Are you with me, Black-as-crown? Are you with me still? It hurts to remember, crow. It hurts all the time. I am unburdened all too briefly when another is roused to light, to magics of the air and land and rivers. Temesh of all waters. But my anguish never truly leaves me. Winged one, I have a message for my divine countenance. A message for my beloved. That I might share my grief. Will you take it to her? Through wind and ash and nightmare?
This is not history. This is truth. This is spirit beneath All Waters. They have come to witness the waking of the deathless ones. True stewards of eternity. What makes a king, or queen? What makes their people? Protectors, I believe. Liberators and healers. Sovereignty earned, a family honoured – in Light. There is a kiss set in stone, my Love. A sword forged by infinity.
Tell them, “Gather round, ye people. Behold your depths. Who will draw blade from rock and push back the encroaching darkness? Who will dare to bring the Cup of All Worlds to her people? Who among you? Brothers and sisters, this is not only history. This is truth. A true monarch kneels in service, always. Only a humble heart should wield such power. Kind, honourable, unstoppable. The sword does not belong to the king, or the queen. It belongs to the people.”
Tell them, beloved, in that brave and elegant way of yours. Hidden between the notes and verses of your song. They must know we fight for them. For their freedom. They must feel it, wordless and true. It is still very quiet in this house on the hill, my wild one. I am still lonely, but I am not alone. Neither am I fallen. I stand in this place of the crossing, enflamed with your kiss. I stand with you. The crossing is upon us now, as we are upon them. As it was when the colonies came to All Songs. Here, in Albion, at the place of the gate. We have outwitted them at every turn, my grace. These wraith-kings know us not. We have hidden a secret in each of their secrets. And soon – very soon – we shall show them how we shine.
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