Michael nodded, looked, but didn't smile. "We have to go home now," he said. "David is waiting for me."
"But‑‑" she said. "Your Majesty. He's‑‑he's not‑‑he isn't‑‑"
"He's waiting," he said again. "I've made everything safe for him and now I can go home."
"Michael," she said carefully, hoping the use of his name would call him back.
"He's not dead," he said fiercely. "His‑‑" he spit on the ground, "brother and sister told me he'd cursed the land and so they'd cursed him in return‑‑something about his mother…you should have seen them. They were‑‑" He shook his head. "I wish I could kill them again."
"You've avenged him," she said. "He's at peace now."
"I'm not," he said and spurred his horse forward. "Tell the commanders we'll be leaving in the morning. Pick two of them to leave behind to set up a governing council."
"You should pick who stays, talk to them and tell them‑‑"
"No," he said. "I need you, Judith. Take care of this so I can go home."
She could never refuse him anything.
When she did return home she found that he hadn't attended any meetings, had delayed the court of petitioners, had not even made a progress through the streets. He had retired to his rooms and stayed there, visited by a stream of wizards and witch women and sages and sibyls. David's body had not been buried. It had not left his rooms. People were talking and worse, talking openly.
She sent him a note, carefully worded, and received a reply granting her an audience two days later.
She did not see him alone. David was with him. She had expected that. Michael was in his bedroom, sitting in a chair, and David was lying on the bed. She stared at him, shocked. His body had not begun to rot. She had not expected that. David looked as he always had, perhaps even more beautiful, a kind of contentment in his closed‑eyed expression, and she stared at him for a long moment, startled by how alive he looked.
"You see?" Michael said. "I can tell from your eyes that you do. But yet everyone that comes, they all say‑‑" he broke off. "He isn't gone! They know nothing!"
She looked at him. He wasn't looking at her, was staring at David. The look on his face made her heart clench.
"Your Majesty," she said, crossing to him and kneeling on the floor in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know this is hard. But you must think of your kingdom, all you've built.
Your people need you."
He still didn't look at her. "Please," she said softly. "He's‑‑"
"He knew," Michael said. His voice was quiet, low. "When you asked before, I didn't tell you anything but he knew. He knew what the wine would do. I saw his face. When I showed him the‑
‑the gift‑‑" he spat the word, "his family had sent he didn't say a word but he‑‑his eyes. He knew.
I offered him a glass of that wine‑‑that damned wine!‑‑and he took it. I made a toast. I was ready to drink and he said‑‑he said, ‘Wait.’ I thought‑‑I thought he was going to say something. Tell me something. And instead he drank."
"Michael," she said, tears in her voice, and held him as she would a child, as if he were her child, leaning him into her and running a hand down his back, small soothing circles. She wished David was alive so she could kill him. She would do it slowly, with great care.
"He drank," Michael continued. "Drank and then took my glass away, looked at me. He was smiling. He looked‑‑he looked happy and I thought‑‑I thought it was because of me. He told me he was sorry and I didn't understand but then he smiled more and the look on his face… He knew he was dying and he was happy. Happier than I'd ever seen him and he…he made sure I couldn't come with him. He didn't‑‑he didn't want me to."
She had brought this upon him. She had found David, made sure to bring him here. She had started all of this. She had wanted Michael to be happy, safe, and now‑‑"I’m sorry," she said and it wasn't enough, would never be enough but she would never ever fail him again. Never. "I'm so sorry."
"All he ever wanted was for me to let him go and now…" His voice cracked. "Now I have to," he said and then looked at her, mouth trembling. He said "Judith?" a question pleading for her to help him, to make everything better, to fix things for him as she always had before.
"Yes," she said, "now you have to." And the look in his eyes broke her heart.
They picked out the room together. "Something big," Michael said. "With windows, lots of windows." She thought of a room at the top of a tower, one that was far enough away that if Michael ever went there she'd be told in time and could reach him, talk to him, call him back to now and make him remember who he was.
She suggested it to him and he frowned, then looked at her face and nodded. "We should do it soon," he said. "Before I‑‑before I can't."
They did it that day. There was no burial procession, no priest mumbling final prayers. She knew Michael couldn't bear it and wasn't sure she could either. It had to be over. It was the only way.
She had servants carry David up the stairs. He lay inside a great crystal burial bed Michael had made for him, lay resting in it looking as if he were asleep. When it had been placed in the room she sent everyone away. Michael was standing outside the room, leaning against the door.
"Promise me you won't have a canopy made. Nothing like that. Nothing like a lid. Nothing like a‑‑a coffin."
"I promise," she said, and started to shut the door.
"Wait," he said, and walked inside. She held her breath and prayed as she never had before.
"I'm not‑‑" Michael said. "I told you this once. Do you remember? I'm not good at farewells. And you‑‑you're too beautiful to place in the earth. I can't bear to think of it. I can't‑‑. So you'll stay here. You'll be safe. I made sure there are lots of windows. I know you like the sun. Don't you?"
There was no answer.
"David," Michael whispered, and leaned over him, pressed his mouth to David's. There was no response. David lay still and silent on the bed. His eyes never opened.
Outside, it began snow.
***
Alec left John behind finally, his heart telling him he should go so strongly he could no longer ignore its cry. He whispered to the watcher one night and was free in the morning, a purse full of coins to take him wherever he wanted to go. He'd headed toward the desert, traveling quickly, planning, hoping, but in a land where the rivers ran swift and pale purple blue, he'd heard two noblemen talking as they waited for a ferry.
"Sad story," one of them said. "To lose a love like that."
"Indeed. King Michael has another consort now, but they say he still mourns."
"Still?"
"His love was very beautiful," the nobleman said. "I once saw a portrait the King had painted of him. Lovely like you wouldn't believe. They say that when he died the King went almost mad with grief." His voice lowered, "I even heard that he couldn't bear to part with the body, had it‑‑"
Alec got on the ferry and stood shaking at its bow, stared down at the water as they crossed the river. On the other side he'd walked through the town until he found what he was looking for, passed over a handful of coins and sat in a corner smoking until his mind was far away, in a place where wishes could come true and his memories were more real than anything else. He smoked and forgot to eat, to sleep. He smoked even though his eyes burned, bled. He smoked until his money was gone, until he was tossed out squinting into the sunlight.
After that he went back. He had to, knew that he had to see what he'd lost. What he'd been too afraid to believe in.