Luther's Pride Part 42

The library bore the scents of lacquered wood, ancient paper, and the sweet aroma of brandy poured into two glasses, resting on a low table between two great armchairs at the end of the cathedral-like hall. The soft glow of crystallized light suffused Luther’s chair, while Criella’s lingered in shadow. She ran her fingers along the spine of the book in her lap, an old favorite that Luther recognized as one he hadn’t read in years. 

Outside, darkness blanketed the world in stars. The veins of the galaxy twinkled in the night sky, pulsing with their watchful energy while they hovered in silence and infinite indifference. Inside, silence filled the library until Luther shattered it. 

“What would you like me to read?” He asked. 

“The Treasure of the Sea, if you please.” Criella passed the book in her lap to him, and he took it from her. Their fingers touched, and she let his hand linger against hers until she withdrew to her seat once more and held her hand in her lap. “Do you remember it?” 

Of course he did. He remembered the birthday celebration for Criella’s tenth birthday—a veritable feast, with cake, strawberries, and cream to celebrate before the exchanging of gifts. Luther purchased the book for the woman illustrated on the title page. She wore a red coat, held a curved sword aloft, and kept one hand on the helm as she drove her ship into a storm. He’d skimmed through it before purchase, eager to read the story, but knowing that Criella would love it. Time proved him correct. 

Captain Mabel sailed the sea aboard The Treasure, fighting monsters, villains, and rival pirate crews in search of the lost island of Dragons. Criella loved it and read it many, many times. It grew on Luther, despite Captain Mabel’s romantic plot with her first mate. They’d taken turns reading it to each other, but Criella was always better at the voices than he was. She mimicked the Captain’s haughty laughter, the first mate’s lovelorn admiration, and the quartermaster’s charismatic charm with flawless performances. He remembered the beauty of her voice and the way it enthralled him almost as much as the words she read to him. 

“I remember,” Luther said quietly. 

Criella lifted her eyes to his. The crystal glow illuminated her burning red gaze like embers in the shadows. Weariness settled in her eyes, but she clearly didn’t want to fall asleep yet. Neither of them wanted to race toward the dawn at a speed only dreams could accomplish. Yet tomorrow would come, and her doom arrived with it. 

“Start at the bookmarked page,” Criella said. “When Captain Mabel addresses her crew before the storm.” 

Luther nodded and swallowed, clearing his throat without coughing. He opened the book, flipping through the pages as he glanced at the notes in the margins. ‘Unfair, ’ she wrote beside a passage where Captain Mabel argued with the quartermaster. ‘Beautiful,’ she wrote below the author’s description of the sea. ‘Like us,’ she wrote beside a passage where Captain Mabel and her first mate turned away from each other, denying themselves a kiss at the last possible moment. 

He began to read. 

It took him several lines of text before his voice held steady enough to narrate. His inferior version of the Captain’s voice sprang forth from memory, exactly as it was when they were teenagers. 

Criella’s face transformed as she listened. Her smile relaxed as she put less effort into the facade. The worry smoothed from her brow. This story was an old and familiar one. She knew the twists and turns, the rise and fall. No anxiety remained when the destination was sure, and you knew the steps of the tale written and revealed with every turn of the page. 

She had always looked otherworldly and beautiful when lost in the worlds within stories. His earliest memories of her were watching her face as his father told them stories and tales from books neither could yet read. Their shared childhood was the foundation on which each had built their life, even if it had taken them in vastly different directions. Two branches could grow from the same trunk and stretch in opposite directions, but they’d always share that connection to the trunk. 

“Do you know what stars are?” The line in the book reminded him of a question she’d asked him as a child. He hadn’t known the answer then, and neither had she. Her solution was that they find out together. It was one of many mysteries solved by asking his father and coaxing answers from him as a team, until he finally gave them a book on the subject to satiate their curiosity. 

There wasn’t a memory of his childhood that didn’t include Criella. She was his best, and often only, friend, always at his side, even if only in his mind. Such was the firmest belief of Luther’s heart - that even if he and Criella were not in the same place, they would always share a connection. They could make their discoveries together, so long as he wasn’t being an ass, and she wasn’t being stubborn for the spite of it. 

Perhaps they were too different as adults, but she’d always made the obstacles of life seem surmountable when they faced them together. Even now, she’d been working tirelessly to save his life these last few days, and her reward for it was too cruel to contemplate. 

He read on, describing the great storm at sea, and the captain lashing herself to the wheel so the waves couldn’t sweep her overboard. Luther thought about all the ways Criella was lashing herself to her doom. The way she held her brandy glass with both hands so he wouldn’t see her tremble. The way she’d asked him to read, instead of reading to herself. How she’d insisted that her final night be a recreated moment from their past, rather than what it was: a countdown—one final night before the morning. 

His throat choked on the words as he reached the passage about the captain choosing to stay with her ship rather than abandon it. Captain Mabel refused to go without trying everything, even if it meant choosing drowning over betraying her principles. 

Criella leaned forward. 

“Did I ever tell you what I loved most about this part?” She asked. 

Luther shook his head. 

“It’s not about drowning,” Criella said, smiling softly with her eyes instead of her lips. “It’s about choice. She has agency in it. Most of us don’t get that. We live our lives and do the best with what we’re given, but our choices are limited, even though they define us. Captain Mabel makes her choices, and no one can tell her not to do it, even the man she loves.” 

Luther closed the book, unable to continue reading. The words blurred from the tears in his eyes, which only dripped more with every rub or brush to sweep them from his lashes. 

Criella noticed, but she didn’t look away or offer him false comfort. She let him cry, and when he’d reached a spot where he didn’t have to wipe his eye or his nose all the time, she offered him a handkerchief. He took it. She offered him her hand, leaning across the space between them, and he took that, too. 

“I’m angry,” Criella said quietly. “You know that. I’m so angry I didn’t see this petty challenge coming, and I’m furious I won’t get to see what happens next.” 

Luther’s eyes fell to the floor. 

“Not in the book, of course, I’ve read this one a hundred times, but in your life. I won’t get to see how truly great you can become.” Criella sniffled, wiping her nose with a handkerchief. 

“Don’t you dare say goodbye,” Luther said. “You can’t give up.” 

“I have to.” Her grip tightened on his hand. “I have to say everything I have left to say, because there won’t be time tomorrow.” 

Luther nodded. His jaw clenched, and his grip tightened with hers, but he understood. Tonight was Criella’s last chance for words that mattered. 

“I love you, Luther,” Criella said. “In almost every way that a person can love another. You’ve been my best friend since childhood, my co-conspirator, the mischief maker to my voice of reason. We’ve played, lived, bickered, and even loved together. Our relationship defies every boundary and definition. You were the greatest love of my life, Luther, and I’m sorry that I was too mixed up in my own emotions, grief, anxiety, and stubborn pride to accept your proposals. I found every reason I could to say no, because I was afraid of what it might mean for you.” 

Luther regretted it too. “I should’ve been more apologetic for leaving all those years ago. And I should have been more sympathetic to your loss. My father died, but he was like your father, too, and we were both grieving. I should have been more of a friend, and less of a lover to you when it mattered.” 

Criella shook her head. “Don’t regret what little time we had together,” She said. “I took refuge in you just as much as you did me.” 

“I don’t regret it,” Luther assured her.

“Neither do I. I don’t regret anything, Luther. Not even this.” 

“How can you not regret this?” His voice cracked. “You deserve so much more, Criella. I want you to live, even if it’s just to vent your anger at me when I do or say dumb things.” 

Criella’s smile flickered into something sad. “I’m not angry at you,” She assured him. “Okay, I am a little, but I’m also grateful. Do you know how rare it is to know someone so completely? To have a relationship like ours that defies categorization? It’s as rare and as beautiful as some of the flowers in your garden. I’d rather have had you, knowing you for as short a time as we’ve had, than a lifetime with a thousand spouses.” 

“It’s not fair,” Luther said, shaking his head. “Why not choose me? Why not forfeit and live as you are now?”

“I wouldn’t be able to marry you or practice law, Luther,” Criella shook her head. Not that there was a law prohibiting her from continuing to pursue her profession, but no one would want to work with her. To choose a coward’s life was to fear death so much that you’d rather live with society’s brand than die as someone noble and proud. 

“I’d lose every freedom I’ve gained over the course of my life, and as much as I love you, I’d be nothing but a burden to you, and I’d hurt you. You need to live a good, happy life, with as many wives as you can afford. You can make Branan pay, and I’ll consider that repayment enough.” 

Luther sniffed, wiping his face with the handkerchief. “We didn’t choose this. I didn’t choose this. You didn’t.”  

“We didn’t choose the storm,” Criella said, correcting him gently. “But I made my choice as to how to respond to it, and you can choose to respect that.” 

“I can’t choose that,” Luther protested. “I can’t choose a world without you in it.” 

“You did once,” Criella corrected him, and the wound stung so deeply that it drove the tears from his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Criella said, squeezing his hand in hers. “That was uncalled for.” 

“I’m so sorry, Cree,” Luther said, sobbing. “I’m so sorry. If I could make that choice over again, I’d choose you.” 

“Then choose me now,” Criella said. “Respect me, and my decision, and let’s choose how to spend tonight. No more tears, you soft-hearted lilly-liver.” 

She picked up the book from where he’d let it fall at his feet. She sat between his legs, her tail hooking over his ankle as she rested her head on his thigh, which let him rest the book on her horns. “Read until dawn if you have to. I want to be here, with you, for every moment I have left. Will you let me?” 

“Of course,” Luther said through choked anguish. “I’d be happy to.” He wiped his face, and she gave him the time necessary to pull himself together. It took several long breaths, but he flipped he pages to where he’d left off, and started reading again. 

And so he read. Captain Mabel made her way through the storm. Her mad plan redeemed her, letting her discover the Isle of Dragons and their many hoards. Only her first mate remained by her side; the others abandoned ship and were presumably lost at sea. They never made another appearance in the book. 

Between chapters, they talked. They discussed memories of his father and the other stories they read as children. The adventures they’d gone on in their imaginations loomed large, and the tender memories of their first moments together caused them both to blush. 

The book ended with a passage handwritten on the rear protective sheet in Criella’s slender script. It mimicked Celeborn’s journal summaries of texts, which made Luther grin. She’d written it long ago, as a teenager.

“A work of fiction, perhaps, but based on a real woman who sailed the seas more than one hundred years ago. She was a pirate, a captain, and after her death, she has transcended into something more than living: myth. She is my favorite story, and will continue to be so for as long as I live. When I die, I hope my life is worth a story like hers. If our lives work out anything like the Captain’s and First Mates, Luther and I will love each other for a long time yet to come.” 

“I love you,” Luther said, hugging her as she hugged him when he finished the book. 

“I know,” Criella said. “I’ve always known that, and held it in my heart next to my love for you.” 

They hugged and cried in the darkness until the darkness began to fade into gray light. 

“I can feel it coming,” Criella said, her tail swishing with anxiety. “It’s like I’m sailing toward the dawn, and the sun rises to greet me.” 

Luther clung to her tighter. He wasn’t ready. He would never be ready to release her, even if she were braver than he and prepared to face her doom. 

“I’ll remember everything about you,” Luther said, assuring himself as much as her. “Your voice, your stories, your life, everything.” 

“Then I am immortal,” Criella said, almost smiling as she wiped her eyes.

“I’ll keep you in my heart.” 

“Then I’ll never be gone,” Criella said, nodding her agreement. 

They held each other, comforting one another without words, until sleep overtook them. Twilight dawned on the morning like any other, ordinary and routine. The library became their sanctum, holding them as they sailed away. It held all the proof they had that Criella had once lived and loved.