Third Gemstone

Crow moves forward and every step feels like he’s pushing against something that is trying to crush him. His chest is tight with unknown emotion and as he comes close enough to see, he can feel his stomach sinking, sinking, sinking.

It’s gone, is his first thought. But that’s. That’s not true. It’s still there. He can see it, the blackened wood and warped glass. There’s a crack right down the middle of the main building and the smoke pours out, filling his lungs with the smell of death. The fire still rages, pouring from the broken windows and spilling out into the scorched grounds. The heat rolls out in waves and the way it presses against his body sickens him.

The estate has burned down. It’s still burning.

He moves forward on unsteady legs, unable to turn away.

Someone pulls him back with a hand on his shoulder. He turns only to be blinded by the shine of sunlight on metal. The gleaming pommel.

No, he thinks. Impossible.

The man with the sword stands in front of him, eyes narrowed. Behind him are knights. The legion, with their polished armor and sharp swords, wings held stiffly at their backs. Their eyes are all on him but their sight doesn’t burn as much as the man in front of him. Crow feels a shudder run down his back but the man doesn’t do anything, only steps back and gauges the expression on his face.

“This is your home?” he says.

His home? Never. But when he thinks of the quiet nights when the pain was only a low buzz peaceful enough to sleep through, or the possessions he’d gathered over the years, his only treasures, and the small pieces of safety he’d managed to create and keep for himself. When he thinks of his library...

Not his home, but something. All he’d ever known.

Crow feels the words choke him. He looks away and says nothing, falling back into habit. The man runs his hands through cropped black hair and exhales through his nose. “Alright then. This is unexpected.”

He looks at the still burning estate with a complicated expression. “You must be Crow, right? I’m Victor. We were supposed to escort you today but…”

Escort me where, he doesn’t ask. For what. Where is everyone. Who asked you to take me?

None of those questions leave his mouth. And yet Crow finds himself stuck on the name. It couldn’t be.

Victor turns to look at him again, this time with a broad smile. There’s a fervent shine in his eyes.

“Well as long as you’re safe,” he says. “Things will be fine. Don’t worry, okay? We’ll take care of this.”

Ah, thinks Crow. He's a kind person.

He doesn't flinch away from the outstretched hand. Who would?

When Victor, the kingdom’s hero, holds his hand out for you it's only natural to take it.

So when the hero says everything will be fine of course he believes him.

The knights part to let him pass, murmuring indistinctly. They seem sympathetic and it startles him. Victor leads him to a carriage and ushers him inside. 

“Sorry," he says. "It’s nothing much.”

He offers Crow a change of clothing. “I know wearing these is a bit below your station,” he laughs. “But I hope you can endure them. We’ll get you some new ones as soon as we can.”

He runs his hand through his hair again and grins at the way Crow shakes his head, not understanding at all. “Hey, no worries. You’ll be home soon!”

Crow doesn’t know what to think. He can’t think of anything to say. His words stick to his throat and don’t come up even while Victor’s eyes shine with warmth. What home? What do you mean, he thinks but again doesn’t ask. He feels like he’s standing in fog, like nothing is real. The smoke still lingers around them, turning the sky hazy and gray. He feels like the heat can still reach him, even here.

The door to the carriage closes. Crow puts his face in his hands and tries to understand. Victor had allowed him to look at the estate one last time and it was all a blur, like he’d been looking up while drowning, trying to make sense of what he saw through stormy waters.

Nothing was salvageable, the hands he had extended now dark with soot. The overly luxurious curtains had crumbled underneath his fingertips. The glass chandeliers melted into blades. The library was crushed, his room unrecognizable. Everything was gone. Everyone was gone. A deep relief rushes through him, lanced with guilt. It’s bittersweet but at least the butler...at least he would never be chained again.

The carriage begins to move but he doesn’t know where it will take him. He can guess, though. The knights are a clue in a direction he doesn’t want to face.

Crow hopes he isn’t right.

But in a few days, when the sharp spires of the Heavenly City come into sight from a distance, that hope turns to ashes on his tongue.

Of course, he thinks as the knights escort him right to the castle. Of course it would be here.

Crow knows that look when he sees it. The heat in the eyes of everyone he comes across, intense and magnified. He stands in the middle of a circular room, looking up. There sits  the golden prince, the silver princess and their father the Obsidian King. Their thrones are bathed in glowing light from the stained glass skylights overhead. Their gemlike eyes, the symbol of royalty, freeze him in place.

His own eyes burn behind the illusion that hides them.

“Welcome,” says the king, concealing guilt behind his cold voice.

“Welcome,” says the princess, with a sneer at the corner of her painted lips.

“Welcome,” says the prince and there is a knife in his hands, spinning.

Crow does not say anything but his wings ache and behind his eyes the images start to flicker again.

No, he thinks desperately. No.

But he can’t unsee it.

The room filled with darkness and rubies falling from the prince’s fingertips, pooling on the floor.

His own hands, bloodstained in the moonlight.

No, no, no.

He can’t stay here. He has to leave.

The hero’s hands are tight on his shoulders as they bow, Victor's awkward attempt at comfort he thinks. When they straighten, the king sends Crow out without a word. The hero stays. Victor offers him a reassuring grin over his shoulders as new knights escort him out. Crow can’t bring himself to smile back, dread building and building and building inside his chest.

He can see it, the darkness flickering around everyone who so much as looks at him. He sees the way people turn away and he remembers the king. He remembers the prince and the princess and he knows. He knows what it is, the burning in their eyes as they watched him. Watched him without seeing. Watched him without knowing.