don’t you think?” Recognition passed Roland’s eyes instantly before settling on her with hatred.

“Hmm,” He simply didn’t understand the pull of the colors.

“How about another?” She clapped excitedly as Roland’s knuckles went white from the strain. Saira went to her most recent painting. Only a few days old, she uncovered it, and Roland let out a broken cry.

“Just perfect, isn't it?” Saira breathed. The painting, without a doubt, was her best to date. Saira pinched her chin in evaluation of the piece: a dark, stormy day it had been, and there in the center of the piece a plain girl with unnerving blue eyes and golden curls. Her face was one of hopelessness and desperation. Cassia had one hand clutching her bleeding side, and the other was reaching out.

“Evocative is it not?” Saira turned to her husband. She removed the gag with a swish, but he didn’t speak. Tears streamed down his face. He was no longer struggling against her magic. His eyes were transfixed on the girl in the painting as if by will alone he could remove the spell keeping her in there. Saira’s smile fell, she felt the bitterness in her stomach level out, and without thinking, she slashed the painting with her magic. Roland’s scream echoed through their cottage as a thin strip of red appeared on Cassia’s neck.

“Stop this!” Roland cried out. “Please, please just stop.” His head fell, and Saira released him. Roland dropped to his knees, his face in his hands as he let out silent sobs. How typical of Cassia to find a way to villainize her even now. Saira bent down to pat his back as he coughed up more sobs when he grabbed the sword and drove it into her stomach.

Saira looked down at the blood with mild interest, like she was judging a shade. Roland’s eyes were red from crying, and his face twisted in a scowl that did nothing for his visage. Saira sighed in disappointment.

One snap of her fingers and his sword was gone.

Another had her wound fully healed.

Roland was left without words as Saira raised a hand to his cheek tenderly.

“Don’t worry, darling, this will only take a second,” and he was unable to move as Saira conjured a crystalline vial into her left hand. At the sight of it, Roland struggled, but her hold on him held. Now normally, she’d pour the vial over some strawberry ice cream to account for the bitterness, but today had been a long enough day for both of them. She uncorked the vial and poured the glassy liquid into her mouth. Then Saira kissed her husband. She watched as the specks of red once more coated the bright brown, turning his eyes the color of amber. Love potions weren’t easy to come by, but being the new ruler of the three kingdoms of the North meant she had special privileges. Roland fought against the effects, blinking rapidly, then his shoulders loosened, and confusion knit his brows.

“Sai?” He whispered, and the deep worry in his tone warmed something hard in Saira’s chest.

“Darling, you’re bleeding!” he said urgently at the sight of her stained dress. He hurried to tend to her, and Saira laughed. “I’m fine, it’s just spilled paint is all.”

He relaxed almost instantly and took in their surroundings.

“Your paint room." He said as he helped her to her feet.

“Yes,” He didn’t let go of her hand, and Saira continued, “I figured you might want to see it?” Roland nodded eagerly, and she took him through her paintings. He praised each one until they came to the last one, and his smile faltered.

“She seems to be in awful pain,” He noted. Saira nodded, “not my best work, it seems,” she glanced at the fireplace. “In fact, it's upsetting me quite a bit,” she murmured, looking away, and Roland put an arm around her at once.

“We could always get rid of it, if you wanted.”

Saira met his eyes. “Could you?” Roland huffed a little laugh, then, without hesitation, picked up the canvas and cast it into the flames.

They didn’t stay to watch Cassia’s face turn to one of horror as she burned. Didn’t stay to watch the leader of light leave the world in silent agony. They could see the sun rising from the hallway. Rays of gold colored Roland’s face as he looked at her. Saira smiled brightly as she felt a new painting take shape in her mind.