《RE: Monarch》
1 & 2. Ignis I
My mother used to tell me stories of the old gods. Rhadis. Khetrix. Elphion. Onara. I struggled to stay awake those nights, fighting the ever-growing weight of my eyelids, struggling desperately to make it through just one more tale, wanting nothing more than to ride upon their victories and battles till morning light. It was engrained in me from childhood that one day I would join them, not as a supplicant before a deity but as a deity myself. That was what it meant to be Cairn, son of Gil, descendent of Thotar himself. When I crossed into the afterlife, the watcher would see the purity of my bloodline, the value of my very soul, and welcome me into Valhalla. I was the recipient of a noble gift. All I had to do was die honorably in battle.
They lied.
The day I died started innocently enough. Stepmother was buzzing around like a common maid, tossing clothes around, holding them up, clucking her tongue, and then putting them back.
¡°Oh, why don¡¯t we have anything for you in purple. You look so dashing in purple,¡± Genevieve fretted. I pulled the covers over my head, hoping that if I just ignored her, she¡¯d go away. The sound of fabric swishing continued, capitalized by little staccato sighs. Infuriating.
I threw the blankets off with a flourish and sat up. She was somewhere near the back of the closet, managing to completely disappear within the expanse of dyed wool and cotton.
¡°I¡¯ll find something appropriate,¡± I said, barely managing constrained civility. ¡°It¡¯s a coronation, mother, same as the rest. The crown is passing from father to son.¡±
¡°It is historic. Don¡¯t talk about yourself like you don¡¯t matter, darling.¡± She crossed the double door gap to the other side to further bother my garments. ¡°You¡¯re a prince, and more importantly, my darling boy. I¡¯m just going to give you a few options to pick from. I know how you get.¡±
When I finally return to the Pantheon in the afterlife, I believe simply surviving my stepmother will rank chief among my accolades. You would be hard-pressed to name a person more needling or generally bothersome. The contrast between my parents was almost comical. Father, a living legend. He united Silodan under a single flag. He fought in countless wars, slaughtered armies, subjugated rebellion and established peace.
Then there¡¯s my stepmother, whose achievements include teatime diplomacy, picking outfits, and the vice chair¡ªyes, you read that correctly, the vice-chair¡ªof the Noble Ladies Book Club. The logic never ceases to confound. It¡¯s not as if there were no better options. Whitefall had plenty of strong warriors, male and female. Tournaments had become more fierce and less gender segregated. King Gil had his pick of plenty of viable, superior matches. Yet, he chose her. Genevieve. Perhaps after all his accomplishments, my father just wanted something¡ simple.
¡°Don¡¯t say it.¡± Mother warned. She had shifted from her nattering to watch me from inside the closet.
¡°Say what?¡±
¡°Whatever it is you¡¯re thinking. You always look all squinty right before you say something nasty.¡±
¡°Such cruel, baseless accusations.¡± I feigned hurt.
Mother sniffed, managing to sound affronted and apathetic simultaneously, before continuing her work. ¡°You know, the sooner you stop mooning over that girl-¡°
¡°Enough.¡± Anger rose in my throat like hot bile. I rose from the bed and pushed past her into the closet, grabbing the first thing that didn¡¯t look overly frilly and tossing it on, ignoring her cry of protest and cloying fingers.
¡°Don¡¯t forget the offering for tonight!¡±
They¡¯d always been like this, my parents. It wasn¡¯t enough that they ruled all of Siladon. No, that would be too simple. They had to dominate every aspect of our lives. I stalked down the hallway, servants and other lessers scurrying out of my way. Everyone suddenly had somewhere better to look and I realized I wore what my younger sister referred to as, ¡°Tyrant Face.¡± No matter. That worked better for my purposes right now anyway, I¡¯d rather not be delayed from my brusque walk towards the gates. I needed the sort of air that only existed outside the confines of the castle.
Thunder boomed, threatening to deafen anyone in earshot, despite the absence of a single cloud in the sky. Someone yelped in the courtyard. Another flash of lightning, another yelp. I couldn''t help but smile. My older sister was ¡°sparring¡± with the guards again.
The courtyard was a disaster area. Grass scorched black, topped with cherried red embers, burning out only to be immediately reignited. What was astonishing was how little attention the scene was drawing. People walked back and forth along the walkway, barely raising an eyebrow, sometimes pausing when an errant crackling ball of fire was thrown their way, or tossing a dirty look when they caught a proximity shock. Funny how commonplace even the strangest events become, given enough time.
The Guards weren¡¯t doing much, though, that¡¯s likely because they were mostly strewn on the ground, some breathing hard, others completely unconscious. Several chanting priests in the ceremonial Bakhal robes walked among the dozen bodies, occasionally stopping to spritz crimson water across the foreheads of the more ¡°gravely¡± injured. From my limited knowledge, the water was only latently magic, and the chemical smell that made my head spin from all the way over here was primarily a smelling salt.
Poor bastards.
Sera headed my way, awkwardly attempting to step over an incredibly broad man before giving up, hiking up her robe, and using his chest as a footbridge. My oldest sister pulled her attunement gloves off. She was almost tragically tall, towering over all the women of the castle and most of the men. There was a rumor that had persisted for almost as long as I could remember that Sera was a half-elf. Total nonsense, but unlike many rumors about my sister, there was some logic to this one: her height and magic.
Hundreds of years ago, we thought magic belonged exclusively to the demi-humans. That it was some result of their heritage, or some ability unique to their psychology, or, more heretically, their gods. But as humans began to proliferate across Siladon, the talent began to show up in one in every thousand.
¡°My liege,¡± she said with a deep bow, eyes twinkling from my stiff reaction.
¡°Cut the shit.¡±
¡°Ooh, my, aren¡¯t we snippy this morning. Wake up on the wrong side of mother again?¡±
I looked at her blankly, wondering if she ever fully considered the implications of her words.
¡°Well, did you?¡± She pressed. Her cool eyes glimmered in the winter sun.
I stepped past her, making a show of surveying the wreckage. Even the shrubbery was beaten and bruised, leaning pathetically to the side. ¡°I see you¡¯ve been terrorizing the help.¡±
¡°Cairn,¡± she warned, ¡°they are loyal knights, our first and last line of defense.¡±
I maintained my blank stare, giving her nothing. Finally, we both broke, cracking up beneath the sun-kissed sky.
¡°Stable?¡± I asked.
¡°Stable.¡±
We made our way through the lower sections to the outer yard and stable. The castle was an architect¡¯s wet dream: sprawling and intimidating, consistently valuing form over function. After a lifetime of existing within the walls the sense glamour fades, and the only remotely interesting thing about it is its various quirks. For example, It¡¯s cold all year long, so snow gathers on the towering roofs, needing only an errant wind to shift loose and come slamming down on some unsuspecting sap. There¡¯s a betting pool for who will be hit next.
Sera shooed the stable hands away and, after one thorough check to make sure we were alone, broke into one of the stalls, pulling out a wine skin with a knowing smile.
¡°A present for his highness.¡± She purred. I snatched it away from her with more force than necessary.
¡°If you keep making dumb little jokes like that, making light of my status-¡°
¡°Someone will put it together, yes, yes. There¡¯s no one here. Relax.¡± Sera stuck out her tongue before reaching out an upturned hand.
¡°There were plenty of witnesses in the courtyard.¡± I glared, and took an extra swig out of spite.
¡°Plebeian!¡±
¡°Shrew.¡±
Sera snatched the wine skin back and held it to her chest like some sort of jealous treasure hunter, then upturned the skin, taking several large gulps while maintaining eye contact. She handed it over casually, as if she hadn''t just thrown down the gauntlet. After a moment''s hesitation, I took a light sip, deciding to end the escalation there while we both still had legs. My mind slipped away from me, summoning the image it always did of late: brown honeyed skin, chocolate eyes looking down at me through a canopy of chestnut hair¡ªI squinted my eyes shut, frowning.
¡°Hey,¡± Sera¡¯s voice cut through the image. Her warm hand was on my arm. Gently, I shifted away from her, and she let go, hand dropping to her side.
¡°I¡¯m sorry, Cairn.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t.¡± I took a long pull from the wine skin. It burned in a way that good wine never should, but succeeded in clearing my head and incinerating the unwanted image. In that instant of clarity, I looked at my sister. To an outside observer, it might seem like we were great friends. Like we had a solid relationship, a codependent bond of support and commiseration. In truth, we were completely estranged little more than two months ago.
Father drove the wedge in early, figuring if he could turn us against each other, we¡¯d be more competitive, more likely to learn. They were right. But unfortunately, an accumulation of resentment over the course of an entire childhood isn''t the sort of thing you just let go of. The only reason Sera no longer hated me was because, on a rare sunny day six months ago, I told her a secret that would alter the course of her life. Still, it meant something to me that she tried: prompting me to open up. Raiding the winery. Treating me like a friend and actual sibling.
It wasn¡¯t real. Still, it felt... nice.
¡°They¡¯re awful. But they do love us,¡± Sera said.
¡°Your problem. Not mine. Not anymore.¡±
Sera stared at me, her eyes calculating. ¡°It just doesn''t seem real. It seems like the sort of thing you''ll go back on.¡±
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
¡°You really do take after Father, Sera. Already looking for a way to hold on to something that''s not even yours yet.¡±
There was a snort towards the back of the stable, startling us both. Titan had caught my scent. I chuckled, appreciating the break in the tension. Sera didn¡¯t seem amused, her lips pressed together tightly. I left her to finish off the wine skin and approached the gray and white speckled horse.
A few minutes later, I¡¯d replaced Titan¡¯s oats and combed out his mane. Father had nearly pitched a fit when I picked him from the merchant¡¯s lineup. ¡°There are war horses, and peace horses.¡± He¡¯d gravelled. ¡°This is a peace horse. Might as well pick yourself a nice fat pony.¡±
Of course, he was missing critical information. Even then, I was piecing the plan together. The fat and sturdy sort of horse my father preferred would have a better chance against a spear, but I didn''t plan on fighting any spearman, and slow horse with a heavyset gait would leave deep tracks and be a complete liability for what came next.
Sera was still grim faced when I returned. She watched me, as if expecting the answer I¡¯d previously denied.
¡°Since you¡¯re obviously not going to let this go, I may as well tell you the rest of the plan.¡±
¡°Oh?¡± Sera raised an eyebrow.
I motioned her closer to whisper. Maybe a little paranoid, but our resident spymaster had practically the entire staff on a secondary payroll.
I told her the rest of my plan and her eyes went wide.
We spent an hour riding¡ªgrudgingly on Sera¡¯s part, she¡¯d never really gotten the hang of it¡ªbefore a runner came and took her away.
I had just requisitioned a second wineskin from the wine cellar and tipped it skyward when a man in dark robes seemingly appeared out of thin air right beside me.
¡°My lord,¡± He said, as if spontaneously generating out of nowhere was entirely reasonable.
I choked. ¡°Elder gods, Thaddeus.¡± My throat still spasmed from the errant wine. ¡°Someone needs to tie a damn bell around your neck.¡±
¡°Very droll, my lord. However, I believe that would impede my purpose.¡± His voice was coy and simpering.
¡°I assume you have a reason for being here?¡± I asked. Even if I didn¡¯t loathe Thaddeus entirely, he was bad company at the best of times: along with being my father¡¯s spymaster he was inherently insidious and disquietingly insightful, a combination I needed to avoid at all costs. Just speaking to him right now was dangerous. He was the sort of person that could stare at you across a cramped room, and accurately guess what you''d done that day based on nothing more than your appearance and disposition.
Thaddeus opened his mouth and closed it, looking over my shoulder. There was a clatter. I followed his gaze to see a man in mercenary grays staggering down the hall, ignoring the planter he had overturned. Uncle Luther passed us and clipped my shoulder, leering through long greasy bangs with an expression that could only be interpreted as hateful and dismissive. I didn¡¯t even bother taking it personally. You could count on one hand the number of people Luther didn¡¯t look at that way, my little sister Annette, and...
Actually, maybe it was just her.
¡°I do hope¡ªonce the throne is yours¡ªthat you¡¯ll be retiring that man soon,¡± Thaddeus said. ¡°He¡¯s an embarrassment to the family.¡±
¡°I¡¯ll consider it, spymaster. Will that be all?¡± I asked.
He blinked at me owlishly and I cursed my nerves, wondering exactly what twisted insight he gleaned from my response.
¡°There is a matter of some import.¡± Thaddeus looked around us cautiously.
¡°Then get to it.¡±
¡°I have it on good authority that the elves are on the move.¡±
Gooseflesh prickled at my skin. ¡°Where?¡±
¡°Alabaster Forest.¡±
Whatever interest I had immediately waned. Alabaster was hundreds of miles from here. It was also a designated Elven reservation. That made it an issue immediately filed in the cross categorization of probably-nothing and not-my-problem.
¡°They¡¯re elves. They do things in forests,¡± I said, resuming my walk towards the castle gate. Thaddeus let out a little huff.
¡°True enough, my lord,¡± he said in a voice that didn¡¯t lend itself to the sentiment, ¡°but it is more complicated than that. My operative believes they are mobilizing, preparing for an attack.¡±
If the conversation went on much longer he would start putting things together. I turned and clapped him on the shoulder.
¡°Thaddeus, my friend, you know I have nothing but faith in you. But there¡¯s a reason you¡¯re talking to me, rather than the current king. What do you need?¡±
¡°If it pleases you, my lord, permission to send out a small regiment to scout and serve as deterrent.¡±
Ah, so that was why he came to me. Father would want all hands on deck for the coronation. It didn¡¯t matter that we hadn¡¯t been in anything remotely resembling a war for the last five years. I could almost hear his voice in my head. ¡°You must project strength. All visitors must see the might of their future king.¡±
The little insubordination game Thaddeus was playing annoyed me¡ªmore that he had read me correctly than due to any real loyalty towards the king¡ªbut if I had to choose between irritating Thaddeus or irritating my Father, it wasn¡¯t much of a dilemma. The only tragedy was that I could not do both.
I waved a hand dismissively. ¡°Do it. Send as many as you need.¡±
¡°Thank you, my lord,¡± Thaddeus said, but much to my disappointment, kept stride with me. We walked in charged silence until he finally stopped.
¡°If I can offer a word of advice, my lord?¡±
I crossed my arms. ¡°Go ahead.¡±
¡°Let us... speak in hypothetical.¡±
The hair on the back of my neck began to prickle and rise. ¡°As long as it does not belabor the point.¡±
He smiled, the expression disturbingly out of place. ¡°Let us say, in this hypothetical scenario, I am a prince, and my coronation is imminent.¡±
¡°How strangely familiar.¡± I glanced around. All at once, every person nearby seemed to have disappeared, leaving the hallway vacant.
¡°Let us also say, for the sake of wild speculation, that I was angry. Enraged even.¡±
Shit.
It took everything I had to keep my expression blank. A creeping worry built in my chest. How much did he know?
¡°What¡¯s there to be angry about?¡± I asked, shrugging. ¡°You¡¯re about to be king.¡± Thaddeus¡¯s eyebrow climbed higher and I wished I''d said nothing at all.
¡°But say I was. Imagine, just for a moment that my parents had made a grave miscalculation in their attempts to prepare me for succession. They meant well, but they wounded me deeply.¡±
¡°I can¡¯t imagine you¡¯d let your emotions get in the way. In fact, I¡¯m not even sure you have them. Emotions, that is.¡±
¡°Of course.¡± Thaddeus pouts, an image I really could have gone without. ¡°But imagine for a moment that I am a lesser man. It would be tempting for anyone to take advantage of the events to exact some sort of... justice. At the very least, to use the coronation to embarrass them.¡±
Relief flooded me and I relaxed. He had some sense of the situation but nothing in the way of specifics. This whole interaction had been nothing more than a fishing expedition. Still, something about his manner was questionable.
¡°A bit dangerous to refer to a king as a lesser man, isn¡¯t it?¡± I asked him, letting the ice into my tone. ¡°It almost sounds like hypothetical treason, Thaddeus.¡±
Thaddeus bowed deeply, showing his too-white smile. ¡°I live to serve in the demonstrable, my lord. Forgive this old man the occasional flight of fancy.¡±
¡°Think nothing of it.¡±
I made it a few feet away, quick to put distance between us before an idea struck. ¡°Thaddeus,¡± I said carefully. ¡°Say I was in the market for some clothes.¡±
¡°Clothes, my lord?¡± His beard twitched.
¡°I¡¯m a day away from having to be very selective with my outfits. Let''s say I wanted to go all out on my last day of freedom. Where in Whitefall should I go if I want to try on everything?¡±
¡°Ah.¡± Thaddeus leaned forward, face over-serious. ¡°I may have a few ideas.¡±
The next four hours were exhausting. I soaked up the bliss quietly for a few minutes before I leaned over to kiss Illia on the cheek. Reth glowered at me from the other side, so I pushed Catarine¡¯s¡ªI think that was her name¡ªleg out of the way to plant another kiss on Reth¡¯s forehead. It was suddenly tempting to just forget about my coronation and stay the rest of the day¡ªrest of the year even. Say what you want about Thaddeus, the man was a master of two categories, lying and laying.
With a sigh, I navigated the tangle of bodies and staggered off the bed to a cacophony of disappointed cries. Their smoky eyes nearly drew me back, and their enthusiasm was infectious.
¡°My lord!¡±
¡°Don¡¯t leave yet!
¡°We¡¯re just getting started.¡±
¡°You haven¡¯t even sampled the fun side of the menu.¡±
¡°Honestly, if we lived in Panthania, I¡¯d take you all as wives my dears. But unfortuantely, this is Uskar.¡± I leaned down towards Catarine¡¯s head and stage whispered, ¡°We have to at least pretend to be monogamous.¡±
¡°Pity.¡±
I slid my jacket on and buckled my pants. ¡°Mourn me well, new friends, for I go to a place you cannot follow.¡± My farewell was met with coos and cries and sultry poses, and I took one last long look, hoping to commit the scene to memory.
From there, it was a short skip down the street to the Noble¡¯s Cassock. There my friends bought me drinks while I joked, and japed and tried laboriously to think of them kindly. It wasn¡¯t their fault that their parents were conniving bastards. I tried to think that, in another world, if I wasn¡¯t the heir to the throne, we would all still somehow be friends. Then someone would elbow me chummily and all too casually mention a court appointment or a favor to be named later and the illusion fell to ruin. My father¡¯s words echoed in my head. ¡°A king does not have friends. He has allies.¡±
Perhaps the only sentiment on which we agreed.
A bard, either incredibly insightful or absurdly lucky, strummed out an instrumental only rendition of The Prince¡¯s Lament. I slid off my stool and approached, the world drunkenly shifting from side to side. The bard raised an amused eyebrow at me and continued to play. Not coincidence, then. Too clever by half. The state of his clothing was ragged, his face dirty and unwashed. A sense of respect washed over me. The Noble¡¯s Cassock was more than a little on the high end of the nose. It followed that this particular bard had played his ass off to get here.
¡°Greetings to the bard.¡±
¡°Regrets to the noble.¡±
Mouthy. I liked him immediately. Interestingly, he didn¡¯t correct me, meaning he was either unscrupulous or a legitimate bard. Traveling minstrels and troopers were a bronze sliver a dozen in these parts, but actual bards were rare.
I raised my hand with two fingers extended and glanced towards the barkeep, requesting a refill for the both of us. The bard bowed appreciatively, fingers strumming all the while. A serving girl brought out the drinks. Mine was served in the same embellished metal stein I¡¯d been drinking from for the last hour, while the bard¡¯s was brought in a stained wooden mug. I smelled it experimentally and winced, firing a glare at the bartender before switching our drinks.
I took a long pull from the wooden mug, wincing as the acrid taste hit the back of my throat. ¡°Sander been making you drink this piss all day?¡±
The bard shrugged, played the final chord of the chorus and stopped, reaching to take the traded mug. ¡°Beer is beer milord.¡± He smelled his new drink and looked delighted, taking a sip, savoring it. ¡°However, hades will melt to a puddle before I ever turn down an Oteron. It¡¯s nice to see that not everyone around these parts has forgotten proper hospitality.¡± His accent betrayed the fact that he wasn¡¯t local. Certain consonants were elongated in a subtle old county twang.
¡°And this is the good side of town. Stay out of Topside if you can manage it,¡± I said darkly, ¡°nothing but sorrow to be found there.¡±
¡°Appreciate the advice,¡± The bard replied, though I suspected he was already aware.
Topside, unintuitively, did not refer to the true north of Whitehall, rather the west. When the city was first established, the castle, mercantile, and educational districts were all constructed first, built closer to the road for easier trade and access. The poorer and less desirable real estate was pushed out to the west. While the east was properly spaced, with a reasonable distance between each building and well-maintained roads, the west was cramped, buildings at the far end jammed up against the mountain itself. Over time, the roads grew smaller and smaller. It was the geographical equivalent of a hangman¡¯s noose. The corresponding unrest and eventual upheaval had been as inevitable as breathing, though my father had crushed it so mercilessly that there hadn¡¯t much noise since the revolt nine years ago.
¡°How long have you been in the city?¡± I asked, killing the beer with as much resentment as one could have towards a beverage and signaling for another.
¡°A week? Give or take a day. With the clouds constantly darkening the sky it¡¯s hard to keep one¡¯s sense of time around these parts.¡± He plucked a single note on an open string, adjusted the corresponding tuning key, then moved to the next.
¡°Thank Elphion for the sun today. You think it¡¯s bad now, wait until we get further into winterscrest,¡± I joked, ¡°eventually it stops being about how cold it is and becomes a question of how long you can stay outside before breathing your last.¡±
The bard shuddered. ¡°Too much for my summer blood. I''ll be long gone by then.¡± My friends had finally noticed my absence and were shooting questioning glances in my direction. I sighed.
¡°I should be getting back.¡±
¡°It was a pleasure, milord.¡± There was a hint of something in his voice, but it was too subtle to know for sure if I was being mocked.
¡°Say, bard?¡±
¡°Yes milord?¡±
¡°How are you at composition?¡±
After a brief negotiation, I left him with an invitation to the coronation, a letter of introduction and credit to my favorite local tailor, a promise of a story worth writing songs about, and enough silver to feed him for a year. His eyes had bulged as I placed the silver rods on the table and for once, his laissez-faire attitude slipped. He snatched them away, his gaze panning the room, ensuring no one had seen the magnitude of the exchange. I made a few requests and he happily obliged. My friends all drank their fill and sang along with me. The rest of the nobles noticed and followed suit. For one perfect moment in time, the oh-so-respectable Noble¡¯s Cassock was transformed into a much bawdier establishment, passers-by glancing in, wondering if they had inadvertently wandered into topside.
What none of us realized, was that the division between topside and central would soon be nothing more than a line in the descriptive history of a dead city.
3. Ignis II
3. Ignis II
Well and truly drunk, I wandered into a toy store. There were various baubles and dolls and paddles with strings tied to rubber balls. None of it was what I was looking for. There was a xylophone. I picked up the small mallet and picked out discordant notes until the shopkeep came up huffing from the back. To my mild relief, he didn¡¯t seem to recognize me, other than picking up on the general air of nobility. He was plump and had a pleasant disposition, though I wondered how much of it was calculated.
¡°Greetings good sir! How may I be of assistance this blessed day?¡± His eyes flicked to the mallet in my hand and back. ¡°Has the tone board caught your fancy?¡±
I shook my head. ¡°Sadly, I¡¯m shopping for someone else today.¡±
¡°Little brother then?¡±
¡°Sister.¡± I wobbled on my feet, and he took my arm to steady me. Once confident I would not tip over, he released my arm and waddled to the more pastel, feminine side of the room.
¡°How old?¡± He asked, cheery but businesslike.
¡°Fifteen¡¡± I paused, ¡°I think.¡±
His hand faltered for a moment, then reached for a decorative silver band with clear rhinestones embedded upon the top. He held it out with a flourish. ¡°A tiara for the little princess, perhaps?¡±
I stiffened, then coughed to hide a laugh. The man had no idea how good his instincts were. The thought of presenting Annette with a fake tiara was tempting, but I was relatively sure she¡¯d find it either daft or insulting.
¡°Alas, she already has one.¡±
¡°Hm,¡± The man muttered to himself. From there we went through a repetitive dance: he would pick something off the shelf, I would consider it and eventually turn it down. It had never occurred to me how difficult Annette was to shop for. Everything any other girl her age would appreciate all seemed too infantile or silly pictured in her hands.
This went on for some time and our interaction grew strained.
The storekeeper brought out a stuffed animal. I sighed and nearly left before giving it a second look. It was a white tiger with black stripes, blue eyes, and a stern stare. It stood out because it didn¡¯t seem childish. Nothing like the caricatured spotted dogs with felt tongues lolling out or circus bears popular among children. If not for its size, it could almost pass as a work of taxidermy.
¡°I¡¯ll take it.¡±
The toymaker let out a breath of relief so large he seemed to deflate, and offered a reasonable price, more to avoid what he likely assumed would be an extensive haggle than out of any sense of fairness.
I found Annette in the war room. That wasn¡¯t its given name¡ªit was more like a pavilion, really¡ªbut since Annette took it over a few years back the nickname stuck. A dozen tables with kossboards were arranged in a parallel line, a single person seated at each of them, all of them deep in thought. Except Annette. She barely seemed to contemplate anything as she walked casually down the line, pausing at each board for less than a second to make a move before continuing to the next.
The contrast between my sisters always struck me as peculiar. No two siblings are exactly the same, not even twins. But my sisters might as well have been from entirely different continents, let alone families. While Sera was bright and energetic, Annette was taciturn and reserved. Sera¡¯s emotions blazed white and hot while Annette revealed nothing, her feelings invisible and immutable beneath the ice of her frozen demeanor. Sera had magic and music, while Annette had only her mind.
But her mind was something else entirely.
¡°Hello little sister,¡± I said, holding the tiger behind my back. Annette didn¡¯t look up, instead walking over to the closest board and leaning over it. The student at the board looked absolutely gobsmacked. It took a moment to recognize him: A baronet¡¯s son, Tary, who didn¡¯t walk so much as strut, as if the very clouds lifted his feet. I¡¯d never seen him look so lost.
¡°Why did I beat you?¡± Annette drummed her fingers on the board. Her voice gave nothing away¡ªif I hadn¡¯t grown up with her, I would have no idea the extent of her irritation.
¡°You haven¡¯t yet,¡± Tary snapped, trying to regain his usual bluster.
¡°Oh?¡± Annette demonstrated in seconds the various ways every legal move he had would lead to imminent defeat. ¡°Looks like discendente to me.¡±
¡°It¡¯s not my fault you¡¯re a freak of nature!¡±
My hackles rose and I stepped forward, only to be stopped by a single flick of Annette¡¯s finger.
¡°That is why you cannot win, Tary of Fillmont.¡± My sister began to reverse the pieces in order of movement from memory alone. ¡°Here. And here. These were your critical mistakes. Simple mistakes a child could avoid. How old are you, Tary?¡±
¡°Too old to be taking lessons from a teenage hermit princess.¡± Tary huffed backwards and his knee bumped the Koss table, upsetting the board and sending a number of the white and red pieces tumbling to the ground. A black rage came over me, pulsing from the corners of my eyes. How dare he? I had a sudden urge to grab his hair and throw him to the ground. In reality, all I had to do was cough, draw his attention, and he¡¯d fill his trousers. But I knew from experience that Annette would hate me for it. She had a thing about fighting her own battles. So I did nothing.
¡°Too old indeed.¡± Annette¡¯s stare was withering, even secondhand. ¡°Yet, you lose. Over and over.¡± Tary¡¯s hands clenched into fists. ¡°The reason you lose,¡± Annette continued, ¡°is because you¡¯re already resigned to losing. From the beginning. Over and over you tell yourself that the odds are stacked. You give yourself excuses. What¡¯s the point of paying attention when you¡¯re up against a freak of nature? It¡¯s at that moment where you fail. The rest is nothing more than learned helplessness.¡±
To my surprise, Tary actually softened at this. His fists unclenched and his fingers flexed. Shame played across his face. ¡°How do I convince myself it¡¯s possible to win when I know for a fact that it is not?¡±
¡°What¡¯s needed is a change of perspective. Have you read Wi¡¯rell?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±
Annette glided over to the bookshelf on the far side of the room, perused it with a far away look, then returned. She held a familiar tome under her arm and I couldn¡¯t help but smile.
I never understood Annette growing up. Sera made sense: a fighter, through and through. Annette was a sponge. She would soak up everything she was taught, be it sewing or etiquette, and be utterly exceptional at it within the year. But everyone wanted her to be the princess Sera never would be. They wanted her to giggle and run through fields with flowers in her hair. They were going to be waiting a long time. Annette never cracked a smile for more than a few seconds, and it was nearly impossible to make her laugh. She¡¯d only ever spoken on the topic once: She said it felt like everyone expected something of her that she didn¡¯t know how to give. Everyone but me.
I never judged her for not emoting or being charismatic enough. At some undefined point she began sneaking into my room at night to study and read. Her presence didn¡¯t bother me. After dealing with Sera it was just nice to have a sibling that didn¡¯t constantly shout or argue or need to compete. Sometimes Annette would grow too sleepy to keep her eyes open, and on one such an occasion, she asked me to read to her. I picked Fen Wi¡¯rell¡¯s Treatise on Combat underhandedly, hoping the dryness of the text would drive her away, or to sleep, or at least make her think twice about asking me to read in the future. It utterly backfired. I¡¯d read that book to her at least half a dozen times. Then one day she stopped coming.
I never knew why.
Annette flipped the book open and began to quote. ¡°If a warrior finds himself in a situation where victory is improbable and retreat is impossible, his goals should shift. Instead of expending one¡¯s self attempting to achieve the inconceivable, he should instead look to leave his mark another way.¡± She closed the book and handed to Tary. He took it slowly. ¡°What does it mean?¡±
¡°That even defeat should accomplish something?¡± Tary said, not able to keep the statement from sounding like a question.
¡°Yes.¡± Annette flashed a rare smile, there and gone instantly. ¡°You don¡¯t have to win, Tary. You don¡¯t even have to come close. All you have to do is make me sweat. Make me wonder, just for a moment. Cripple me so someone else-¡° Annette indicated the other Koss boards. ¡°-can come in for the kill.¡±
¡°That¡¯s¡ not very satisfying.¡± Tary rubbed the back of his neck.
¡°Perhaps. But a partial victory is better than total defeat.¡±
Annette finally turned to me. She clasped her arms behind her back and whatever passion had leaked through while she talked of battles and philosophy refroze, leaving her face entirely.
¡°Hello Cairn.¡±
¡°Annette.¡± I ignored the panic on Tary¡¯s face. Perhaps it was enough to know he¡¯d be wondering how long I¡¯d been standing there and how much I¡¯d heard for at least the next few weeks. ¡°Can I steal you? It will only take a few minutes. The gardens, perhaps?¡± I indicated the door to her left, hoping today would be the day I could get her to go outside.
¡°Of course, but not the gardens.¡± Instead of following me, Annette raised one hand and snapped her fingers. The quiet whispers and mutterings went silent. ¡°Take twenty,¡± she said over her shoulder, addressing the room, ¡°don¡¯t be late.¡±
I sighed inwardly. This was the part of Annette that puzzled most. She used to be somewhat adventurous, roaming the castle, speaking to servants and visitors alike. It might not have been the sort of bubbly, cheery interaction my parents would have preferred, but still, she made an effort. One day, everything changed. A few months after she stopped visiting my rooms she stopped going outside at all. All her meals were served to her room. Her tutors and handful of friends came to visit her here. She could only leave the two areas when practically forced, and even then, began to panic if her excursions went longer than an hour.
We stood awkwardly until the last of her students filed out the door. She wasn¡¯t meant to be the teacher, but after three weeks of attempting to break Annette of her ¡°bad habits,¡± the previous teacher quietly packed her bags and vacated the premises without leaving a note.
Stolen story; please report.
I held out the white tiger. It was garnished with a red bow that I had fashioned from some tablecloth, as I¡¯d forgotten any sort of wrapping. Annette didn¡¯t reach to take it at first. Instead, she studied it, bending slightly at the waist, a small hand on her chin.
¡°It matches your eyes. A pet?¡± Annette finally said. I felt a crick of irritation.
¡°It¡¯s a gift, Annette. For you.¡± I pushed the tiger further forward.
¡°Ah.¡± She took it then and folded it into her arms like one would an infant, the small head peeking over her grasp.
The sides of my mouth started to turn up on their own. ¡°Annette. Did you just make a joke?¡±
¡°Of course not.¡± Annette shook her head and her dark curls bobbed. ¡°One cannot simply assume one is being given a present. That could cause quite a misunderstanding if you had already claimed this child as your own.¡± She stroked the tiger¡¯s head.
This child. What a weirdo.
I opened my mouth to speak but Annette interjected, ¡°It is not winters festival.¡±
¡°Do I need an excuse to spoil my dearest sister?¡± I tried.
Annette¡¯s gaze went to the ceiling as if she was calculating something. ¡°Auburnswell, 15th. Or 16th.¡±
¡°What?¡± I could feel my good mood draining away.
Her cold eyes pierced me. ¡°That was the last time you came to see me of your own volition. Four months ago.¡±
¡°I¡¯m sure we¡¯ve talked since then-¡±
¡°A button. A lady¡¯s button had fallen off and you needed my expertise and discretion.¡± Annette¡¯s nose crinkled. ¡°Her bodice smelled like deeply unhappy roses.¡±
¡°Elphion take me.¡± I ran a hand through my hair in annoyance. ¡°Okay. Fine. I¡¯m sorry, Annette. It¡¯s been terribly-¡°
She swiped her hand as if deflecting an arrow, still deeply in thought. ¡°Don¡¯t apologize. Not looking for sorry. Doesn¡¯t make sense. You need something?¡±
¡°No. If you¡¯d just let me-¡°
¡°No favor needed. Why the present? Neither a festival or my name day. Why do people bring presents? Love? Appreciation? No.¡±
The words weren¡¯t intended to be cruel, but they struck a painful chord in my heart just the same. There was no point in cutting in when Annette was like this. Better to let her suss it out for herself.
¡°Smells like cheap liquor and cheaper perfume. Quantity over quality. Splurging. Gift is a product of sentimentality born out of¡ guilt? Guilt over what? Over-¡± the end was bitten off. She blinked several times then and looked up at me, suddenly very small. ¡°Oh. Oh no.¡±
I hugged her then. It was all I could think to do. She didn¡¯t reciprocate, her small arms hanging at her side limply before suddenly pushing me back.
¡°No. Wait. No. You have to give me time to put together an argument. There are plenty of reasons, I just need to think¡¡± She trailed off as I shook my head sadly. This was not going well. It was part of why I¡¯d held off talking to her for so long. My sister was too smart for her own good.
¡°Sera¡¯s going to need you, kiddo. She¡¯s smart but too brash by half. You¡¯ll need to support her.¡±
Annette made the same wide flicking motion with her hand, her brows pulling downward in a deep scowl. ¡°I do not want to support Sera. Sera makes cruel jokes. Calls me a simulacra. Overplucks my eyebrows. Borrows my dresses, despite the fact that they are both too short and too chesty for her.¡±
I fought back a snort. ¡°Brassiere aside, she¡¯ll be a better ruler than me.¡±
¡°Perhaps, but that is irrelevant. We were supposed to be a team. You and I. I¡¯ve been preparing for this. I knew you¡¯d need help and I¡¯ve been working myself to the bone-¡°
¡°Which is fantastic. It will just be Sera instead of me,¡± I said firmly.
For a second, I thought Annette might shed a tear. Her eyes reddened and her lip quivered. Then her breathing grew more steady. I could almost see her emotions being brutally reined in, pulled close and banished away forever. All the anger and heat and frustration had disappeared entirely, replaced with disinterest and disdain.
¡°I suppose this is goodbye then? It would not be wise to linger after the fact.¡±
¡°I suppose it is.¡±
¡°Be well then, brother. May the frost wane at your waking.¡±
I wanted to hug her, but it was obvious from her body language that further contact was not welcome. So instead, I bowed.
¡°And yours as well.¡±
The coronation hall was packed to the walls, excited conversations capitalized by the occasional high-pitched laugh. Guards, ever vigilant, formed lines at the front and back, uniform and proud, their gray-silver armor glowing gold in the warm light.
I peeked out from behind the curtain, the magnitude of what was about to happen finally hitting me and souring my stomach. This was it. There would be no going back.
Mother had, indeed, found something in purple, though in actuality it was closer to plum, ridden with unnecessary ruffles and enough detailed embroidery to give the most gifted seamstress a heart attack. Worse, it had a collar that was both scratchy and tight, making me feel as if my head could burst at any given moment.
I tried to ignore the bevy of smiles sent my way. It was no secret that most of the kingdom, save a small selection of excessively well-to-do nobles, were desperate for a change. My father ruled with an iron fist and a cold heart. These attributes saw us through the worst of the wars and the rebellions. It was a universal assumption that once those uncertain times were over, my father would change. That he would soften with the absence of external threat. But that never happened. He was still the same warlord who set fire to the villages of his enemies and threw prisoners of war off high balconies. Only the targets had changed.
Stupid as it sounds, I¡¯d actually been feeling somewhat guilty when he approached me an hour earlier.
An attendant was powdering my face in the preparation room when a hulking seven-foot form stooped through the door and stood behind me, leaned against the wall. I couldn¡¯t see his face through the mirror and lights, and he seemed content to stand in shadow.
¡°Hello Father,¡± I said. The attendant faltered, paused to bow, then resumed his task, much more slowly and carefully than before. King Gil¡¯s silhouetted form crossed his arms, seeming to make a point out of saying nothing.
¡°Come to give me any last-minute advice? The secret to ruling? How to select a respectable queen?¡± I instantly regretted the last question. It was dangerous for anyone to be coy with my father, even a prince on his coronation day.
No response. Nothing but the quiet swish of the attendants brush. My father finally spoke in a deep, bristling baritone. ¡°Are you meant to be king of Whitehall? Or some whored out Panthanian pillow-biter?¡±
My attendant immediately stopped, panic rising in his eyes. My father¡¯s harsh words were jarring, but I¡¯d be damned if I let him see it. I gave a meaningful look to the attendant, and he continued, flicking occasional glances into the mirror towards the back of the room, as if preparing to dive aside should Gil the terrible come charging in to bowl me over.
¡°Much has changed since your coronation, my king.¡± I said, my answering respect to his impropriety dripping with sincerity. ¡°Plumbing, for instance. Dragons no longer roam the earth. And there are enough lumen lamps and magical lighting on the great hall stage to make the most sun-kissed Dulen pale as the eldest vampire.¡± I cocked an eyebrow playfully, despite knowing the reception my lightheartedness would receive. ¡°If I have the choice between appearing panthanian or vampiric, I must choose the former.¡±
¡°Why did you allow Thaddeus to send men away from the capital? Today, of all days?¡± My father¡¯s eyes glittered in the dark, practically smoldering.
¡°He believes the elves-¡°
¡°It¡¯s always the blasted elves!¡± my father exploded, his voice rattling the mirror. ¡°Or stone-sucking dwarves, or infernals, or demons. The man is obsessed with the lesser races to the degree that should be considered unhealthy. As if any of them pose even the most passing threat.¡±
¡°Once upon a time, they did.¡± I pointed out, careful to keep my voice as neutral as possible.
¡°They did, aye. Then I crushed them. I burned their crops and salted the earth. I caved in the dwarven mines. I rode an Elphion damned dragon through a portal to the infernals¡¯ domain and set it on fire, then broke the dimension gate on my way out. I executed every elven cultist and their children.¡±
In a mocking tone, I mentally recited the tirade along with him, it was so oft repeated, but when he reached the end, I couldn¡¯t help but cringe. Unlike every other event, I¡¯d been there for the last one. I¡¯d seen the smoke rise above the villages. Heard the screams and wails of broken families. Mother tried to keep me home but Father had insisted, claiming it would enlighten me to the truth of things. Instead, it had given me nightmares for years.
¡°Yes. You did,¡± I said evenly, staring back at him. ¡°It is not the sort of thing that folk forget. So, it was perhaps with an inexperienced mind that I decided the elves were the kind of threat we should monitor. Seeing as how they might harbor some resentment over, you know, all those pesky dead children.¡±
The man applying my makeup stopped breathing. Father stood directly behind me, his arm perpendicular to his body, prepared to launch a vicious backhand I knew all too well. My attendant scrambled backwards to escape the fallout.
¡°Quite a mouth on you, boy.¡± He hissed.
¡°Please. Go ahead.¡± I turned to him and stood, gesturing at his hand. ¡°Strike me. Here, if you would.¡± I pointed to my right eye, coincidentally the last place he had hit when we spoke months ago. ¡°I¡¯d love to see the strength projected by a bruised and battered king.¡± Good King Gil hesitated, then smiled cruelly. His open hand became a fist and lowered, striking me almost casually in the stomach.
I lost my lunch and what felt like several gallons of beer.
As I heaved onto the floor, he leaned down and whispered in my ear. ¡°Everything you are, you owe to me. I made you. A peacetime ruler is nothing more than a mummer¡¯s puppet. Enjoy the strings.¡±
It was at that moment, staring at the newly grimy floor, that the guilt over what I was about to do disappeared entirely.
The pageantry of the coronation continued at a glacial pace. The royal family was set to one side of the stage, a small selection of nobles and high-ranking officers on the other. A group of musicians finished their final piece, and I sighed in relief. The music had been stately, on rhythm, and entirely exhausting, never venturing from mathematically tedious baroque traditions.
Afterwards, Archbishop Celic rose from his seat and made me wish the music had gone on for another hour. With painstakingly extensive detail spoken in the most pious tone, he told the history around the tradition of ¡°The King¡¯s Sacrifice.¡± How every monarch that had provided a proper sacrifice had been rewarded with a bountiful rule, and how every king who had not had suffered. Then he proceeded to list them.
All of them.
By the end of it, even the pews filled with church electorate, all high-ranking priests and nuns, were a line of glazed eyes and slowly tilting heads.
To my amusement, Sera was struggling more than most. Her body slumped momentarily only to reawaken with a start, glancing around to check if anyone had witnessed her heresy. Sera wasn¡¯t allowed to sit with the rest of us, of course. Because of the magic. Because she was different. I caught her eye.
¡±Be ready,¡± I mouthed.
She nodded. No smile. It occurred to me that for once, Sera was likely more nervous than I was.
Archbishop Celic finally wrapped it up. With shaking hands and a sheen of sweat on his forehead, he took a torch from one of the guards, said a few words in old Uskarian, and lit the pyre in the center of the room. It glowed the usual unearthly green, a side effect of the rare darshall wood used for the ceremony. The queen reached over and squeezed my hand. She had tears in her eyes.
¡±I¡¯m so proud of you,¡± she whispered in my ear.
Give it time, stepmother. Just give it time.
I tried not to regret how much this was going to hurt her. Plenty of time for contrition after. Annette watched me intently. There was a slight confusion on her face, as if she was staring at a puzzle and couldn¡¯t quite piece out how it all fit together. She was probably wondering why, after our previous conversation, I was still here. Why I¡¯d let things go so far. The answer was simple. Annette didn¡¯t have all the pieces. Sera was the closest. I¡¯d told her more than was wise. Even she didn¡¯t know everything. The state of ignorance wouldn¡¯t last long. Within the hour, everyone would understand.
Archbishop Celic approached me, holding the silken black pillow that nested the platinum crown. It was smaller than my fathers, such was the way of things. As a king¡¯s list of achievements grew the crown would also, additional pieces of platinum and gems being soldered on. In the royal blacksmith¡¯s quarters, there was likely a set of blueprints for how this particular crown might grow. In another world, it might become so elegant and massive it could only be displayed, rather than worn. But even as it was placed upon my brow, I knew the truth.
¡°I present to you, King Cairn, son of Gil, First of his name!¡±
This crown would never grow. This crown was stillborn.
The applause of thousands shook me from my revery as I stood, cloak trailing behind. I embraced my mother and sister, then shook hands with my father. All earlier cruelty was gone from his face, and he wore the face of a proud patriarch. I leaned in to whisper in his ear as he had in mine.
¡°I know what you did, you old fuck,¡± I said. And for a second there was no response. The sort of person he was, he probably had to go down a list. Then his face went ashen as the proud father imitation slipped into abject horror. For what might have been the first time ever I let the mask slip. There was nothing he could do. We were past the point of no return.
¡°Now the king will present the sacrifice.¡± The Archbishop extended a shaking hand towards the ceiling, and the crowd applauded again. It was the last time they¡¯d clap for me tonight.
I approached the edge, overlooking the emerald pyre, and began to speak.
4. Ignis III
4. Ignis III
I spread my hands out in a warm welcoming gesture, hoping the spike of adrenaline didn''t show. ¡°Thank you, everyone, for attending this humble coronation. Transitions of power can be difficult. My dearest father can attest to that personally.¡± There was a scattering of nervous laughter. The lights directed at this spot on the stage were so bright the faces of the crowd had been replaced with barely visible featureless pink circles.
¡°I can¡¯t tell you how convenient it is to have all of you in one place. Still, these events can be trying. What helps me get through is to think of it all as a party: you¡¯re made to stand too long, the liquor runs cheap before it runs dry, and some arse prattles on about all manner of things you pretend to care about.¡± I paused for laughter and it came, much less nervous than before. ¡°Alas, as much as we would all prefer to get to the fun part, that comes later. There are matters that must be attended to. The circumstance demands it. The sacrifice.¡±
I mimicked the archbishop¡¯s tedious vocal tone and his face fell into a scowl. ¡°King Seraph bequeathed a golden ring, swearing that he would take no wife while he wore the crown. Whitefall prospered. King Tailien the Wise offered up his dagger, a beautiful piece of Chaya steel, but most importantly, a gift from his long dead grandfather. Whitefall prospered. My father.¡± I gestured to him grandly. ¡°In his boundless wisdom, surrendered his conqueror¡¯s blade, swearing to forgo violence for the sake of peace. And Whitefall prospered.¡± They applauded, likely as much in relief that he was no longer the king as respect.
¡°And so, in such hallowed company, the choice now comes to me. No small pressure. I had no idea what to choose. At first, I looked through my collection, searching for the object of highest value. But then, our fairest Queen Genevieve, gave me some advice.¡± I indicated my stepmother, and her eyes crinkled in a kindly smile. ¡°My dearest mother advised me that fiscal value of the sacrifice was secondary. It needed to be something I cared about deeply. Something that would tear at my heart as I tossed it into the fire. Weeks passed. I meditated, and drank, and searched my very soul until I finally found the answer. Not an it, rather, a who.¡±
There was a smattering of hushed confusion and the beginnings of alarm. I held my hand out to them kindly. ¡°Calm yourselves. No one¡¯s getting tossed on the pyre today. It¡¯s... metaphorical.¡±
Still, the nervous energy persisted. I had talked much longer than was proper for this stage in the ceremony, and would talk much longer still. They had begun to sense the hammer in the air, poised to strike down at them.
I shook my head and clasped my hands together at my waist, attempting to don a penitent air.
¡°To do this, there are reparations and admissions to be made. I made a mistake. My father and mother would prefer I hide this from you, but that is no way for a king to begin his reign. You see, my lords, my ladies, I committed the unspeakable. Worse than theft. Worse than incest¡ªthough,¡± I glance to the left at Baron Argos and his lady wife, both remarkably similar of face, allowing myself to smirk. ¡°Some would argue that is not such a sin amongst nobles so much as an inevitability.¡± They didn¡¯t laugh that time. Baron Argos puffed himself up and was about to respond, a massive faux pas, but I sprung the trap before he could.
¡°Worse than murder.¡±
I turned to my father and, for the first time in my life, allowed him to see the depth of my hatred. His face was closer to purple than red, and his massive hands gripped the bottom of the seat. He would kill me for this, of that there was no question. But I no longer cared.
¡°I fell in love. That was my sin.¡±
It was a solemn moment. No one spoke until everyone did, a wave of whispers rushing out so collectively loud they no longer resembled a facsimile of quiet. I saw Annette out of the corner of my eye, hand on her forehead. I couldn¡¯t bring myself to look, but I heard my stepmother crying. The anger and the bitterness nearly overwhelmed me then. She may have not had a hand in it directly, but she had certainly condoned it.
Somehow I reined myself in without lashing out. Instead I searched the crowd for a particular face until I saw him in the back row. I clapped my hands twice. The whispers ceased.
¡°Bard!¡± I called and waved to him. All eyes turned towards the back where the bard I met in the tavern was sitting, glancing between me and the door, face twisted in terror, contemplating making a run for it. He gave another look towards the guards and seemed to come to the conclusion he wouldn¡¯t get very far. He stood, the instrument case dangling off his back.
The bard cleared his throat delicately. ¡°Y-yes, my lord?¡±
¡°Come.¡± I made a sweeping motion to my left. ¡°I require accompaniment.¡±
Whispers shifted into mutterings of righteous indignation. The bard looked toward the exit one last time, as if bidding a final farewell to a dying friend, then began the long walk down the hall to the stage. He arrived and knelt at my side to open the case. As he unpacked, he spoke, barely loud enough for me to hear.
¡°Will you be singing?¡± The bard asked, trying to keep his voice from trembling.
¡°No. Narrating.¡±
¡°Accompaniment then. Do you have a preferred chord progression?¡±
¡°Whatever feels appropriate.¡±
¡°My lord,¡± the bard said through gritted teeth, ¡°has anyone ever made you aware of the fact that you are a gaping asshole?¡±
Bard strumming behind me, I told them her story. In truth, I¡¯d brought him up because this was the sort of story I was afraid to tell alone. There¡¯d be far too many moments of quiet and contemplation without the music. It was like trying to tell the story of the sky. Where do you even begin? How do you describe true beauty to those whose very sense of it is counterfeit, derived from the objects they own, calculated from the volume of their treasuries. It is an impossible task. So I could only try, knowing all the while I would inevitably fail.
I told them the story of Lillian Gray. The words were hard at first. I¡¯d been holding them in for the better part of two years. If you were to ask me the beginning of my story, the true beginning of the larger tale I¡¯m telling you now, I believe it all started with her.
Lillian found me stumbling down Gretna avenue. It wasn¡¯t my best look, staggering and concussed, covered in mud, bleeding like a stuck pig from my forehead. She told me later that the blood had trickled down my forehead and into my left eye, dyeing the sclera a hellish pink. Poor girl thought I had the plague.
What I actually had was a combination of the ol¡¯ drunk and disorderly crossed with not looking raggedy enough in topside, which of course resulted in being robbed.
Who would dare rob a prince, you might ask? Well, this was back before my parents gave up trying to curtail my vices, and therefore getting properly drunk was a laborious sequence of events. I had to buy clothes that could pass me as a commoner, ditch my squire, avoid the guards, convince the cook I made a habit of bedding to let me through the servants entrance¡ªusually with promise of seed to be sown later, then put the unknown yet always significant required distance between myself and the castle before my absence was noticed.
Like I said, it was a process.
The topside denizen that cut my purse had made a point of kicking my head a few dozen more times than strictly necessary. I found myself wandering through topside in a fish-bowled haze. My head pounded, my memory was hazy, and every time I thought I was heading the correct way, I¡¯d find I¡¯d walked in a circle instead.
I¡¯ve no memory of speaking to her or even seeing her. All I remember is a set of small hands gently tugging my arm, guiding me through the streets, through countless lefts and rights, supporting me as I stumbled. I remember her voice, a gentle murmur of encouragement that quelled the fear in my gut. My injuries were serious, that was obvious, but I couldn¡¯t bring myself to be afraid. The voice would guide me. Somehow I never doubted that.
The spiraling turns took me deeper into topside until the smell of piss and trash and vomit were overpowered by the spiced scent of freshly brewed medicine. A lopsided sign marked the otherwise unremarkable building: Gray¡¯s Apothecary, a smiling face carved into the wood next to the more traditionally etched font.
My head pounded. I wanted lay down and go to sleep. It had not occurred to me how tired I was until that moment and all I could think of was sleep. But it wasn¡¯t meant to be. She guided me around the back and took me inside, laid me down, and put a cool cloth on my head.
It was only then that I saw her. Truly saw her. If you were to see an artists¡¯ depiction of her you might not think her beautiful. Light of hair, but in practice it was closer to brown from dust and sweat. A button nose that had been broken once, the story told by a horizontal pink stripe of skin marring honeyed brown. More freckles than I could count, and I did try. Deep brown chocolate eyes that held equal depths of kindness and intellect. These are only pieces of the whole, of course. You cannot appreciate the essence of her from merely a picture, you must see that picture in motion.
Lillian treated me with the preciseness of a surgeon. Bathed me. Checked my pupils. In the mornings and evenings she fed me, mainly bread, with bits of meat and vegetables she¡¯d pull from the many pockets of her apron. I only saw her father a few times, a jolly, stocky man whose smiling lips would press together in irritation each time he passed me in her room, for which I could hardly blame him. With this as a clue as well as Lillian¡¯s practiced bedside manner, I had a strong feeling I was not the first stray she picked up off the street.
It was difficult for me to speak. The man that robbed me had tried to finish the job, strangling me until I passed out, making a painful mess of my throat and vocal cords. The gravel you hear in my voice now was not there before the alley. Still, Lillian would talk to me, even as I faded in and out of consciousness. She called me her Tristan, after the handsome court jester who made a mockery of King Illade and stole his wife. I chose to take it as a compliment to my looks, not as a suggestion that I was, in fact, a clown.
No one ever cared for me so selflessly. Not knowing who I was, not plotting or planning for anything in return. After a couple of days, I was well enough to help around the apothecary, though not enough to speak. Grays was a surprisingly busy establishment, and they needed all the aid they could get. Even nobles would send runners down to pick up orders, a rarity for topside. Those three days were like a crash course. What plants grew in the outskirts of the forest were useful. How to prepare an alchemical tincture or powder. Still, not even a fraction of what there was to know about making medicine.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Lillian¡¯s father, Gunther, became much friendlier towards me once I¡¯d established myself as more than an unnecessary drain on his resources.
As I helped around the apothecary and began to hold small conversations, though stilted to not further damage my voice, Lillian¡¯s kindness began to grow into something more. She¡¯d take any excuse to touch me, massaging my arms at the end of a long day, lightly brushing against me in the tight confines of the kitchen.
She seemed to understand I didn¡¯t wish to talk about my life before I met her and stayed away from the topic, but beyond that, nothing was off-limits. We would talk long into the night about everything and nothing. Lillian was incredibly educated for a commoner, thanks to a mix of her own drive and the fact a nearby bookshop owner let her use his establishment as a library in exchange for monthly salve for the man¡¯s feet.
It was too good to last forever. I knew it. But that didn¡¯t stop the ending from coming too soon. We were making the rounds in her wagon to the local shops when a man dressed too well for topside stopped in his tracks and called out my name. My real name. I quickly recovered, but Lillian caught my momentary shock. She was quiet for the rest of the day. That evening, soldiers came to take me back to the palace.
It was over.
Over a month later, I returned to the apothecary with a retinue and a carriage. Gunther and Lillian both emerged from the apothecary bowed stoically, no doubt still angry with me and irritated I¡¯d just scared off their customers for the morning. I called a servant over with a bag of golden rods, having tallied how much I¡¯d have paid for a month-long stay in a high-end inn, and for Lillian I brought books from the royal library. Her eyes glowed then immediately dimmed as she looked at her father. Finally, Gunther smiled his jolly smile, and Lillian ran to me¡ªstopping inches away, realizing our circumstances had changed. She was poor and I was not. She was dirty and I was not.
I didn¡¯t care. I embraced her.
For years, I courted her in secret. Bought her and her father a house straddling the line between Topside and everywhere else. Helped in the apothecary whenever I could get away for a day.
We went on picnics outside the city limits, which extended into weekend getaways in the next town over. I brought in teachers for her in etiquette, dancing, and music. In truth, I intended to introduce her as a noble from a faraway land. I did not want her as a mistress. I wanted her as a queen.
And what a queen she would have been.
The bard struck a minor chord, full of sadness and longing, and my chest clenched. Bringing the bard had been half joke, half flight of fancy. But he was a little too good at his job and it was backfiring.
I buried it.
The entire room sat on the edge of their seats, as if under a spell. I was under no delusions. They didn¡¯t care for my pain, nor for me. It was the gossip they were after. The crown prince dating a commoner. What scandal.
¡°My king.¡± Thaddeus¡¯ condescending monotone roused me from my sorrow. He approached the dais, one hand palm out. ¡°I understand that this is difficult. But it is not the time-¡°
¡°Silence!¡± I shouted, gripping the lectern with both hands. There were more than a few cringes in the crowd. ¡°You don¡¯t get to stop this now, spymaster. Not when you play the main role in the next act.¡±
¡°Please, my lord,¡± Thaddeus said. It struck me that he was begging. This was the first time I¡¯d ever heard him beg.
¡°Sit down, Thaddeus. Or my first order as king will be to part your head from your shoulders.¡± I said. It wasn¡¯t a joke. At that moment, all it would take was a single push, and Thaddeus¡¯s head would roll. He seemed to sense this and backed away with a cordial bow.
I turned to the audience, and the Bard struck another minor chord.
¡°Now. Where were we?¡±
We thought we were careful. That no one outside my inner circle knew. That all my servants were loyal¡ªmore importantly, that everyone who met Lillian would love her as I did.
We were wrong. It turned out we were just children playing at espionage, clueless of the real monsters that lie in the dark. Thaddeus was aware of Lillian, what she meant to me. He knew the whole time. But he held off telling Good King Gil, as I was only nineteen, the crown a long way off.
I still remember the morning Lillian rushed out to the carriage, her cheeks flushed, to tell me the news. She was pregnant.
After that, everything changed.
A part of me died that morning. It started like any other. We had a picnic outside the walls, though it was a little different than usual. No wine. No fish. She leaned on me more, almost clung to me. Scared but too brave to show it. I held her and fed her grapes as we basked in each other''s company.
Percy for a girl, perhaps? No, of course not, Percy is a boy¡¯s name. What about Katherine for a girl? Too snobby. Brunhilde, shortened to Hilde? Hilde is good. Regal. Kind.
Our peaceful naming session was cut short by an ambush. The guards were there, yanking us up and tearing us apart. They wore blackened armor. My father¡¯s personal retinue. Everything was so well executed the plan must have been in place for some time. I tried to fight, but they swamped me, making it impossible to move.
The last I saw of Lillian, she was being dragged by her hair to a second wagon. Confused as I was, there was a finality to the scene I couldn¡¯t shake. I grabbed at one of the guards scabbards. It was halfway out of the sheath before the guard cocked his armored fist and put me down.
Thaddeus was there when I woke up. So sincere. So full of regret. With all the feigned sympathy in the world, he sat by my bedside and relayed what had happened. That my father had learned of my dalliance with a commoner. He actually called it that, a ¡°dalliance.¡± He pretended to empathize as he relayed to me that, as tragic as it was, Lillian and Gunther were being relocated to a city far away from Whitehall. That my bastard would have a simple but happy life. Away from me. All told from the kindly perspective of an outside observer. As if his hand wasn¡¯t in it at every single step.
This was a race against time now. I had to find her. I would not be like my father who sired bastards and banished them to the ends of the earth.
I paid a guard enough to retire several times over to tell me where they were headed. Millwood. Some rat¡¯s ass little town far south. I used the contacts I¡¯d made amongst the commoners to buy a decent horse and hire a tracker while staying outside the purview of spies. The horse was not worth the golden rod I¡¯d paid for it. The tracker was worth every bit twice over. By the second night of hard riding, we¡¯d caught the wagon¡¯s trail.
On the third night, we came to the end of the trail. The wagons, people, and horses had all disappeared. No tracks leading away into the forest or otherwise. They were simply gone.
I looked out amongst the audience. There were all the expected reactions, outrage, irritation. But to my surprise, though few and far between, there was also sympathy. I could not take comfort in it, however. My sadness had rotted into something much worse.
I turned to my father, slowly, dramatically. His face was etched from stone. ¡°I spent days questioning the tracker. Getting second opinions. Talking to experts about what kind of animal could possibly attack a caravan and leave no trace. It took far too long to realize it was you.¡±
There was a cry of surprise from the crowd. My father said nothing. He had already decided he was going to kill me. The damage was done. Now he was just biding his time.
¡°Remember that story you used to tell, father? About how you conquered the lizard men? Let''s see, if I remember correctly: they agreed to surrender if you let their royal family live. You acquiesced, on the condition that they live in capital city as vassals. Then, once their home was occupied and their defenses disarmed you marched that little scaled royal family down the road, just out of view, and slaughtered them. The appearance of mercy was important, you said, so proud of your cleverness. It occurred to me, if you¡¯d execute an entire family for daring to defend their home, what would you do to someone who, theoretically, actually posed a threat to your throne?¡±
¡°You... are a disgrace.¡± My father said.
¡°I''d rather be a disgrace than your spawn.¡± I snapped back. ¡°But that posed a problem. How would I even go about taking revenge? I was stumped. Then the idea came to me. You took away that which I loved most. You cherish your life, certainly, but there is something you love more.¡± I spun the crown between my fingers, smiling madly, before turning back to the crowd.
¡°But I digress. We were talking about my sacrifice. Obviously, it cannot be Lillian Gray, as thanks to my father, she is gone. So I searched my mind, and my heart, and came to one vital, final revelation.¡±
I paused then, basking in the tension of the room before delivering the final blow.
¡°I don¡¯t give a shit.¡± I was yelling now. Murmurs of disapproval and anger. ¡°Not a single, stinking, dog-squatting shit. I hate my family. I don¡¯t care for my sycophantic, sophist, smarm-swallowing friends and sure as hell¡¯s frigid circles don¡¯t give an alley rat¡¯s ass about any of you. If I have to listen to one more noble whisper sweet nothings in my ear in a vain attempt to forcibly penetrate my good graces I might just throw myself off the sky hold. All your petty little problems. The mountains of flaccid in-fighting and resentment for your peers. It¡¯s disgusting. You¡¯re all worth neither my effort nor my time.¡±
¡°They are your subjects! Your people!¡± Thousands of heads turned as Sera stalked down the aisle towards the dais.
¡°Thank the gods for you, sister, I was tiring of talking to myself.¡±
¡°Why are you doing this?¡± Sera asked. She raised her voice slightly, subtly projecting so the auditorium could hear.
¡°Better question. Why are you?¡± I indicated the crowd, playing up my disgust. ¡°They hate you for your magic, though it protects them. I¡¯ve heard them call you demi-human spawn. They even joke that a man will never love you more than he will fear you. Why speak up for them at all?¡± There were more than a few looks of guilt in the audience, speaking to the truth of my words.
My sister surveyed the room slowly, looking magnificently wounded before bowing her head. ¡°Rumors and gossip are irrelevant, Cairn. They are my people. I will serve them regardless.¡± She raised her head and stared at me with defiance. ¡°But what kind of king can you possibly hope to be if you hate them so?¡± Heads bounce back and forth between the two of us. Out of the corner of my eye, Thaddeus sat up ramrod straight in his seat, shocked mouth reforming into a coy smile. So, he finally figured it out. I could hardly blame him. Sera was giving a downright masterful performance.
¡°Yes Princess. Why indeed? I cannot stand the sight of them. Their pudgy frames, their slow and prejudiced minds, their poorly managed hygiene. The question struck me as well.¡±
¡°So? Why should you be king?¡± Sera asked.
¡°My answer? I should not.¡±
The crowd roared, hundreds jumping to their feet in outrage. The guards started actively managing the crowd. My mother rushed off the stage, her face in her hands. My father¡¯s hand was on his sword, his body poised, ready to strike me down the second of abdication.
It was time. I waited until some semblance of order was restored to continue.
¡°Still,¡± I finally said, ¡°it is simpleminded cruelty for a king of Whitefall to refuse the sacrifice. We all know the story of King Hess, who disregarded the sacrifice and brought ruin and famine across the land. If I truly hated you all, I might do just that. But the fact is I do not hate most of you, my lordlings, save a small number I loathe with all my heart.¡± I throw a meaningful glance in the direction of Thaddeus. ¡°It would be more accurate to say that I do not think of you at all. So, lacking a better option, I¡¯ll dedicate my wish to the one person here I can actually stand.¡±
It was the idea I¡¯d been incubating for nearly two years now, ever since Lillian was taken from me. The masterstroke.
I grinned like a madman and took the crown off my head.
Then tossed it into the sacrificial pyre.
It was consumed instantly. I shouted over the raging crowd, my voice filling the room, and made my wish. The wish so many kings had used for the greater good.
Mine was not so magnanimous.
¡°I wish to live! Freely and forever!¡±
The arch-bishop fainted. Sera¡¯s mouth dropped. This was the part I''d left out. And finally, the angry roar of the crowd was deafening.
My father had frozen, his sword halfway out of its sheath. He realized it in time, then. He couldn''t do anything. To kill me would be the same as denouncing the legitimacy of the sacrifice. I''d twisted the rules, wadded up his legacy, and thrown it in his face, all without giving him any legitimate recourse.
I laughed then, long and hard, my cackling nearly drowned out by the chaos. I didn''t stop until Sera pointed her sword at my throat. The room went silent once more.
¡°Leave this kingdom. You are not worthy of it.¡±
I inclined my head to her and hurried to the exit.
It was halfway to my rooms when I heard them begin to chant her name, and despite myself, smiled.
It actually worked.
I had the gall to be pleased with myself. It was pure hubris. Had I looked out the hallway window, I would have seen thousands of shadows flitting through empty streets, descending on the castle itself.
5. Ignis IV
5. Ignis IV
There were many consequences for my choices that night. Most immediate was the size of my honor guard. When I had left for the coronation, I was flanked by nearly a dozen men. On my return, I was followed by one. That was still one too many.
¡°Take the night off.¡± I said. We approached my doors, and the last thing I wanted was a guard giving a detailed account of the prince¡¯s escape to Thaddeus.
¡°With all due respect my lord, that¡¯s not a wise idea.¡± The guard walked backward to talk to me, taking the moment to survey the hallway behind us. His eyes weren¡¯t erratic, but never stayed in one place for long. It was like he was attempting to make up for the absence of protection by looking everywhere at once. Locks of dark hair hung beneath his helmet, covering golden eyes. He was young for protection detail, possibly a few years younger than me. Yet the combination of his easy posture and subtle intensity betrayed experience.
¡°Why?¡± I asked, ¡°The rest did.¡± My voice came out more bitter than intended. After all, I¡¯d just stood in front of the entire kingdom and flipped them the raven. It was hardly the sort of behavior that inspired loyalty. ¡°I¡¯m not your king.¡±
¡°You are my prince.¡±
¡°Tomorrow, I will likely not even be that.¡±
¡°Then I¡¯ll reconsider. Tomorrow.¡±
¡°Hells take you then.¡± I slammed my bedroom door in his face. Let him stand out there all night and may Elphion smite him. Loyal or not, his presence was throwing a major wrench in my plans. My getaway was contingent on a variety of factors, several of which were now compromised. First step of the plan was pissing off the entire kingdom to the point that no one would want anything to do with me. The second step was getting the hell out with at least an hour lead before anyone knew I was gone. And now my unwanted shadow was impeding both.
There was an alternate path. I glanced at the window. I strapped the rucksack I had purchased in the market to my shoulders, now teeming full. Immediately, my palms began to tingle and shivers went up and down my arms. I closed my eyes and chided myself. You¡¯ve done it before. Just do it again. Carefully, I leaned out. The frigid night air whipped at my ears, the ground far below seeming to shift and ripple. I immediately lost my balance and threw myself backward, falling hard on my ass.
Shit. That wasn¡¯t happening. Not tonight. Endless possibilities and considerations ran through my head. After the coronation there was a feast. I¡¯d order the guard to bring me something. He was being difficult because he thought there was a high chance of trouble, not because he thought I was going to run tonight.
It took some convincing, but he finally agreed, looking at me with a face that seemed a bit too insulted. ¡°I¡¯m a guard, not a maid,¡± it seemed to say.
¡°Pillage something for yourself as well, guardsman. This will be a long night.¡±
With that he seemed to agree, and gave me one last questioning look before trotting off towards the banquet hall. Finally.
Before I could grab my things, there was a soft knock on the door.
¡°What?¡± I shoved my rucksack under the bed for the second time, almost shaking from nerves and frustration.
¡°Cairn. It¡¯s me.¡± Sera¡¯s voice. But she sounded strange. I opened the door and Sera came rushing through.
¡°I thought you¡¯d be drinking your new subjects under the table by now.¡± I said, unable to hide a smirk. But Sera didn''t laugh. She didn''t even smile. It was only then that I realized what she was wearing. Dark garments, covered by a black cloak. Sera shivered like she¡¯d just marched through a blizzard, her cheeks and eyes red.
¡°Sera? What¡¯s-¡°
Sera rushed forward and wrapped her arms around me, her cloak trailing behind her.
¡°Brother. I¡¯m sorry.¡±
I never saw the knife that killed me the first time. One moment, I¡¯m embracing my sister, wondering if the pressures of the throne have broken her. The next, there¡¯s a fire blooming in my gut, ravenous, hungry, consuming my nerves and my every thought, save one: I never really knew Sera at all.
I shoved her backwards and the blade went with her. Dully, as I pushed against it to staunch the bleeding, it dawned on me that it was far too gaping and open. She twisted the knife. The pain grew unendingly, magnifying, sending waves of agony through my core and up my back. Sera watched through teary eyes, her bottom lip trembling pathetically. Just minutes ago such an expression would have my immediate attention and concern. Now there was only hate.
¡°Why?¡± I hissed through the horrible haze. ¡°The throne is yours. Freely given. Why do this?¡±
¡°They made me.¡± Sera held herself, wrapping her arms around her shoulders.
¡°Father?¡±
¡°No!¡± Sera cut the shout short. She stared down at the ground. Her whole body shook, as if the earth was shaking underneath her.
Why wasn¡¯t she saying anything? My blood roared in my ears, but¡ I cocked my head. It wasn¡¯t just my blood. Finally, I heard the screams, punctuated by the sounds of combat and war. I groaned, the horror of it coming into sharp focus. Sera hadn¡¯t just played me. She¡¯d played everyone.
¡°What did you do, Sera?¡± I pushed myself up and leaned against the bed. It was all I could do not to focus on the steady pulse of liquid oozing between my fingers. ¡°What did you do?¡± I screamed at her.
¡°There was no other way!¡± Sera yelled. She shuddered, lowering her voice. ¡°Our time is over Cairn. Siladon is done. It¡¯s been a long time coming.¡±
¡°Who¡¯s attacking?¡±
¡°Everyone. The demon-kin, the elves, the dwarves, all of them. They¡¯ve been plotting this for years.¡±
The magnitude of it floors me. Of course, individually, they¡¯d want revenge. Father had subjugated all of them, held a boot to their necks, killed their friends and loved ones with no reparations. But for them to come together made no sense. As much as we¡¯d done to earn their hatred, they hated each other exponentially more. We only had a few hundred years of bad blood. The dwarves and demon-kin had thousands.
¡°So¡ what?¡± I panted at her, gesturing helplessly in the air. ¡°Murder your brother and you get a free pass? The only human left alive in the land of monsters?¡±
¡°I¡¯m not, Cairn.¡± Sera looks at the ground.
¡°Not free?¡±
¡°Not human.¡±
Was she saying the rumors were true?
¡°Bullshit,¡± I whispered.
¡°Wealth wasn¡¯t the only trophy father took home,¡± Sera said bitterly.
A high-pitched whine pierced the air and I grunted, holding my free hand to my ear. Sera staggered to the side, her eyes going wide in panic.
¡°She¡¯s coming. I have to go.¡± With that, she turned and fled, leaving me in the darkness, blood slowly but surely trickling through my fingers.
I screamed for what felt like hours. At first, I screamed for help, then because it hurt too much to stay silent, then because I desperately wanted someone to kill me. Anything to make the pain stop. No one heard. It was agony beyond anything I had ever felt. Worse, it wasn¡¯t static. At moments, it would nearly vanish, only to come shrieking back. It was impossible to adapt to, making every moment of torment as bad as the last. It peaked once more, then the darkness took me.
I woke again. More pain. A rough impact across my face. Someone had slapped me. There was the coolness of marble beneath my back and pressure against my wound, though my hands were at my side. I opened my eyes and groaned.
¡°Please kill me.¡±
¡°That would be treason, my lord.¡±
¡°I actually hate you.¡± I moaned. My annoying shadow from earlier was back, his hand red with my blood. I opened my eyes and caught him looking concerned. There was no fear in his expression, just determination and focus.
¡°What¡ what¡¯s your name,¡± I asked. Somehow I managed to maintain hold on the small thread of consciousness.
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¡°Alten,¡± he said, a wobble of pain in his voice. I studied him and realized, through the hazy veil of pain, that the man had one less appendage than the last time I¡¯d seen him. His left arm was severed at the elbow, armor and all, ending in a charred stump. Suddenly, sitting there wallowing in my misery felt a bit silly.
¡°You¡¯re injured.¡±
¡°This old thing? Yes. I¡¯m sorry to say, your majesty, my injury prevented me from fulfilling my duty. My apologies.¡±
¡°What duty?¡±
¡°Retrieving your supper.¡± Alten¡¯s voice was deadpan but his eyes twinkled. I stared at him incredulously then looked down at my mess of a stomach, still bleeding despite the bandaging and pressure. A chuckle escaped my lips, followed immediately by a groan.
¡°You know, a bit after you left, my appetite just disappeared.¡±
There was a hint of a smile on Alten¡¯s face. ¡°Shocking.¡±
More shocking was the fact that I actually liked the man. It¡¯d been so long since I felt anything more than hate for anyone outside my sisters. My breath grew more ragged as the pain crescendoed and I finally managed to ask the question I feared most of all.
¡°Am I going to die?¡±
Alten¡¯s face immediately shifted down, covered in shadow. ¡°I am no physician. What little I know is purely battlefield medicine, my lord.¡±
Something about his wording rang false. I pushed him, deciding I¡¯d rather know definitively than maintain ignorance. ¡°Just¡ give me your best guess. You¡¯ve seen men die from wounds like this?¡±
¡°¡ Aye.¡± He finally said, eyes still pinned to the floor. ¡°From my time in the Plains Vanguard.¡±
I raised an eyebrow. ¡°A silver sword. Quite the accolade.¡±
¡°While it lasted.¡± He said, a wry bitterness in his voice I knew all too well. It wasn¡¯t prudent to ask more, but easy enough to read between the lines. The Plains were home to constant skirmishing between humans, elves, and dwarves over natural resources. Only the best and the strongest were sent to a post considered to be the highest honor. The few men who lived long enough retired early, their purses fat from the spoils and higher pay. Most simply died. Alten had been demoted. Whatever he might have done hadn¡¯t been bad enough for execution or discharge, or perhaps he simply had friends in high places.
¡°How long do I have?¡±
His face grew grim. ¡°It¡¯s¡ hard to say. The blade missed the vein and your spine, otherwise you¡¯d be dead at worst, immobile at best. But¡ it did cut deep in a bad area. It is not a good way to die¡¡±
¡°Tell me.¡± I commanded.
Alten shifted, his tired friendliness evaporating into professionalism. ¡°Yes, my lord. Given the wound and location, a bowel was most likely perforated. Things that are meant to stay separate will begin mixing. Then sepsis. Then death. It will likely take days. In any other situation I¡¯d be rushing you through the castle to a priest, but-¡°
As if on cue, a scream rang out, sharp and hysterical, impossible to tell if it was male or female.
Well, damn it all. I pushed myself up. Alten clumsily grabbed my arm to support the movement. ¡°How bad is it out there?¡±
¡°It is dire, my lord.¡±
¡°My family?¡±
¡°My apologies, your grace. Your father¡¯s status is unknown. But your stepmother and elder sister are dead for certain.¡±
I closed my eyes. I¡¯d never liked my stepmother, but she wasn¡¯t a bad person. She¡¯d deserved better than this. Sera was naturally more troubling. It didn¡¯t surprise me that they¡¯d killed her. Blood aside, she was as human as the rest of us. But as much as I hated her for what she¡¯d done, I couldn¡¯t simply forget the small bond that we had forged over the last few months.
¡°Annette?¡± I asked.
¡°Unknown. But we need to get you to a priest. If we manage to find one, there¡¯s still a chance it could make a difference.¡±
¡°No.¡± The word left me before I even fully considered the proposal. The earlier encounter with Annette replayed in my mind. She¡¯d begged me to stay, and I¡¯d ignored her. A chromatic mania grew in my head, tinging my vision at the edges, perhaps from delirium, perhaps from something else. Some part of me was relieved. So many things didn¡¯t matter anymore.
¡°My lord?¡± Alten asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.
¡°Give me a moment.¡± I staggered over to my rucksack, waving Alten away when he tried to help. From within it, I pulled a small wooden box and popped it open, revealing the gleaming contents of gems and gold. Alten¡¯s jaw fell open, then immediately firmed up into a face so insulted you¡¯d think I¡¯d asked him to clap.
¡°Not a bribe. It''s to fund the getaway.¡± I gestured dismissively at Alten and he cocked his head to the side. ¡°I get it, you¡¯re so old fashioned you probably prefer to be paid in honor rather than gold.¡± On further consideration, I dumped out the remaining contents of the rucksack, replacing only the chest and the rations I¡¯d set aside for my escape. ¡°The princess must be saved. I gave up my right to the crown. Sera is dead. Annette is all that matters.¡± I thrusted the bag towards Alten and he took it, his face softening.
¡°And who will guard you?¡±
¡°You will, of course.¡± I reached below the bed and retrieved my sword, wincing as the movement sent fresh pain rolling through my gut. ¡°Because I¡¯m going with you.¡±
I''d like to say that I rose to the occasion. Assumed my role as the hero of this story. But the truth is that Alten carried me, sometimes literally.
Yes, I''d made up my mind to storm the castle, to rescue my sister, free her from the grasps of the evil demons and demi-humans. But my resolve was based almost exclusively on fairytales, and went up in flames as easily as the paper those stories are printed on. Literally, as it seemed the castle itself was on fire.
Ivory pillars and white stone walls burned under purple flames like kindling, their colors melting from light to a dull corroded iron. The heat was unbearable, rising from the flames in constant visual distortion. Smoke gathered in the high ceilings like billowing storm clouds.
Alten had not exaggerated. It wasn¡¯t so much a battle as a massacre. The bodies of both servants and subjects piled as high as the guards, if not higher, blood strewn across the marbled floor like brush strokes from a manic artist. Most were strangers to me, but every third or fourth body, I¡¯d recognize the face of someone I once knew. One of my previous honor guards. A friend I¡¯d fallen out with. The cook, who always snuck us something extra on our birthdays, despite our father¡¯s dogged insistence on not celebrating such pointless frivolities. I¡¯d grown more and more numb before Alten took me by the arm.
¡°Don¡¯t focus on the faces. Let the dead flow past you like a river, lest you be drowned with them.¡± Alten said, his voice quiet and firm. He¡¯d dropped the ¡°my lord¡± and its variants fairly quickly after we¡¯d begun our journey. That was fine. I didn¡¯t feel much like royalty.
We were under attack by every race I¡¯d ever learned of, and a few I hadn¡¯t. I watched small creatures with a striking resemblance to the kind-hearted pixies from fables tear a man apart with nothing more than their teeth, his screams crescendoing octave by octave until finally fading away, most of his flesh shed to the bone. Elves of both light and dark variety¡ªand something in between I¡¯d never seen before¡ªoutfought every opponent with easy agility and fast strikes. Their eyes flashed crimson in the smoke-filled haze, lithe bodies flipping and striking as easily as a child walked.
Dwarves, making up for stature with number, struck at men¡¯s knees and groins to topple them before pulverizing their chest plates and helmets with axes and hammers.
The infernals were the worst. Purple, red, and blue horned demons that danced around their opponents, mocking and laughing, infernal speech twisting their voices into something that shook the soul as they set everything on fire.
Still, if I had to pick one person out of the entire massacre I¡¯d prefer not to fight, it would be Alten himself.
An elf flipped away from Alten to create distance. But one didn¡¯t distance themselves from Alten without paying a price. Alten leapt forward, smashing the pommel of his sword against the elf¡¯s head as it rose. The elf made a decidedly inelegant sound and went down hard, smashing his face into the stone and not getting back up. Two more elves hesitated, before one of them threw a knife. Alten, one-armed and unbalanced from the blow, instead pivoted his entire body and kicked the knife out of the air with a crescent lash of his heel.
The sword was growing too heavy in my hand again, so I had to improvise. I managed to take advantage of the elves hesitation and grab one around the neck, pulling it to the ground in a blood choke. Dishonorable, my father would have said, but we were past anything resembling honor at this point. Before his fellow could turn and slay me Alten was on him in a blur of motion. The remaining elf, a female, was built for speed and battered at Alten from every angle, constantly dodging into and pressing the attack from his armless side. The elf beneath me made choking noises, his wriggling growing more frantic, every movement sending a shockwave of pain in my gut.
Alten¡¯s opponent pushed him back, managing to land several blows against his armor.
My elf went still. I almost let go, but its head suddenly rotated like an owl¡¯s until it faced backwards, glowing crimson eyes inches from my face as it smiled at me with pointed teeth that gleamed in the firelight before biting into my shoulder.
I screamed.
It flipped up in a blur of feet and grabbed my sword, raising it high in the air with both hands.
It was over. I closed my eyes.
There was a sound of a sword impacting flesh. But it was not my flesh. Something warm and thick spattered across my upheld hands. I opened my eyes to see a bleeding stump where the elf¡¯s head once was.
Alten placed a foot on the elf¡¯s corpse and shoved it off, then unceremoniously sat down beside me, both of us gasping for air.
I¡¯d mocked him for being the only one of my honor guard to stay. This was the third time he¡¯d saved me. The man was worth more than all of them put together.
¡°They really kicked you out of the silver swords?¡±
¡°Yeah.¡± He gasped out.
¡°Idiots.¡± I said. Alten smiled then, and moved over, studying me.
¡°Come on, now¡¯s the fun part.¡± He inspected our surroundings before finding what he was looking for: a relatively clean piece of flaming wood. I groaned, already knowing what was coming.
The flesh in my shoulder sizzled from the makeshift torch pressed against and I gasped, squinting. No screaming. Much better than last time.
¡°Are those bite marks?¡± Alten asked incredulously, using the fire to get a better look at my wound.
¡°You know those mummer¡¯s tales about the possessed dolls whose heads turn around all the way?¡±
¡°Yes?¡±
¡°Well that¡¯s basically what happened.¡±
¡°No shit.¡± He passed me the torch, trying not to smile. I took it from him and he turned, eyeing me carefully.
¡°You remember-¡°
¡°Yes, yes, two second intervals.¡± I said. His wounds were on his side, two jagged horizontal slashes beneath his blackened stump of an arm. I cauterized them quickly and carefully. Alten, of course, didn¡¯t make a sound. It had seemed excessive to do this with every wound, but the way he¡¯d explained it, we¡¯d both lost too much blood: him from his arm, and me from my gut. It was unpleasant, but the reality was it served us better to staunch any blood loss as quickly as possible, rather than risk falling unconscious or into shock.
Alten turned to me and spoke quietly. ¡°It feels like we¡¯re being herded.¡±
¡°But we¡¯re still heading the right way.¡± I whispered back, but considered his words. While Alten was a great fighter, he was still just one man. We¡¯d encountered considerably less resistance than some groups I¡¯d seen getting completely overrun. Maybe there was something to that. But it begged a question. Why?
¡°It feels wrong. Just be ready.¡±
I nodded.
We moved from room to room stealthily, only getting into minor scuffles that Alten dispatched of quickly. Alten¡¯s words festered in my mind. This was probably the most direct path from my rooms to the pavilion. It was also a main thoroughfare. Why were there not more enemies?
The feeling of unease built. I began to hear the ringing in my ears, growing louder and louder. Sera¡¯s parting words came back to me.
She¡¯s coming
A chill went down my spine.
The Story Continues on Amazon Kindle, Kindle Unlimited, and Audible
Thanks for taking some time to read the first few chapters of Re: Monarch.
I wanted to give a special thanks to my RR/Patreon readers, as they''re really the only way I got to this point. Re: Monarch is now signed through a publisher, and there''s an ebook and audiobook.
Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, and followed along the way. You''re the only reason I''ve reached this point, and I''m extremely grateful.
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A highly edited version of Book One is releasing April 19th, 2022. You click the links to pick up either the Kindle Edition or the Audiobook, or read it for free if you have Kindle Unlimited.
If you want more information about it, I did a Q&A recently here.
Monarch: Forgotten Sanctum Amazon release + Schedule moving forwards
Book II: Forgotten Sanctum is now live on Amazon.
Re: Monarch has returned!
It was a long hiatus, but after months of letting the story simmer, we¡¯re back with a strong outline and one hell of an upcoming arc after we tie things off with the infernals. Thanks so much for your patience. It¡¯ll be worth the wait.
Sanctum was the longest arc I¡¯ve written, which is why it basically became its own book. The plot threads were a bit too long for serial format, but from extensive rereads and edits, I think it flows far better as a complete novel. The tweaks are fairly in-depth, with some dialogue adjusted, foreshadowing added, and a few continuity flubs corrected. If you happen to be a new reader, a long-time follower looking for a refresh, or a visiting reader from Double-Blind, now¡¯s the perfect time to jump (back) in as both books are accessible with a Kindle Unlimited subscription.
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Monarch Books I and II are available here:
Book I: A Prince Out of Time
Available as both a e-book, print, and an audiobook narrated by Luke Daniels.
Book II: Forgotten Sanctum
Currently available in e-book and paperback, getting an audiobook at a later date.
If you don¡¯t have Kindle Unlimited, can¡¯t or prefer not to pick the books up on Amazon, no worries. There¡¯s an in-depth recap chapter on its way.
You¡¯ll miss some nuance and catharsis, but you should be able to pick the story up from the currently uploaded chapters and still have a cohesive and enjoyable experience.
Monarch will be releasing 3-4 chapters a week on RR, starting next week (August 8th, 2022).
(Side note: Pyrrhic went through a rewrite, and I think this interlude kicks off the connecting arc better. The new and improved version of Pyrrhic I will go up on Monday or Tuesday)
194. Fracture I
¡°Do you ever wonder what love is?¡± Lillian whispered. My eyes had grown heavy from sleep, the dim warm light of the inn¡¯s shuttered lantern radiating softly. There was music from elsewhere, likely the tavern next door, and even through what had to be several sets of thick wooden walls, I could hear the muffled sound of a female-sung serenade, propped up by the low-vibration of barely audible strings.
She was fond of these late night ruminations and always asked the hardest questions just as I was about to drift off to nothingness. And it was a hard question. Chiefly because she wouldn¡¯t be satisfied with an off-the-cuff response. ¡°I know it¡¯s what I feel for you,¡± or, ¡°You taught me what it was,¡± would likely earn little more than an eye-roll or a chuckle. If she was anyone else, I might have found it annoying based on timing alone.
But because it was her, I found it endearing.
I rolled over and took her in. She was propped up on one shoulder, and her dark eyes drank me in. She was light of hair. Lighter these days, from all the time we spent in the sun. The tiny brown marks of freckles dotted her nose. They¡¯d only seemed to grow more numerous as of late, to my delight¡ªand her chagrin. In something of a tragedy, the edge of the blanket was pulled high, providing too much coverage for my taste.
I reached over and plucked at the top of her blanket playfully. ¡°If you need a refresher, I could find a way to remind you.¡±
That earned me a palm placed over my face, and a playful shove.
¡°Lech. You¡¯re going to wear me down to nothing.¡±
¡°Can¡¯t blame a man for trying.¡±
I settled back down on the pillow, allowing the playful moment to pass. She looked serious about her question. More serious than usual. But she was meek, and if I let the moment lapse, she would likely disregard it and never speak of it again. Abiding the conversation would likely take us into the late hours of the morning, but to hell with it. We had nothing but a day¡¯s travel back to Whitefall ahead of us, and given my noble status, if I looked exhausted, anyone who saw me that mattered would just assume I was hungover.
With that in mind, I blew air through my lips, laid back on the pillow, placed my arms behind my head, and settled in. ¡°Considering how many centuries an endless number of philosophers, poets, and bards have spent attempting to find an answer to that very question and still not come up with anything conclusive, it may help to narrow the scope.¡±
Lillian snorted. ¡°My apologies, professor.¡±
¡°Ooh, what am I a professor of? A professor of¡ª¡±
¡°If you speak the words ¡®professor of love,¡¯ I¡¯ll pluck your chest hairs out, one by one.¡±
I held a protective hand over my chest. ¡°But there¡¯s hardly any to speak of. They¡¯re endangered.¡±
¡°Best conserve them, then.¡± Lillian stared into the darkness of the inn, her expression growing serious. ¡°I guess, what¡¯s stuck in my mind lately is love¡¯s connection to hate.¡±
Wherever I¡¯d thought she was going, it wasn¡¯t here. I sat up, pushing my back against the headboard.
¡°Do you hate me?¡± I knew, almost beyond the shadow of a doubt, that she didn¡¯t. But it was the shadow that would stick with me, if I left the subtext where it laid. Which is why I felt a great deal of relief when the question itself seemed to startle her.
She reached up and ran her fingers through my hair with a gentle smile. ¡°Never. I can¡¯t even imagine hating you. Which I suppose is why, I find the connection your philosophers, poets, and bards so often draw so unsettling.¡±
Now that the doubt was quenched, I tried to lock in to what was troubling her. ¡°Love and hate as two sides of the same banner.¡±
¡°Yes.¡± Her gaze was far away, thoughtful. ¡°And it¡¯s not like it¡¯s something I¡¯ve only heard of in theory. We see examples of it every day. Jilted lovers who can¡¯t be in the same room as each other. Families torn apart by parents who can¡¯t stand the thought of their children being in the same room as the person they once cherished above all others. It makes sense if they married for status, or security. But I have to imagine that some of them¡ªmaybe many of them, loved each other as surely as I love you.¡±
I blinked several times, ruminating on that before I formed an answer. As a dyed-in-the wool romantic, I could pontificate about love until Ragnarok. But placing it on the dissection table of rational thought didn¡¯t come naturally.
¡°It¡¯s complicated. But¡ I think the hatred you¡¯re describing is born from the void of a stolen future.¡±
¡°Stolen?¡± Lillian cocked her head.
¡°Think about it.¡± I held my hand up, one finger extended. ¡°We begin life more or less alone. There¡¯s family and friends of course, people to accompany and¡ªideally¡ªguide us along our way, but in terms of our personal journey? No matter if it¡¯s an adventure sprawling the continents, or a life confined to a single-city, we are all alone.¡± I extended a second finger. ¡°Then along comes someone. A lover who could be more, a friend who holds a spark. An apothecary girl who rescues you from an alley. Maybe it¡¯s short-lived, doesn¡¯t pan out. Or maybe, it turns out to be more.¡± I pressed my fingers together, overlapping them. ¡°In which case, two journeys become one. You plan your lives together, rather than separate. Eventually your dreams for the future herald them in a starring role, and they graduate from surprise accompaniment to pre-requisite.¡±
¡°And when it falls apart?¡±
¡°Those dreams are shattered. That hope for the future is ground into dust. That¡¯s where the hate stems from.¡±
¡°So, like so much else, its selfishness disguised as hate.¡± Lillian said, sounding disappointed with the conclusion.
¡°Not¡ necessarily. Though that¡¯s part of it.¡± I hesitated. ¡°I think what it depends on, when the dust settles, is which did you love more. The person you cared for? Or the future you lost?¡±
A shadow flickered over her expression. There was something more she wanted to ask, something she thought she probably shouldn¡¯t. It was something of a quirk, one she was entirely self-aware of and had described to me in detail. Because all too often it was the last question that got her in trouble.
Which sometimes placed us at odds. Because I wanted to know her. All of her.
¡°Ask.¡± I prompted.
She slowly turned to look at me, her eyes brimming with tears. ¡°What of us? If something¡ happened¡ to drive us apart.¡±
Would you hate me?
I swallowed. I¡¯d been prepared for something like this, but even that didn¡¯t soften the blow of imagining my life without her. ¡°Something definitive?¡±
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¡°Final, yes.¡±
¡°And when you say final, you mean completely insurmountable despite my considerable resources?¡± I probed, looking for a loophole, anything I could use to avoid playing this out in my mind.
¡°Cairn¡ª¡±
¡°¡ªI¡¯d need some time.¡± I interjected, rubbing my face. ¡°A year¡ªperhaps less or more, I¡¯m uncertain.¡±
¡°Time away from me.¡±
¡°Yes.¡±
¡°Why?¡±
I sighed. ¡°Because only with distance would the dream fade. If I stuck around and just¡ lingered on the fringes as you moved on with your life, I¡¯d probably get it in my head I could win you back. With the right words, the right grand gesture, sheer determination¡ªwhatever. But relationships aren¡¯t like how they¡¯re portrayed in the stories. You can¡¯t just stick the djinn back in the bottle. When it¡¯s out, it¡¯s out. And clinging onto someone after it¡¯s over is the shortest route to resentment.¡±
Lillian¡¯s smile was small, barely visible in the dim light. She crossed her arms. ¡°I like that you¡¯ve automatically cast me as the villain in this little hypothetical.¡±
¡°Did not.¡±
¡°Did too. ¡®Lingering on the fringes while I move on with my life¡¯ sure makes it sound like I¡¯m the wayward woman.¡±
Because that¡¯s the only way I can imagine it. You¡¯d have to be the one to twist the dagger. Because I¡¯d throw away everything I had, my birthright, my status, and all the gold to my name before I ever left you.
It was an embarrassing thought, one I couldn¡¯t bring myself to voice.
Aloud, I said. ¡°It wasn¡¯t intentional.¡±
¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± Lillian shook her head, looking curious now, rather than morose. ¡°What would you do when the year was over?¡±
¡°Linger on the fringes, of course.¡± I quipped. She laughed, and I waited for the laughter to fade. ¡°I would though. Catch-up, reminisce a little, all-the-while trying to figure where I fit in your life, if it all. If possible, I¡¯d hope we could be friends. Friendly, lacking that. And even if there wasn¡¯t room for me, I think¡ I¡¯d watch over you.¡±
¡°It¡¯s a close leap, from lech to stalker.¡±
I flicked her nose, and she made an aggrieved noise, glaring over the hand that covered it. ¡°Not like that. More like¡ I¡¯d pass by every so often. Make sure the business was still doing well and you and your father were comfortable. Be there, if either of you were ever in any sort of trouble.¡±
Lillian drew close to me and rested her chin on my bare shoulder. ¡°Like a guardian angel?¡±
¡°Well. A drunk, sad-looking guardian angel. But yes. That¡¯s the idea.¡±
She nestled in, her breathing growing more steady with sleep. ¡°You¡¯d keep me safe?¡±
¡°Always.¡±
/////
Everything was simultaneously too loud and too silent, whispered conversations a block away magnified to the point I could barely hear myself think, while closer by, Maya¡¯s repeated apologies were so silent I couldn¡¯t make out the words at all. The raw detail came into focus slowly, clashing with my long-held memories until they took over and became all I could see. Even factoring in the time it¡¯d been abandoned, the wood seemed darker than it should have been, damaged.
There¡¯d been a fire.
I¡¯m not sure how long I stood there. It could have been hours, or days. When I came back to myself, my legs ached, and Maya tugged at my arm, trying to pull me away.
I freed myself gently, pulling her fingers loose. When I spoke my voice still held the same distant quality, as if it was never mine at all. ¡°When¡ did this happen?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Maya answered. The lie was heavy in her voice.
¡°Maya.¡±
The drunk passed out on the ground stirred, murmured something unintelligible as he pushed himself up, back braced against the cobbled brick of the nearby wall and stared at us with the bewilderment of a man regaining consciousness.
I fished around in my purse for a silver rod, came up with a gold one, and tossed it into the cup at his feet before he could start. He stayed mercifully silent, transfixed at the sight.
¡°No one could tell me anything specific¡¡± Maya hesitated. ¡°But I asked around, and eventually found a guard who was on the Topside patrol route for a while. According to him¡ it was¡¡±
¡°Five years ago.¡± I finished. Placing the series of events shortly after Thoth had made the threat.
Maya nodded, her lips pursed.
I¡¯ll let you live. But in return, I¡¯m going to take something from you. And you will wish that you had died.
A shudder ran through me. ¡°He remember what happened to the people who lived here?¡±
It felt so impersonal, referring to them like that. And as questions went, it was unnecessary. Almost going through the motions. This was Thoth. Beyond toying with me, her methods were as brutal as they were efficient. Lillian and her father were gone.
But I needed to know.
Maya¡¯s lip trembled. ¡°Only that someone died.¡±
I felt like an echo of myself, reciting words I might have said with no meaning behind them. ¡°Someone. Singular?¡±
¡°That¡¯s what he said. But the way he talked about it¡ª¡±
¡°¡®Shit like this happens in Topside all the time, right?¡¯¡± I said, unable to blunt the irony in my voice.
Maya wiped tears from her cheeks, her expression hardening. ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out. Someone has to know something, there just wasn¡¯t time to look into it properly.¡±
Why bother, when we both know where this ends?
The voice of surrender gnawed at me from the inside. Even if it wasn¡¯t a foregone conclusion, they wouldn¡¯t talk to us. The denizens of Topside were happy to gossip about almost anything, but if they¡¯d clam up hard at the first sign of any sort of official investigation. They didn¡¯t trust the guard, much less the nobility. And who could blame them?
She¡¯s gone.
If I was the same person from my previous life, I might have cracked completely. Repressed the memory or broken entirely.
¡°I¡¯m not¡ sure where to start.¡±
A heavy footprint sounded, echoing along the stretch of road as Sevran stepped around the corner. His mouth was set in an even line, and he was holding two untouched pints of ale. Behind him, Mari¡¯s disturbed expression said everything. My banner lieutenants had come looking for me, and they¡¯d been listening for some time.
¡°You do what all great leaders do when they reach an impasse. Delegate.¡± Sevran looked up and down the building and frowned. ¡°Missing person?¡±
¡°Persons.¡± Maya corrected quietly.
¡°I¡¯m not sure you can help here.¡± I mumbled. ¡°Nothing will still the tongues of these folk faster than armed guards, cresting their doorsteps.¡±
¡°An armed inquisition, perhaps.¡± Sevran nodded in agreement. ¡°But friends and family members will be greeted on far more open terms. You underestimate how many of our number come from this very stock.¡±
I hesitated.
Sevran, mercifully, shoved a mug in my hand. I stared down at the beckoning golden liquid, upturning and guzzling it down as he spoke.
¡°I cannot profess to know you, but judging from preceding events and secondary accounts, you are not the sort of person who asks for help empty-handed. Nor are you the sort to make decisions lightly. Both qualities are respectable in a leader.¡±
¡°To a point.¡± Mari added.
Sevran pointed at her, then took a step forward. ¡°I can also see that you are in pain. Whoever lived here meant something to you, yes?¡±
I couldn¡¯t bring myself to speak.
Sevran continued, nailing me to the wall with every word. ¡°You¡¯re worried that utilizing your regiment on a personal errand will fritter away the goodwill you just fought through fire to secure, and worse, that it will all be for naught.¡±
Was that why I didn¡¯t want his help? Why I wanted him to leave?
Had I really grown that cold?
That calculated?
¡°If so, you¡¯re a feckin¡¯ fool.¡± Mari scowled, her loud tenor startling me. ¡°It¡¯d be one thing if you started ordering us around, settling scores with nobles on your account. This, though? There isn¡¯t a man or woman in the regiment who can¡¯t relate. Hells, most of the demis know someone who¡¯s gone missing in the last few years on account of the disappearances personally. Not a damn one of them would look down on you for this.¡±
Maya slipped beneath my arm, supporting me just as I thought I would topple from the onslaught.
Sevran smiled apologetically. ¡°While brash, my colleague is correct. We¡¯ll gather the regiment locals, forgo the armor and begin canvassing in the morning, sticking in small groups so we don¡¯t set the gossip mill ablaze.¡± I opened my mouth, but he cut me off with a gentle hand. ¡°This is my initiative, as your lieutenant. You didn¡¯t ask. I volunteered.¡±
¡°Okay.¡± I relented.
195. Fracture II
The silhouettes of people passed me by. They were shadows, barely definable by form, featureless and empty. Their faces were indecipherable and alien, as if someone had harshly sketched them in the background of some grander image.
There was something I was supposed to be doing. Something important. The simple act of drawing the directive up from the blackness of my mind felt plodding and cumbersome, brimming with primal forewarning, not unlike the feeling that precedes plunging one¡¯s hand into fire. On some level, I knew what was happening to me. My mind was untethered, battered by the turn of events. If I could just find a focal point, something to home in on, I could bring myself back from it. The results would be temporary, and eventually I¡¯d return here, useless in the dark, but at least it would be something. At least I would be useful.
Lillian had been that to me once. My anchor. Even in the darkest moments, when I was discouraged or gravely hurt and dying, and all I wanted was to run away. I¡¯d think of the promise I made. And how much happier she¡¯d be in the safer, better world I was trying to create.
A fool¡¯s dream, perhaps. But it comforted me. Grounded me.
That was all gone now.
There was a cruel cackle somewhere in the background. I spun, searching for a golden eye in the sea of endless faces.
Finding none.
Perhaps therein laid the point. She¡¯d both set the framework and carried it out flawlessly almost half-a-decade earlier. Thoth didn¡¯t have to be here, ready to mock me and throw salt in the wound. Because this spoke for itself.
I laughed, remembering the way my image of her had shifted during our encounters in the Sanctum. Up to that point, she was more of a force of nature than a person in my mind. A natural disaster to be defended against and opposed, with little granularity otherwise. Discovering that she was working to purify the prime ley line, and despite her clear hatred of me still carrying out her original mission to subvert Ragnarok, and that at one point during her many loops we had been allies, completely muddied the waters.
And perhaps, on some level, I¡¯d empathized. While I had no simple method for keeping track of the time I¡¯d spent in various loops, it probably added up to less than four or five additional years. By comparison, she¡¯d been doing this for at least a thousand. Maybe more.
I thought we¡¯d found a span-wide island of common ground. That during our duel, and the clash that preceded it, I¡¯d discovered some small sliver of humanity in her.
That perhaps despite our enmity, we could become allies once again, foes aligned towards a greater evil.
But there was no evil greater than this.
Lillian was a gentle soul. A cooling balm on an incendiary world. She wasn¡¯t a miracle worker, or a grand leader, or a prodigy. But she put in the work. She avoided arguments, judgment, and enjoyed helping people. Lillian and Gunther both went out of their way to aid the needy, sometimes digging into their own coffers to help those who couldn¡¯t help themselves.
Before me, she¡¯d lived a perfectly ordinary, inoffensive life.
And Thoth had shattered it, dredging spite and pettiness from a place so low and base I could barely even imagine it.
No. Whatever I thought I¡¯d seen in the Sanctum, I was wrong. There was no good in my enemy. Whatever humanity she¡¯d held was eroded long before I¡¯d met her. And when the next opportunity arose, there would be no quarter given. I wouldn¡¯t hesitate, the way I had in the Sepulcher.
No matter what it took.
Regardless of what her motives were, or the still unrevealed mystery of what I¡¯d done in past lives to incite such hatred. Using every method, cruel trick, and power at my disposal.
I¡¯d finish it.
¡°¡ Airn.¡± Someone was grabbing my shoulder, shaking me.
I pulled my shoulder away, retreating from the touch.
¡°Cairn.¡± Maya said again, expression conveying barely suppressed hurt.
Finally, I came back to myself. The indecipherable faces passing on the cramped throughway regained clarity and detail. We were still on the street, though we¡¯d moved several blocks down, moving with the small groups of Mari and Sevran¡¯s banner as they canvassed the area, asking if anyone remembered the fate of the people who once ran the dilapidated apothecary down the street.
¡°What?¡± I said, trying to banish the irritation from my voice.
¡°They found someone.¡± Maya said, inclining her head in front of us.
A soldier from my regiment, dressed in the generic grays of a Topside denizen, was waiting patiently with a nervous-looking farmer in tow. The man shod a wide-brimmed hat and apron, and had likely been pulled away from one of the many produce stalls that lined the street.
¡°You said there¡¯d be no trouble.¡± The farmer half-whispered, half-hissed to the soldier that accompanied him. ¡°You promised, Cestus¡±
Cestus squinted in the sunlight. Judging from the perspiration accumulating on his forehead and his wincing-demeanor, he was still nursing a hangover like many of my regiment. ¡°Relax. The commander¡¯s not so bad, so long as you¡¯re not sporting any ribbons. Just go on and tell ¡®em what you told me.¡±
From the Farmer¡¯s derisive look, he wasn¡¯t putting stock in that.
Even from my pit of numbness, I had to give my banner lieutenants credit. The last time Lillian was taken from me, it took days to find a lead. And they¡¯d achieved it over a matter of hours.
I nodded to Cestus, thanking him for his work. Then took a step towards the farmer.
Everyone tensed. From the curious pedestrians, to Cestus, to the farmer. With the way the farmer scanned the street, he was a feather-touch away from running.
¡°Tell me about the apothecary,¡± I said.
The farmer turned on his heel and started to run, narrowly stopped a few span away when Cestus grabbed him, wrapping his ample arms around the smaller man¡¯s waist and dragging him back before me. As they returned, Cestus looked much more alert, bordering on alarmed. ¡°He¡ªHe¡¯s a friend, my lord. One who confided in me out of trust.¡±
¡°I will not hurt him.¡± I said slowly, more confused than anything else. Then glanced back at Maya, trying to ascertain if she understood what was happening, and found her wincing as if in physical pain. ¡°Are you alright?¡±
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¡°It¡¯s¡ª¡± Maya turned her back to the pair and leaned in close, voice barely more than a whisper, ¡°Your aura.¡±
I had no idea what she was talking about. Even waiting for her to explain further felt cumbersome.
¡°My what?¡±
¡°It¡¯s myth. Or at least¡ it was supposed to be.¡± She thumbed her chin, looking more uncertain the longer she spoke. ¡°Mages of a certain power, or a high ceiling of potential, were said to draw an abnormal amount of ambient mana to them in times of trouble. This had obvious benefits¡ªfaster regeneration that extended to both the magician in question and the people around them. In the ancient legends they were just that. But as time went on and the mythos expanded, subtleties were added. In many, mages capable of projecting an aura of drawn ambient mana¡ªor thrall mana¡ªcould passively shape that mana, either intentionally or on accident.¡±
¡°You said it was supposed to be a myth?¡±
¡°Because it was.¡± Maya said, her brow furrowing. ¡°When we faced down¡ someone I¡¯d really rather not name right now¡ I felt an assault on my senses. It never crossed the threshold into physical pain, more like my entire body and mind were just on the verge of it, and the only way to avoid it was to turn and run away. Thought it was just her. Until I felt something similar in Ozra. And now you.¡± She quaked a little as she said it, probably aware of the implications.
¡°And somehow I have a similar aura.¡± I cracked a smile that felt false. ¡°Gotta say, Maya, I think if I was anywhere near their power, we wouldn¡¯t be in this situation.¡±
She made a frustrated noise, then I felt her nails dig into my palm.
There was a buzz of warmth, when my vision took on a strange hue, draining to black and white. There were still sparks of color, tiny pinpricks of vibrant indigo that smeared, spreading their shading to the mono-colored surroundings.
¡°What is this?¡± I asked.
¡°A modification I experimented with when I was still¡ working on myself. Tried it in both-eyes first, then one eye before discarding it entirely. It¡¯s useful, but no matter what, there¡¯s too much loss of detail for anything permanent. The flares of mana you¡¯re seeing are specks of ambient mana functioning normally. Now look up.¡± Maya pointed with her index finger.
I did. But what I saw puzzled me.
Nothing.
¡°I can¡¯t see the sky.¡±
¡°That is the sky.¡±
I refocused. At first, it was nothing but darkness, then the color came into clarity. A blue darker than the darkest night roiled before me, every particle unsettled and constantly in motion. It was a funnel of black, trailing down from a jagged cloud formed from the same essence.
¡°It¡¯s not on their level, no. But that hardly matters. What¡¯s more important is that it¡¯s significant enough that everyone around you can feel it, magician or otherwise.¡±
¡°Why is this happening now?¡± I asked, to no one in particular. If it was as rare and unknown as she attested, Maya wouldn¡¯t have the answer. No one would.
¡°I can¡¯t tell you that.¡± She said, then bit her lip. ¡°It¡¯s a useful tool in some situations. Being able to get into an enemy¡¯s head and rattle them before the fighting even starts. But in this moment, where there¡¯s no obvious threat and we¡¯re gathering information? You need to find a way to rein it in.¡±
¡°Rein¡ it¡ in?¡± I asked slowly, wrapping my head around what she was asking me to do. Maya had just told me the aura likely had some basis in emotion.
I hadn¡¯t had an aura to manage the first time I lost Lillian. But the result wasn¡¯t all that different. I¡¯d dove from a controlled panic to a downward spiral, circling a drain of void that threatened to swallow me completely. So consumed by malaise and bitterness that even the most mundane actions of others¡¯ felt spiteful, and I lashed out at everyone around me.
The subsequent death was almost a mercy, the reset that followed it an unexpected bonus.
We didn¡¯t know how bad it was yet. What Thoth had done. I was jumping to conclusions before I even had any confirmation, allowing myself to think the worst in order to shield myself from the recoil when the worst came to pass. Sometimes that worked as a method of off-loading anxiety. Here, though, it was on the verge of crippling me.
So I forced myself to ask a more troublesome question.
Did any of this really matter?
After all, this had happened countless times before. Endless cycles that Thoth had lived through that ended badly. Every soul still living had shuffled off their mortality so many times that even most of the pantheon had lost interest and left us. That included the people I cared for. People I loved. Caught in a never-ending loop of death and rebirth, joy and tragedy, hope and despair.
The swell of fear and bitterness that rose from within and threatened to lash out at everyone around me was still there. But with that consideration in mind it felt¡ less. Diminished.
I pushed down the fear and crippling doubt, containing and poking at it through the lens of apathy. Over the last few years, hundreds of Demi-humans had disappeared from Topside, many leaving behind family and friends who loved them.
The truth was, this only felt so monumental because it was happening to me.
I was nothing more than a grain of sand on the coastline of eternity, futilely attempting to change the tide.
The particles before me thinned, growing translucent. The transformation spread upward, translucent streaks piercing up through the tunnel of darkness, stripping away the dark.
Oh yes. I remembered how to do this.
It was a solution for a different problem, a trick I¡¯d come up with to force myself to function when the consequences for failure was a painful death. I simply told myself it didn¡¯t matter. No matter how much agony, or trauma, or disfigurement I endured, it didn¡¯t matter. Because I would endure.
Emotions are temporary and irrelevant. Shove them down. Find out what happened. Piece together why it happened. Respond accordingly. Move forward.
Every wasted day was a day ceded to Thoth. In many ways, I was already losing. If I slowed down, let the despair hobble me, it would all be over in a lightning clap. The priceless opportunity this aberration in Thoth¡¯s loops granted me would be frittered away on despair and self-loathing. And when Thoth failed to stop Ragnarok, as she had countless times before, I¡¯d be returned to the noble-nothing I once was.
The funnel of ambient mana lost the last traces of its midnight blue coloring. Its outline was still visible. But far less oppressive than before.
¡°What did you do?¡± Maya asked, puzzled. There was another buzz of mana on my palm, and the altered vision returned to normal.
¡°Reined it in.¡± I responded ambivalently
Instead of relief, somehow Maya looked more concerned. ¡°I¡¯m not saying you can¡¯t feel.¡±
I shrugged. ¡°We can test the limits later. Figure out the best applications and thresholds.¡±
¡°You¡¯re not hearing¡ª¡±
¡°¡ªI hear you.¡± I laced my fingers between hers and squeezed gently. ¡°Just let me do what¡¯s needed to get through this. Okay?¡±
With that, I let go. Her hand dropped to her side, and I felt her eyes boring holes into the back of my head as I returned to the soldier and farmer, still waiting nervously on the verge of the city street.
¡°Apologies.¡± I gave them both a thin smile. ¡°It¡¯s been an unpleasant day.¡±
They both looked unsettled, but seemed to relax some.
¡°Pleasant nights often carry unpleasant mornings in their wake, Commander,¡± Cestus joked, wincing slightly. ¡°Though this is probably a little more than unpleasant.¡±
¡°Indeed.¡± I turned my focus to the farmer. ¡°Tell me anything you can about the apothecary. If it bears fruit, there¡¯ll be a reward in it for you.¡±
¡°What kind of reward?¡± The farmer asked.
¡°Depends on the information. More is better, so long as it¡¯s accurate. The reward will reflect that.¡±
Enticed, and seeming to pick up from context that my previous demeanor resulted from matters that had nothing to do with him, the farmer openly scowled. ¡°You want his entire life story?¡±
His shift in attitude surprised me. ¡°Sorry. Whose?¡±
¡°Him. The apothecary¡¯s¡± The farmer pointed. Down the street, I recognized the drunk who¡¯d made a bed on the light layer of snow that covered the dirt-strewn corner beside Gray¡¯s. He looked rough, even by the metric of ¡®top-side drunk,¡¯ his wind-burned face lined with wrinkles and crags, a bottle held loosely in his hand. He held the look of many who fell on hard times without a clue of how they got there, shambling through the fragments of their remaining life stricken and exhausted.
And in the clear light of day, I could see the rough state of his hands, layers of burns that accumulated over a lifetime of handling various volatile and acrid ingredients.
With a clashing sensation of relief and horror, I recognized the man who¡¯d welcomed me into his home. The person who¡¯d indulged my curiosity, taught me the more complicated aspects of his craft.
The father whose daughter I¡¯d failed twice over.
Gunther.
196. Fracture III
What happened?
The question hung heavy in my mind as my regiment escorted Gunther back to the castle. There wasn¡¯t really a chance to talk to him. As much as I would have liked it to be a happy reunion, it was more of an arrest than anything else. He¡¯d run from the first soldiers that approached him¡ªrun more of a juddering walk on account of his injured leg¡ªand when they¡¯d caught up to him easily, he fought with the ferocity of a feral animal backed into a corner.
It took three full-grown men to bring him down, spitting and swearing, cursing their mothers in language more colorful than anything I¡¯d heard from the kindly man.
I would have preferred to take him back to the palace, but there were drawbacks to that approach. Thaddeus had eyes everywhere, and while Gunther didn¡¯t have any secrets they¡¯d care about, that didn¡¯t mean they wouldn¡¯t try to ferret something out. Failing that, the risk of someone potentially alerting my father that I was housing ¡®unwashed topside degenerates¡¯ in our midst was too great. Now that I¡¯d found him, the last thing I wanted was for him to be harassed by would-be spies.
In something of a compromise, I placed him in the residential section of the Grand Laboratory I¡¯d reserved for Eckor. While the rooms weren¡¯t as opulent as the palace proper, they were still luxurious, and when Gunther realized he wasn¡¯t being thrown into the dungeon on trumped-up charges, he¡¯d reportedly calmed some, though there was still a wildness to his demeanor that made the servants nervous. Even so, they attended to his every need, feeding him until he was full, then bathing and clothing him.
While I waited, I used the grand laboratory¡¯s facilities to pass the time and brewed myself several potions of iron-lung. There was nothing better for underwater traversal, but I was more interested in the lowered heart rate and sensation of calmness that accompanied the dose. The process was laborious and required complete attention, and the work distracted me from the turbulence that plagued my mind.
I¡¯d just finished the first batch and sampled it, savoring the feeling of calmness that washed over me when a servant brought word that Gunther was ready.
I knocked once and entered with a tray of tea.
Gunther pulled his legs up to his chest immediately, taking up a small amount of space on the bed, his eyes narrow and distrusting. I could see more of him now that my servants had cut down on the muck and grime, but despite their efforts, he still carried a hard edge that hadn¡¯t been there in my memories of the man.
¡°Who are you?¡± He growled.
I placed the tray on his bedside table and pulled up a chair. ¡°A friend.¡±
¡°Oh? I find that hard to believe.¡± Gunther snapped.
¡°Why?¡±
¡°What sort of friend has you tackled to the ground and dragged somewhere against your will?¡±
Fair point.
¡°The kind that feeds and clothes you after?¡± I tried.
Gunther grunted. He panned the room suspiciously before his gaze landed on the tray of tea. ¡°All this luxury supposed to distract me from the fact that I¡¯m a prisoner?¡±
¡°You¡¯re not a prisoner.¡±
¡°Then I can go?¡±
¡°Yes.¡±
The old man¡ªit was strange to think of him that way, but that was how he looked¡ªstood and limped from the bed. ¡°Then pardon, but I¡¯ll be skipping the tea.¡±
It took all the self-control I had to let him go, standing from my chair and trailing after him as he threw open the door. Alten was posted outside, and the two looked each other up and down in an awkward standoff.
¡°Gonna try to claw my eyes out again?¡± Alten asked. There were dark bags under his eyes from the drinking and lack of sleep, and he was sporting three vivid scratch marks high on his right cheek from their previous encounter.
¡°Planning on throwing a hood over my head and tossing me in the back of another wagon?¡± Gunther challenged.
Alten shook his head. ¡°Not today.¡±
Gunther stared him down, skirting around him towards the door he was brought in through and trying the handle, finding the door locked.
Alten shot me a look before he returned his attention to Gunther, mouth quirked. ¡°Servant¡¯s entrance. Gotta go through the front if you¡¯re leaving.¡±
With an irritated huff, Gunther picked up the pace, crossing the residential common room and throwing open the door Alten had indicated.
¡°Gods.¡± He whispered, awestruck.
I took a place beside him. The room was lined with glassware and equipment, a mix of alchemy and apothecary equipment of the highest quality. There were lines of worktables with several robed practitioners hard at work, giving us little more than a momentary glance.
Gunther stumbled forward, looking everywhere at once, his expression dreamlike. ¡°What is this place?¡±
¡°Welcome to the Grand Laboratory.¡± I said.
He frowned in displeasure. Everyone in Whitefall knew of the Grand Laboratories, and the many alchemical wonders that were created there. I suspected, from my memory of his issue with alchemy, it was the latter part that was giving him pause. He scanned the many tables. ¡°Anti-scarring salve¡ mother¡¯s respite¡ why are alchemists doing apothecary work?¡±
I nodded. ¡°Despite the reputation, more than alchemy happens here. The Royal Alchemist sees the two practices as intrinsically linked, and ensures that anyone who carries out their work here thinks similarly. Part of his ethos.¡±
Gunther¡¯s gaze landed on glassware bubbling above a violet flame. He frowned. ¡°He also encourages his charges to leave their projects unattended?¡±
Despite the gravity of the situation, I chuckled. Even in the most dire circumstances Gunther hadn¡¯t lost a hold on his vocation, and the methodology that accompanied it. He was right of course, but considering the high failure rate, I was intimately familiar with the worst an iron-lung potion would produce. A violent fizzle out and an unpleasant odor.
¡°If that¡¯s what I think it is, the worst it¡¯ll do is bubble up and raise a stink.¡± Gunther continued. ¡°Still bad practice.¡±
I raised an eyebrow. A potion of iron-lung required key ingredients from the sanctum, and lacking demon-flame, the only way to raise the temperature high enough was through alchemical means. In my hurry to attend Gunther, I¡¯d left it exposed to the flame without rotation for too long and an acrid scent was already rising from the glass.
As if driven by an outside force, Gunther jolted forward, turning the dial beneath the burner that would have snuffed the flame if it was normal fire. When that didn¡¯t work, he swore, snatching a thick cloth and wrapping his hand in it before using it to lift the glassware off the burner completely. Instinctively, he grabbed a rousing rod laying nearby and plunged it into the concoction, stirring it with animus.
This was unexpected, because as far as I knew, there was no way to save a batch of iron-lung once it started to turn. The best a practitioner could do was get it right on the first shot.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Almost automatically, I moved to his side, slipping into an old rhythm. ¡°Empty hands.¡±
¡°Check the temperature of that fire.¡± Gunther¡¯s face was a mask of focus as he continued to stir. ¡°No idea what it¡¯s running on, but it¡¯s not oil, and if it¡¯s too hot, this batch is done anyway.¡± He took a whiff from the glass and grimaced. ¡°Scratch that. Belfry Salt first, temperature second.¡±
I did as he asked, fishing around in a nearby cabinet for the salts and sliding the jar across the table to him. He caught it, upending the jar, eyeballing the quantity, distributing fine blue powder evenly across the mixture. Then alternated placing and removing the glass on the burner and off the burner.
Time slipped away as we worked in tandem.
If Gunther hadn¡¯t plied his trade in a while, it didn¡¯t show. He was every bit as sharp as I remembered. Physically slower, perhaps, but just as sharp. I wasn¡¯t sure why this was happening, why he was suddenly so keen to save a small batch of potions. It felt like we were two strangers who both ended up running in the same direction, finding a small degree of camaraderie in the coincidence.
The process of saving the batch was tedious and labor intensive, taking nearly as long as it would have to complete a second round. If I were alone, I likely would have scrapped the whole thing and started at zero. But Gunther wasn¡¯t wasteful. He¡¯d always been that way.
He was fastidious, prudent, and clean.
Which made his disheveled appearance even more alarming. He was healthier looking now, after my servants efforts, beard trimmed and hair tamed. But they couldn¡¯t do anything for the hollowed out look in his eyes and the hunch to his posture.
Once we finished saving the batch of iron-lung, I leaned back against the table and stretched out my arms, absentmindedly snuffing the small tuft of dantalion flame still ignited on the burner.
Gunther noticed. He cleaned his hands with a damp cloth and gave me a look. ¡°So. You¡¯re the lazy practitioner.¡±
I smiled. ¡°Guilty as charged. Though I¡¯m really more apothecary than alchemist.¡±
¡°Iron-lung is an alchemical solution. A difficult one. Yet you handled it just fine.¡±
It was borderline. Since demon-fire was dangerous and rare, the easiest shortcut to achieve the necessary temperature would have been to use an alchemical catalyst. Technically, it could have been either, or both. What felt more significant was that Gunther held that opinion and still intervened to save the batch, regardless.
¡°As did you.¡± I pointed out. ¡°From the reports I heard, you¡¯re not fond of alchemy.¡±
There was the smallest trace of a smile on his face as he shook his head sadly. ¡°Few years back, that wasn¡¯t far off the mark. In retrospect, it was foolish. Just one of those arbitrary lines we draw that add up to nothing in the grand scheme of things.¡± There was a poignant silence as he placed the rag down and leaned on the table with both hands. ¡°I¡¯m not sure why you sought me out. Me specifically.¡± Gunther indicated the lab. ¡°If this is part of some aggressive recruitment drive, I have to decline.¡±
¡°Why?¡± I asked. He¡¯d misunderstood my purpose, but I was hesitant to correct him. It was obvious that he still had a passion for the work.
¡°Rusty. Not nearly as good as I used to be. Whatever you¡¯ve heard.¡±
I raised an eyebrow and glanced at the batch that he¡¯d saved. ¡°Really. Because the work speaks otherwise.¡±
¡°Really.¡± Gunther said. His forehead wrinkled as he frowned. ¡°And if this is how you rope in outsiders? It¡¯s a little confrontational for my taste.¡±
There it was. The end of the line. In the back of my head, there was still a voice that whispered that it wasn¡¯t too late. That if I simply accepted his refusal and let him leave, there was a chance that I could still claw back what little denial remained in me.
That I could live in ignorance.
Before entertaining that long enough to seriously consider it, I found myself speaking, my voice quiet. ¡°Not long ago, the work of an apothecary and work of an alchemist was indistinguishable to me. Byproduct of a sheltered upbringing, perhaps.¡±
¡°You¡¯re not alone in that.¡± Gunther rolled his eyes.
I nodded. ¡°My family is well-positioned. Highly enough that I was afforded a shocking degree of autonomy in my studies, which naturally was used to shirk them at every turn. Instead of applying myself, I ventured out into the city every chance I could. Explored. Ended up in Topside more often than not because I found it interesting. Different.¡±
Gunther¡¯s mouth tightened. Lacking context, the picture I was painting for him wasn¡¯t benevolent. Folk in Topside were beset by nobles on all sides. Some were simply prospecting and window-shopping, while others got a thrill out of leaving their manors and mansions in common garb for more questionable delights. But I wanted to be as honest with him as the nature of my resets would allow.
¡°Lucky you didn¡¯t get yourself killed.¡± Gunther said.
¡°It was foolish. And stubborn. I could have been mugged and beaten within a span of my life and I still wouldn¡¯t have stopped.¡±
¡°Is this¡ leading somewhere?¡± Gunther asked. It wasn¡¯t unkind, or rude, though I wouldn¡¯t have held either against him. Just blunt. Same as he always was.
I laughed. The sound was harsh, and brittle. ¡°It is. I have questions only you can answer. Was just¡ working my way up to it, I guess.¡±
For the first time since we¡¯d reunited, Gunther seemed to sense my pain. I¡¯d done my best to hide it from him. But the facade was slipping.
¡°What sort of questions?¡± He asked.
The version of events I¡¯d composed and recited in my head to prepare for this was abridged, with the timing adjusted so it made sense. But it was as close to the truth as I could give him.
¡°One day, I ventured out to the edge of the Everwood. Found a girl there, gathering plants. Ingredients for apothecary work, or so I discovered. She had this smile that just¡ made you want to know everything about her. Compared to noble children my age, she was riveting. She was trusting and kind, and seemed to enjoy my company, and I hers. In almost no time we became close. She had no idea I was a noble. Who my family was. Yet she offered her friendship freely, just the same. The first person to ever do so. I was so grateful to her for that. And being grateful, I¡¯d help her with her work, and in turn, she would teach me. We spent a year that way before I had to leave.¡±
All at once, Gunther¡¯s legs gave out. He sat down hard on one of the pullout stools beside the worktable, his head bowed, his mouth tight. ¡°How¡ long were you gone?¡±
¡°Five years.¡± I answered.
¡°Gods.¡± Gunther buried his face in his hands. ¡°You¡¯re him.¡±
¡°What do you mean?¡± Slowly, I reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, then let it drop. At first it made little sense. While I derived the story I told him from truth, it was a truth that hadn¡¯t happened in this timeline. And even in my first life, I hadn¡¯t met Lillian until after my mother died.
¡°Let it go.¡± Gunther¡¯s voice was forceful, raw. He supported himself with one hand as he staggered to his feet. Slowly, he limped away, his shoulders slumped.
¡°Wait. Why?¡± I called after him, frustrated with the sudden turn. He didn¡¯t stop, didn¡¯t so much as look back.
¡°She was my daughter. It¡¯s no business of yours.¡±
I chased after him and raised my voice, a hair away from shouting. ¡°I loved her.¡±
Gunther turned with a sneer, a cutting remark likely at the ready. But when he saw me, he stopped. Grew somber. ¡°Aye. Maybe you did.¡± He looked down and bit his lip. ¡°If¡ Lillian¡ taught you our craft, I¡¯m guessing at some point she gave you a lecture. Something about the line between poison and palliative being difficult to distinguish.¡±
If memory served, she had. One of our first lessons. I nodded slowly, wincing as her face swirled to the forefront of my mind.
¡°This is the one that kills you.¡±
Gunther pressed a shaking hand to his forehead. ¡°What did my daughter say on the matter?¡±
¡°A good thing can be a bad thing in high quantities. How the reverse can also be true, though more rarely. And that the only real key to discerning the difference is research and experience.¡±
Gunther chuckled. ¡°She was always good at that. Boiling down complex concepts and yawning texts into something more digestible.¡± He grew somber again. ¡°When everything went to hell. I wanted to know why. Because it seemed so¡ senseless. We¡¯d only ever tried to help people. Sure, we made some gold, but not much. And I had some debt, of course, but my payments were always on time. There was no reason for it. No justification that came remotely close to making sense. So I asked. Fully expecting it to be the end of me.¡± Gunther¡¯s face grew pale. ¡°I was told that the reason for my¡ªfor my daughter¡¯s¡ misfortune¡ had nothing to do with us at all. That everything that happened that horrible night was thanks to one person, and one person alone.¡±
The warmth I¡¯d felt working side by side with Gunther retreated, leaving me numb, cold.
¡°What was the message?¡± I asked.
¡°Poison.¡± Gunther watched me sympathetically for a moment, before he looked away. ¡°Pure and vile poison in the guise of spoken word. And she coated me with it, to one purpose. If you¡¯d found me a few years earlier, I might have still been angry enough to pass it along. But that fire has faded. And look at you. You¡¯re no villain. Barely a man now. Half a decade ago you must have been little more than a child. I won¡¯t lower myself to forwarding her agenda. Just let it go.¡±
He was right, of course. Given his state, and the way he talked around it, it was simple enough to divine what happened from context. Lillian was gone. Whatever ¡®message¡¯ Thoth left me was little more than salt in the wound.
I wanted to listen. But ignoring this, letting it fester, would make it even more potent when Thoth threw it in my face later. I needed to know.
¡°Tell me what happened.¡±
197. Fracture IV
The sensation of lost time washed over me again. It was strange. I could feel the sun beating down on me, the cold gust of a breeze as uneven pavement met my feet, but I didn¡¯t know where I was going.
Only how to get there.
There was something heavy gripped in my palm. The handle was wooden, round, and thick, not unlike a spear¡¯s. If it was a spear, it was poorly weighted, heavy on the front side. From time to time my focus would ebb and the metal would clang off the ground, drawing glances from those who walked with me.
It bounced off the ground again, tip catching an upturned cobblestone, and I slowed, confusion and disorientation clouding my senses. I wanted to sleep. The dirt-strewn ground below looked enticing, welcoming. If I laid down now, curled up a bit, it would be scant seconds before the void of unconsciousness welcomed me.
Fingers threaded through my empty hand and tugged at me gently, pulling me back into motion and leading me through the streets, tugging me in the same direction as the hand that pressed at my back, guiding me through the haze.
Someone was humming in a minor key, the notes gentle and aching and comforting, all at the same time.
A dirge.
I focused on it, allowed it to fill my mind, distracting me from the fear, the disorientation, filtering out everything but the song.
The cobble beneath my feet gave way to grass, lined by bastions of stone.
Beyond the verge of my perception, two people were talking. A woman and a man.
¡°This it?¡± The woman asked.
¡°Unmarked. Six down from the gaudy circle of absolution, four to the left. Gotta be.¡±
The woman squeezed my hand. ¡°Cairn? Are you sure you want to do this?¡±
/////
Gunther spoke. From the distance in his gaze and the way he held himself, clinging to an old cloth that was as stained and dirty as he was dry, he felt more like a projection than a person. The barracks room, where I¡¯d originally placed him for its warmth and proximity to the familiar, felt cold as a prison cell.
¡°She woke me first. Put a dagger to my throat. Told me if I made a sound she¡¯d cut me open, so on and so forth. I¡ should have fought. I know that. Tore into her with everything I had. Didn¡¯t keep weapons in the bedroom back then, but can attest firsthand that teeth and nails make a serious dent from the properly motivated. I wasn¡¯t awake. Wasn¡¯t thinking clearly. Tried to bargain, tell her where the gold was. Business had been good, and if she¡¯d been an ordinary thief, it should have been enough. More than enough. But she wasn¡¯t interested. And before I could wise up to what was actually happening, she¡¯d already dragged me to the living room and tied me to a chair. What she tied me with¡ªI¡¯d never seen anything like it. Reflective as metal, pliant as rope. Once she looped it around my waist and my limbs, it tightened on its own. And once it tightened, there was no getting out of it. She dragged over a second chair, facing it across from me. I thought she intended to sit in it, to question me, but she stayed on her feet. The whole time, she never stopped smiling. That smile haunts me, more than anything else.¡±
I asked him a question. I can¡¯t remember what it was.
¡°Probably. She certainly seemed to enjoy herself. A little too much.¡±
His comment echoed my own thoughts and experiences. Being my father¡¯s son meant knowing, in detail, what bloodlust looked like. He enjoyed a challenge. And for a time, relished in the slaughter that followed it. But once the tide had turned, and the river of war ran with the blood of more innocents than warriors, his interest faded, the fire of cruelty flickering to boredom.
Yet I was almost certain that in his place, Thoth would never grow tired of cruelty. Like a force of nature, her only purpose was to discharge her strength, no matter the target.
I must have said something similar to Gunther, because he nodded.
¡°It¡¯s hard to explain. You have to remember that I¡¯ve had a lot of time to think about this. Replayed it in my mind, over and over. I¡¯ve met a few monsters in my years¡ªhard to work in Topside without tripping over a few. In my experience, evil never announces itself as evil. But the way she was acting, the way she reveled in it¡ she was like a smug demon from the fables of old. I¡¯ve never seen its like. And hope I never will again.¡±
/////
Snap
Maya snapped her fingers twice more in front of my face before I blinked, lowering her arm as I looked at her. A pale-white statue of Onara lingered behind the crest of a hill, hands pressed together in eternal supplication. Offering prayers for the dead.
¡°He back?¡± Alten asked Maya, his expression neutral.
¡°I think so.¡± Maya answered, staying focused on me. She placed both hands on my chin and tilted my gaze back towards her when it strayed. ¡°Ni¡¯lend, I know this is hard, but I need an answer. Are you sure you want to do this?¡± She repeated the question from earlier.
I became aware of the weight still hefted in my hand. ¡°Oh¡ uh. Yes. We still need confirmation.¡±
¡°Is that all?¡± Alten asked, an implication in his voice I couldn¡¯t quite parse.
Maya made a threatening gesture in his direction, but I turned towards him. My honor guard had forgone his armor and was wearing a dark tabard. He was holding a shovel in one hand, its dark-iron head gently touching the dirt. Nearly identical to the shovel in mine.
¡°Yes.¡± I said, only recalling the reasoning as I spoke it out loud.
His eyes trailed to the grave at our feet. ¡°You realize there¡¯s only one thing we¡¯re going to find down there?¡±
Worms.
¡°Enough.¡± Maya said. ¡°Even if that¡¯s true, his rationale is sound.¡±
¡°Illusion magic.¡± I smiled thinly. ¡°Can¡¯t just pretend like it doesn¡¯t exist. Gotta rule it out. It¡¯s rare, but I don¡¯t doubt for a second it¡¯s an arrow in Thoth¡¯s quiver. Only way to know for sure would be to let Vogrin examine the remains.¡±
I¡¯d faked my own death much the same way. And if I¡¯d thought of it, Thoth had too.
Alten grunted in frustration. ¡°Even if it is, to what end? Why would she go to all that effort to feign killing your friend?¡±
My mind was finally catching up. ¡°When it comes to Thoth, it¡¯s best to assume the absolute worst. Then worsen that assumption by an order of magnitude.¡± I stared down at the grave. ¡°Obviously, sometimes I still get it wrong.¡±
¡°Preparing for the worst is one thing. But I¡¯m not sure how keeping her alive could be worse than this.¡± Alten said. From the way Maya looked away, I could tell she agreed.
¡°Really?¡± My voice was bitter. ¡°Death is worse than keeping her alive and torturing her for years? Or transforming her into some terrible abomination that I¡¯m forced to fight and revealing that at a critical moment?¡±
Silence answered.
Finally, Alten blew out air in a long hiss. ¡°That¡¯s who we¡¯re up against?¡±
¡°Yes.¡±
He nodded, absorbing that for a moment before gripping his shovel with both hands and plunging it into the dirt.
Maya put a hand on my arm before I could follow suit, the rhythmic clang of Alten¡¯s shovel undercutting her whisper. ¡°I understand that you feel like you need to do this¡ª¡±
I was reaching the end of my fraying patience. This was hard enough with them fighting me every step of the way. ¡°Stop. I just explained¡ª¡±
¡°And I heard you.¡± Maya cut me off before I could spiral. ¡°It has to be done. But you don¡¯t do it.¡± She held a hand out. ¡°Give me the shovel. Summon Vogrin, leave him here, and go get a room at an inn. You need sleep.¡±
Between the mock battle the day before and the horrible, sleepless night, I couldn¡¯t deny it. I was barely on my feet. But that wasn¡¯t why Maya wanted me to go. She wanted me to leave for the same reason I needed to stay.
I turned away from Maya¡¯s proffered hand and drove my foot into the shovel¡¯s tread, burying its head and hefted dirt into Alten¡¯s growing pile.
¡°Judging from the state of the ground, this will take some time.¡± I murmured. ¡°Save your strength for when mine wanes.¡±
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When Maya spoke again, her voice was pitched low, almost too low to hear. ¡°You never found her body, did you?¡±
/////
The longer Gunther spoke, the more pale and drawn his features became. He never cried. Not because he didn¡¯t care. I suspected the story he was telling me was one he¡¯d relived, over and over, the serrated nature of the memory wearing down the jagged edges of his grief until all that was left was the numbness.
¡°At first, I was relieved when she left me there. That¡¯s how overwhelming she was. At this point I still thought I was being robbed. Then¡ the minutes ticked by, and I started to panic. Lillian hadn¡¯t been sleeping well lately, and the intrusion wasn¡¯t quiet. Her bedroom was directly across from my own. I thought about shouting for her to run, or stay in her room, or shouting for help, but the thought of potentially putting her in more danger terrified me almost as much as the idea of her blearily stumbling into that monster¡¯s path.¡±
I told him it wasn¡¯t his fault. That there was nothing he could have done, knowing damn well how worthless those words were.
¡°Maybe not. But I could have tried, instead of just sitting there, waiting, like a lamb to slaughter. When she returned¡ªshe¡¡±
I waited as he composed himself, lost in the splotches of the cloth he held in his hand. There was a small patch of lace on the corner¡ªonce white, now gray.
¡°Thoth¡ dragged my daughter in by her hair. She was crying, trying to hold herself up to relieve the pressure. Gods. She was so scared. She¡¯d seen the aftermath of violence before¡ªthat¡¯s part of being an apothecary¡ªbut she¡¯d never seen the violence itself. Let alone been a victim to it. Everything changed in that moment. Shifted. Like my mind had been clinging to the possibility that this was some lesser crime out of denial and desperation. Then. She killed my baby girl. Snuffed her out like she was nothing.¡±
/////
Thunk
Thunk
Thunk
Thunk
It was taking longer than it should have. The graves outside the chapel were uniform and deep, but at any given time there were two of us working in tandem. The problem was the earth. It was dense and packed. Sweat rolled from my sodden hair down my forehead and freely into my eyes, with a sting that left them aching and raw.
A warm magic plied the back of my neck and swept down over me, soothing my pain, keeping my mind cognizant and present. It faded to the sensation of Maya¡¯s cool fingers on the back of my head. I reached up to knock her hand away¡ªbut the healing magic had given me enough clarity to realize what I was doing and stop. I let my palm rest on her wrist instead, taking small comfort in her presence.
¡°Alright. My turn. Up you go.¡± Maya¡¯s grip on my forearm tightened, and she hefted me up out of the earth with enough strength that had I resisted, it would have taken more fight than I currently had to stop her.
¡°You should take over for Alten, not me.¡± I said, hesitant to release the shovel when she went to grab it.
¡°And on any other day, you¡¯d be right.¡± Maya smiled. There was a burst of magic, and my hand popped open unbidden. She took the shovel and dropped into the grave, straightening her skirts and squaring her shoulders before she began to dig from the opposite side of Alten.
I lingered at the edge of the grave, feeling as if I should do something. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re not needed at the castle?¡±
¡°Wouldn¡¯t care if I was.¡±
¡°If this is some sort of self-inflicted penance for not telling me about this earlier, it¡¯s unnecessary.¡±
¡°That has nothing to do with it.¡± Maya said, grunting as she drove the shovel home.
Giving up on her for the moment, I looked over to Alten. He¡¯d shed his tabard and was working shirtless. The first beads of sweat formed on Maya¡¯s brow. Beyond them, there was a small crowd of common folk, pushed up against the cast iron rods that made up the fencing lining the cemetery. A few members of my regiment were present, making sure no one¡ªincluding several angry looking priests¡ªinterfered. All at once, a wave of embarrassment washed over me. ¡°Neither of you have to be here. I can¡¯t¡ remember if I gave either of you an out earlier.¡±
Maya and Alten shared a look, then returned to work almost simultaneously.
¡°And maybe the regiment shouldn¡¯t be here.¡± I muttered, quietly enough that I thought they couldn¡¯t hear. The priests would be louder in their displeasure, but they wouldn¡¯t dare to stop me. Not with the threat of the king hanging over my head.
Alten jabbed his shovel into the dirt and leaned on it. His cold blue eyes carved through me. Then he stuck a thumb towards Maya. ¡°She¡¯s the political mind, but she likes you too much. So she¡¯s not gonna say it.¡±
¡°Say what?¡±
Alten glanced at the people lining the fence. ¡°You¡¯re not seeing the full picture. Right now, this is a peculiarity. Digging up a grave in the middle of the day is a disquieting sight, but with the regiment folk barring the way and the three of us working in tandem, it more or less passes as official. What do you think it¡¯s gonna look like if we all leave you to your own devices?¡±
My mouth was dry. ¡°Like an unhinged noble heretic digging up commoner graves.¡±
Alten nodded. ¡°To tell the truth, I don¡¯t care why you¡¯re doing it. Whether it¡¯s truly for confirmation or if that¡¯s all noise and it¡¯s some twisted manner of punishing yourself. I don¡¯t care. That¡¯s your choice, and none of my business. But it¡¯s my job to keep you safe from all threats. Doing this? It¡¯s exactly where I¡¯m meant to be.¡±
I was outnumbered, so I let it drop, taking a long drink from my canteen as they continued to work, waiting for the next rotation, Gunther¡¯s words echoing in my mind.
/////
¡°The intruder slipped the knife between Lillian¡¯s ribs. It must have been sharp because it went in easily, to almost no reaction. My baby just¡ stiffened, went pale and slumped over. I started screaming. All that time I¡¯d been holding it in, trying to keep things from getting worse. But after that, what was the point? Picked up pretty quickly that there was something wrong with my voice¡ªloud at first, but it immediately died off, like I was being muffled.¡±
The confirmation I¡¯d been waiting for, stated as bluntly and clearly as it could be. I felt nothing. Not because it meant nothing to me, but the repercussions were so broad and immutable I couldn¡¯t unpack them. Instead, I focused on the finer details, used that fixation to distract myself while the sensation of being slowly crushed intensified.
I steepled my hands and stared down at them. ¡°Was there anything unusual about the knife she used? A green glow, perhaps? Something off with the blade itself?¡±
¡°Uh¡ no. The knife wasn¡¯t glowing, green or any other color. No visible magic of any kind. And there was nothing noteworthy about the blade. All that stood out was the strange suppression of sound. And¡ªthere was a haze to my vision. It may have been strain, or anxiety, or just the blood rushing to my head. It felt surreal. Alien. Probably nothing more than shock, but it lingered until she left. No idea when she started it, but right around then I realized the walls around us were on fire.¡±
Knife-work. Fire. Chaos. The insistence on playing with her food. Absent the mystery spell, the murder was almost identical to the way she¡¯d ended my first life. Even in the numbness of shock, that fact stood out to me. If our paths hadn¡¯t crossed in the sanctum, I¡¯d undoubtedly believe she¡¯d carried it out that way by design, out of some sick sense of irony or symmetry. If her purpose was to inflict as much strife as possible, it was likely a tactical choice. After all, I didn¡¯t have to imagine how Lillian felt.
I knew exactly how painful it was to die that way.
But preceding our final clash in the Sanctum, Thoth had insisted that the memories from my last life weren¡¯t from the most recent cycle. There¡¯d been other loops I wasn¡¯t aware of in-between. And seeing how she¡¯d used that method to kill Lillian before we¡¯d had that conversation, it didn¡¯t track.
Someone is screwing with us both.
So, what? Was a blade to the lungs a go to method, and she just enjoyed killing people that way?
Or was her appearance of frustration and the brief moment of vulnerability in the Sanctum nothing more than another mind-game.
Every word she uttered was a lie.
¡°Lillian was just¡ gasping¡ struggling for every breath. Smoke made it worse. The intruder put a finger on my lips and silenced my screaming. Once I realized no one heard me, that no one was coming, I stopped. Because when I saw her injury, my medical instincts kicked in. There was a chance I could still save her. The shortness of breath came from a deflating lung, and the knife was blocking most of the bleeding. If she left me alive, there was a chance. A possibility I could save my daughter.¡±
I didn¡¯t bother with hope. Just held my silence as he continued.
¡°There was a sense¡ªa feeling, really¡ªthat she wanted something from me. So I listened. She told me her name. Thoth. And after we made introductions, the sense of theatricality faded. She took the liberty of telling me I shouldn¡¯t grieve for Lillian. Because she¡¯d be nothing more than a disappointment. Squandered potential. That by the time she amounted to anything, it wouldn¡¯t matter, because the world itself would be over. That she was doing me a favor. Freeing me from an unnecessary burden. That the echoes of her death and how they affected others were the only significant achievement my daughter would ever manage. I got angry. Because of course I would. I had no expectations, no demands. She was a child. My only child. After she was born, there was a time I had ideas for what her future could hold. Nothing unreasonable. Just that I hoped she¡¯d follow in my footsteps and planned to eventually pass on the apothecary to her. But after her mother died, that disappeared. All I ever wanted for her was a comfortable life. A good life. Funny, right?¡± Gunther laughed, the sound a hollow rasp.
I smiled grimly, my face taut. ¡°Few children speak as highly of their parents as Lillian spoke of you. She had a good life. Far too short. But good, nonetheless.¡±
Gunther choked a little at that, cleared his throat before he continued on. ¡°Thoth told me that not long from now, a boy would come looking for Lillian. And then she gave me the message. After she¡¯d made me repeat it several times, something Lillian did¡ªmy view was blocked, so it¡¯s impossible to say what¡ªset her off. Thoth raised her voice, started screaming at Lillian for looking at her. Said her face was so weak it was disgusting. Threatened to carve it from her skull. But she didn¡¯t. Instead¡ like it was nothing¡ she tore the knife out of my daughter¡¯s chest.¡±
A sense of weariness rolled in like a fog. I had confirmation that Lillian was gone. That Thoth had taken her life. This was enough, wasn¡¯t it?
No.
¡°What was Thoth¡¯s message?¡± I asked.
Gunther¡¯s face lost the faraway look, and he peered at me, almost irritated. ¡°I told you. It was poison.¡±
Perhaps it was. But from the beginning, nothing she¡¯d done was simple. There was always an angle, a hidden motive. I needed the poison.
Maybe on some level, I wanted it.
/////
THUMP
The noise was distinctly different from the previous dour rhythm of the shovel. The resonance was sturdy and unyielding, as if the shovel had struck a root.
Or wood.
Alten and Maya shared another look, much heavier than the last. We were all sweating and exhausted, but a surge of energy pushed me forward. I tossed aside the last of the dirt, the lighter brown of rotting wood that made up the front cover of the casket became more and more prevalent as I frantically swept it away.
As we hefted the coffin out of the pit, I tried not to pay attention to how heavy it felt. The shift of something within.
Once we got it out, Maya and Alten both stepped away.
I didn¡¯t. The sense of urgency wasn¡¯t rational. I knew that, even as I tore at the nails, ripping them off with the head of the shovel, going down on my knees to pry the more stubborn ones free.
All throughout, I fully expected someone to try to stop me. Maya, perhaps even Alten. Tell me to step back and prepare myself, to hold off, to give myself a minute.
To wait.
Neither of them did.
I pried the lid open.
And found the coffin empty.
198. Fracture V
¡°She¡¯s¡ not there.¡± Relief and terror ran through me in equal measure. I paused, wiping my face on my sleeve, and stood, turning away from the empty casket. I¡¯d stated earlier that death wasn¡¯t the worst thing that could happen. On some level, I still believed that, but seeing the grave unoccupied had softened that perspective. If Lillian was in Thoth¡¯s clutches, no matter how dire her circumstances, she could be saved.
I would save her this time. I had to. It would take time to find her, more to come up with a plan to save her that wouldn¡¯t get either of us killed. But it was achievable now. Within the realm of possibility.
My thoughts gained momentum as I paced. ¡°I need to speak to my father. Belay the attack at sea until we know where she is. Thoth wouldn¡¯t keep Lillian with her. She¡¯s too smart for that. If the surprise attack succeeds and she¡¯s lost to the sea, there¡¯s a good chance she¡¯ll have someone standing by with orders to¡ª¡±
I trailed off mid-sentence, because Maya was openly sobbing. Beside her, Alten looked stricken, his mouth tight.
¡°What?¡± I asked.
¡°Ni¡¯lend no.¡± Maya embraced me. Her long nails dug into my back as she embraced me tightly. ¡°Come back to me. Don¡¯t break now. Don¡¯t let her take away everything you¡¯ve done. Please, please come back to me. ¡±
Unsure of what else to do, I stared at Alten, wide-eyed. Still grim and drawn, he extended his index finger behind me, towards the casket.
The scent hit me first. A sweet and putrid odor that carried on the breeze.
¡°I¡¯m right here,¡± Maya said, running a dirty hand through my hair. ¡°I¡¯ve got you.¡±
I placed a hand against her chest, gently pushing her away. Then turned around slowly and looked back down towards the casket.
It was only then that I saw her. Truly saw her. Light of hair, but in practice it was closer to brown from dirt. Desiccated flesh where freckles used to be. Empty sockets that once housed deep brown chocolate eyes. A smile that was all teeth, gray and decayed.
Vogrin appeared beside me. I had no memory of summoning him, but I must have. He drifted quietly beside the coffin, making a few vague gestures with a hand that glowed white and drew abstract shapes into the air.
Then let the magic fade and shook his head.
Almost completely unaware of what I was doing, I traced her cheek with the back of my knuckle.
Fire rushed through me, starting from the top of my head and spreading across my entire body. The weight of a thousand worlds pressed down on my shoulders and I fell to a knee as ambient mana tore through me. I lost vision in one eye and the other grew blurry and hot, showing little more than vague outlines.
¡°What the fuck is happening?¡± Alten¡¯s voice, sounding far away. ¡°The wind came outta nowhere.¡±
¡°The aura is back¡ and¡ª¡± Maya gasped. ¡°His eye.¡±
¡°Is that demon fire?¡±
¡°No. It¡¯s blue.¡± Maya¡¯s voice was a dull echo, faintly resonating as my vision faded. ¡°And it looks like hers.¡±
It felt familiar, yet entirely new. The same seething tear from a half-decade ago that rendered me damaged and unconscious on the cusp of the enclave. Only this time, it was all-encompassing, washing through every pore, every hair, every neuron of my mind. Loss, pain, anger, despair were flooded away in a torrent of white hot agony, purifying everything I was to nothing but ash.
All at once, my senses deadened. There was nothing. Either what I was feeling was too much, and part of my mind had shut down, or I was losing myself altogether.
Still, there was a sense of calmness. Like standing in the eye of a storm.
¡°Fight it.¡± Someone¡¯s voice echoed into my consciousness, from what felt like a lifetime away.
Why?
The question resonated. It was easier to think, now that there was nothing but me and the darkness beyond. Empty and cold.
What was the point?
The naval strategy sounded great on paper. But from the thousands of years Thoth lived, and the hundreds of permutations of events she¡¯d seen, was it even statistically possible that she¡¯d never seen that before? That my father had never noticed her early, and thought of resorting to the methods of our ancestors to take her off the board?
Of course he had. It would fail, just as every other attempt to even unsettle her had failed.
Escape Barion¡¯s clutches, only for Thoth to accost us in a nearby city.
Win the infernal¡¯s favor, only for her to outsource troops for her eventual invasion force.
Her reach was unlimited. Her power, astronomical. The gap of experience would never stop growing.
It wasn¡¯t just Lillian¡¯s death that rended me, though that blade cut deep, tearing open scar tissue and reverting the years it¡¯d taken the wound to close. It was the realization that Thoth knew exactly how to play with me. How easy it would be to misinterpret her actions as petty and impulsive, but that was false. Despite her acrid nature, she hadn¡¯t mentioned Lillian¡¯s death when we met in the Sanctum. No backhanded remarks, no cryptic vagaries. Where a storybook villain might have monologued, or thrown her vile deeds into the protagonist¡¯s face, goading him, Thoth held her tongue.
Knowing that if she played the long game, and I blindly walked into it, the impact would be multiplied tenfold.
No. The naval siege would fail because she¡¯d see it coming.
And when it did, who would be next? My Mother? My sisters?
Maya?
Fear crept through me as my thoughts ran in a circle, slowly growing closer to the inevitable conclusion. The only viable escape left was as inevitable as it was simple.
Absolution.
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Injuries and afflictions to the soul were the only malady that carried over between resets. Dimly, I knew what I was currently enduring had to be soul damage. It was rare. Souls naturally lost viability over time through the process of reincarnation. This could be expedited if the soul belonged to a person who¡¯d endured much hardship, but only fractionally. The most pathetic, tormented existence would likely only lose a hundredth of their soul¡¯s viability over the span of a long life. Most cases stemmed from rampant, unstructured casting by those with more mana than sense.
Despite being previously unversed in magic, I was warned in the enclave to take care with unstructured casting, because my soul was on the verge of collapse.
So, really, all I had to do was let go, and it would all be over.
No more resets.
No more pain.
No more dead friends.
No more shadows lurking in my footsteps, ready to rob me of everything I loved.
No more.
I grew less aware, less conscious, as the tearing continued.
Let it end.
Loud voices cut through my consciousness. One considerably louder than the others.
¡°What¡¯s the meaning of this? What¡¯s wrong with him?¡± A deep, unmistakable timbre. My father was here. I could see his towering shape, blurry outline as recognizable as it was undefined.
Maya answered, lacking her usual confidence. ¡°His soul is in crisis.¡±
¡°Form a wall blocking the view from the street¡± My father barked at the dozen dark blurs of his honor guard, only turning back to Maya once they snapped to the order. ¡°And you just left him kneeling there?¡±
¡°He¡¯s keeping us away.¡± Alten said. ¡°That violet flame surrounding him is putting off enough heat to melt metal, far hotter than any I¡¯ve felt him use before. But it¡¯s not spreading further. On some level, he¡¯s keeping it in check.¡±
When my father spoke again, his voice was still dangerous but more in control. ¡°Someone explain what happened here. Spare no detail.¡±
As they did as he asked, I felt the wave of tiredness again. Things that once meant the world to me didn¡¯t seem to matter anymore. I wanted to care. Knew that I should care, but couldn¡¯t bring myself to do it. It all felt so heavy, so unnecessarily difficult. Even if I came out of this, all the work I¡¯d done to project strength to my father, to present myself as the sort of leader he could respect. It was obvious what he¡¯d think of me, now that he knew.
Weak.
It¡¯d take time and effort to regain it, if that was even possible. Judging from past experiences, he¡¯d likely just let me burn myself out. Allow nature to take its course.
So much harder than just¡ letting go.
Suddenly, the roiling magic within me seemed to calm, subside. A sliver of perception returned, and I became aware of the sensation of a metal vice, gripping my upper-arm tightly. My eyes flickered open, and I could barely make sense of what I was seeing.
My father was there, kneeling in the circle swath of flame. I saw his pained expression for only a second, but it was long enough to realize the agony he was enduring. The vice that gripped my shoulder was his gauntlet, the metallic fingers that squeezed my shoulder bled molten steel. As soon as he realized I was looking at him, his expression went cold, stoic.
¡°What¡ are you doing?¡± He growled.
I managed a pained smile. ¡°Sorry¡ father.¡±
For good this time.
¡°Stop.¡±
More aware now of the potential inferno if I lost consciousness, I reached out to the fire that surrounded me, feebly attempting to quench it. Despite my doubts, it responded almost instantaneously, fading to nothing.
King Gil glanced at the scorched ground, unsatisfied. ¡°What I meant was stop dying.¡±
In more mundane circumstances, I might have laughed. It was just like him to command a dying man to keep breathing. For the moment, all I could manage was a weak cough. My good eye was losing focus again. ¡°Not sure that I can.¡±
¡°And what of your ambition? The new Uskar you intended to forge?¡±
My chuckle sounded more like a sob. ¡°Thoth will never stop. She¡¯ll keep setting fires until there¡¯s nothing left but ash.¡±
He made an irritated noise and leaned back to speak to one of his honor guard. ¡°Where are the gods¡¯ damned mages?¡±
¡°On route now, my lord.¡±
¡°I¡¯ll have them quartered if they drag their skirts.¡± He muttered. There was a jostling of armor as he leaned down and spoke directly into my ear. ¡°I¡¯ve seen countless men lay down and wait for death. This solves nothing.¡±
A sliver of irritation stabbed into my mind, wresting me from the malaise. ¡°If I wasn¡¯t here¡ª¡±
¡°What, your peasant girl would still be alive?¡± He barked a laugh. ¡°Perhaps. But life is cheap, boy. She¡¯s already targeted Whitefall for conquest. You think your death would stay her hand? That your peasant girl would survive the invasion you described? That anything beyond death and torment awaits those foolish enough to follow you in your absence.¡±
I slammed my fist against the ground. ¡°You don¡¯t understand.¡±
¡°Oh, but I do.¡± He hissed in my ear. ¡°You believe, if you just give up while your soul crumbles to nothing, that you¡¯ll be a martyr. That the lives you¡¯ll leave behind will be better for it. They won¡¯t.¡± A slow smile spread across his face. ¡°And if you allow this to be your end, I¡¯ll make sure of it. I¡¯ll start with the infernal diplomat. Then the guard. Followed by every member of the regiment foolish enough to throw in their lot with you. Once they¡¯re all dead, or cursing your name within the dungeons, I¡¯ll march straight to the enclave and history will repeat itself.¡±
A roiling anger rose within me. Of course he¡¯d show his true face when I was at my weakest. I spat, pinpricks of blood covering his cheek. ¡°Fuck you.¡±
He slapped me, the blow so gentle it barely turned my head. ¡°Good. Good. Hate me. Hate her. Stoke that fire until it¡¯s so hot you can barely stand it. Burn away the grief until there¡¯s nothing left. Direct it where it¡¯s due.¡±
Images of every cruelty Thoth had inflicted flashed through my mind, much as they had before, only this time, the memories were tinged in red. The words came unbidden, bubbling up from my chest, raw and cold. ¡°I don¡¯t just want her dead. I want her to suffer.¡±
¡°Do I look like your fairy godmother?¡± He asked.
¡°What?¡±
His smile was wide and cruel. ¡°Wishes don¡¯t make deeds, boy. No one¡¯s going to do it for you. And if you spend months bedridden, recovering from your injury, she¡¯s only going to get stronger.¡±
¡°Soul-damage isn¡¯t something I can just walk off. How am I supposed to¡ª¡±
¡°Find a way.¡± He said, in a voice that denied excuse. ¡°As you always have.¡±
As much as I hated him at that moment, he was right. Thoth wasn¡¯t going to just stop existing because I was gone. She¡¯d carry on, doggedly pursuing her mission with little care for those she trampled along the way. My death would serve as little more than a momentary satisfaction, a mundane footnote in a sprawling text. I had no idea how dire the state of my soul was, but going off of feeling alone, I¡¯d be lucky to be back on my feet within a year if it didn¡¯t kill me outright.
But how?
A single spark of violet flame remained on a scorched blade of grass, nearly spent. I reached out to it slowly, forcing it to burn brighter, the idea solidifying as it traveled the length of my arm and up towards my shoulder, lancing through my lips and down my throat.
My mastery of the flame of absolution had been slow. At first I¡¯d used it primarily to seed small pockets of dantalion flame, and only more recently, to project myself to a distant point as instantaneous transport. The latter formed the base of my idea. Because teleporting wasn¡¯t as simple as displacing myself from one location to another. I was destroying myself and recreating my form from the ground up. It was impossible to heal myself or drastically alter my corporeal form, as I was recreating from memory and drawing from anything but my most vivid and recent memory of physical presence could easily spell disaster.
Once I¡¯d disassembled myself entirely and not a fragment of my form remained, something did. A consciousness that grew dimmer the longer I remained in that state, but a consciousness just the same.
My soul. It had to be.
The ability was so new and tenuous I hadn¡¯t had the chance to examine it in detail. But if I was on the right track, there was a chance I could use the flame of absolution on my soul to piece it back together.
I let the fire consume me. And my vision went dark.
199. Fracture VI
The sense of blindness and deafness was nothing new. What was absent was the feeling of clarity. That was all that separated the void that I created from the void I entered when I died. But this time the clarity was dim, muted. Like the feeling that comes seconds before drifting to sleep.
I got the sense that relaxing in this state would mean never waking up again.
With haste, I turned my focus inward. I¡¯d avoided doing so up to this point because I wasn¡¯t sure if I could. There weren¡¯t any mirrors in the void, so it seemed as impossible trying to get an outside look at yourself without one. But I didn¡¯t have eyes. There was no physical barrier restricting me from doing so. And as alien as the sensation was, as I changed direction, my perspective shifted.
Before me was a colossal mass of gray, asymmetrical malformed matter, bound by rings of ethereal blue that pulsed and bulged at strange intervals.
To be blunt, it was staggeringly ugly. Briefly, I wondered if all souls looked this way, before discarding the thought as useless. I got the sense¡ªmore intuition than logic¡ªthat the mass had once been perfectly circular, degrading over reincarnations and resets, the circular bindings served as desperate patchwork, discarding any attempt to maintain form.
Ralakos, a leader of the Enclave to whom I owed much, had implied that my soul was ancient. Reaching the end of its divine existence. Perhaps this was what he meant.
I circled the mass, an endeavor that felt as if it took entirely too long. There was no sense of scale, nothing in the void to compare the size to. It could have been as large as a tower or small as a stone. I paused, at a section of the gray mass that bulged between two strands of indigo cording that shifted violet in color. It looked unstable, but when I brushed it, felt solid enough. Beneath the two strands was a dark plate of obsidian, sitting snugly against the section where the gray material looked to be sliced open, binding the wound together. I touched it, and almost immediately felt a warm, calming presence.
Maya.
So the obsidian resulted from our bond. A piece of her soul, grafted to mine. I lingered near it in a moment of gratitude before I continued on, completing the circle. There were many scars from injuries nearly as grave as the one that¡¯d almost killed me before the enclave, only they¡¯d appeared to form on their own.
I moved back, confused. By now I¡¯d completed a full circle. Judging from the pain and how quickly the injury had immobilized me, I was sure there¡¯d be a dire looking wound, and that the wound itself would be obvious. But there was nothing.
Unsure of what else to do, I continued in the same direction, intending to retrace my path more slowly this time.
Instead of finding myself at my starting place, there was a whole other side to the mass I¡¯d somehow missed. And as it turned out, the wound was obvious. There was a crater-sized gap, the bands of magic that held it severed, floating outward, the blue-coloring growing dim. The crater was riddled with glowing crimson lashes I assumed were the soul¡¯s equivalent of an open wound.
The lashes seemed to move with purpose. They snagged pieces of detritus from the surrounding environment, bringing them back towards the wound and merging them into place. But given the extent of the damage, they might as well be building a castle with grains of sand.
If I had a mouth, I would have frowned. I¡¯d never heard anything about a soul rebuilding itself. From all accounts, it was the opposite. They simply degraded and inevitably failed.
A single eye peered the center of the lashes, its iris as crimson as the surrounding strands. It stared at the place I was standing, several crimson lashes rubbing its surface. Considering the lack of eyelid, it was likely clearing its vision.
It squinted. ¡°How are you here?¡±
¡°This is my soul. What are you?¡±
¡°Oh. We are not supposed to speak to you.¡±
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I paused, dazed at the idea that my soul had a voice. ¡°That¡¯s it? No hints. Just ¡®not talking to you?¡¯¡±
The thing continued to stare, holding its silence.
Fine. Whatever this was, I didn¡¯t have time to spare. My consciousness was growing dimmer by the second. Even if I found the problem immediately and fixed it with no issue¡ªwhich was unlikely¡ªthere was no guarantee I¡¯d have the acuity to recreate my corporeal form after the fact.
I prodded at some of the torn tissue, trying to ascertain the best way to repair it. The less I created from scratch the better, so I¡¯d need to gather up the pieces floating around and puzzle together what I could, before I resorted to creating something from nothing.
Without thinking, I reached out to the closest floating chunk. Given that I had no appendages or body to speak of, naturally, it didn¡¯t work.
¡°What are you trying to do?¡± The eye peered at me.
I nearly joked about how it couldn¡¯t talk to me, then thought better of it. ¡°What else? I¡¯m trying to piece this monstrosity back together.¡±
A lash of red waved in my face. From this distance, I could see tiny glowing hairs it used for grip.
¡°Fine! We will¡ accept¡ your aid. The arch-fiend will be angry, but not as angry as if we lose the soul completely.¡± It wiggled the lashing appendages towards the matter, demonstrating its lack of reach. ¡°Push them towards me, and I¡¯ll do what I can.¡±
At the mention of the arch-fiend, I understood. My unexpected passenger resulted from my demonic contract, and it was working to repair the damage. Nothing like this was explicitly mentioned, but demons were masters of the written word. Likely hidden somewhere in careful wording and fine print. They had a vested interest in ensuring that my soul survived, so naturally, they took precautions.
I followed the creature¡¯s instructions, pushing the chunks of matter back towards it. It fastened them in place, while I used the fire of absolution to fuse them together. It was far easier to use magic in this realm than interact with anything physically, which perhaps made some sense.
Once most of the chasm was restored save the corner, I maneuvered the last piece towards the whole, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Yet the demonic being did not relax. If anything, it grew more irritable, its lashing appendages pressing up against the corner of the gap. ¡°Won¡¯t fit. Why won¡¯t it fit? Fit before. Why not now?¡± The tiny arms scrambled against the edge, prodding the mass, until they paused. The eye squinted. ¡°Something in the way. Under the protective layer.¡±
I drifted closer, focusing on the spot its many legs outlined. There was a swelling of the flesh, as if there was a tumor beneath, pushing the corner of the soul-matter outward and shrinking the gap to where the missing piece wouldn¡¯t fit.
Not unlike a tumor.
I maneuvered a spark of absolution towards the swelling, paying attention to the structure and composition of the top layer before I burned it away.
A clear glass sphere glinted like a star through storm clouds. Its structure looked familiar somehow, as if I¡¯d seen a similar object before.
Unless I¡¯m going crazy, that¡¯s a memory orb.
They were rare, and prohibitively expensive even for my means. And as far as I knew, purely physical. So what the hells was one doing in my soul.
¡°There¡¯s the skerpa.¡± Before I could stop it, the eye reached out, pried the memory orb free with a sickening squelch, and flung it into the void. For a moment it looked as if it might fly forever before it halted mid-flight, then rocketed back towards the opening.
The demon eye grew wide as it scrambled to cover the hole. ¡°It¡¯s coming back. Stop it! Stop it now!¡±
Unsure of what else to do, I maneuvered my presence between the orb and soul. It stopped at what would have been chest level, and rolled, its sapphire glow rotating as an invisible force attempted to push it past me.
¡°Stop it!¡± The eye repeated in a panic. It was struggling to maneuver the corner piece and shield the fissure from the oncoming orb at the same time.
¡°Trying.¡± I grunted, struggling to adjust myself to no avail. This wasn¡¯t going to work.
There was another possibility. From my brief interaction with them, I¡¯d learned that most memory orbs could only be used once, the fragile shell that held them together consumed after the memory was absorbed. There was a possibility doing so would be the end of me, that I¡¯d be spreading my consciousness too thin. But when Ozra reviewed mine, it had been almost instantaneous.
Gotta risk it.
I focused on the core. There was a flash of light, and my surroundings changed.
It was confusing, because while I was almost entirely certain I was back in my body, I wasn¡¯t in control of it. I was in the remains of a castle. The little writing present was in a language I didn¡¯t understand, the colors and decor entirely foreign. A feeling of power that washed over me, complete and overwhelming. My own power.
And Thoth stood beside me.
200. Fracture VII
An outlandish vista rolled out before me, as vast and wide as the eye could see. My studies had covered geography extensively, yet, the rolling mounds of hellish embers and ash looked entirely alien. Dwarves, elves, and infernals battled twisted flesh amalgams of corrupted red beasts.
There was a whoosh of wings directly overhead.
I tried to move, to duck. But the signal my mind sent to my body went unrecognized, pathways that connected them sundered.
Right, I was nothing more than a spectator here.
Slowly, almost lazily, the me that was not me tilted my head up, watching as a gold metallic form blurred by motion flew overhead and plummeted straight down in a screeching dive, bathing the battlefield in white flame, pulling out of the dive at the last moment and flying low above the aftermath.
Considering the reptilian shape of its head and massive, bat-like wings, the image was unmistakable.
It wasn¡¯t a wyvern or dragon-hawk. That was a genuine dragon, straight out of legend.
The only thing more shocking was how unimpressed I was. Instead of awestruck, or terrified, the alternate version of me almost felt¡ disappointed. As if the appearance of a dragon was little more than routine.
Dimly, as my awareness slipped further and further away, I realized what I was seeing.
The end of all things.
¡°This iteration was always going to be a failure.¡± Thoth¡¯s voice. She lacked her usual malice, and when I turned away from the battlefield, there were dark bags under her eyes, and a slump to her shoulders. She looked exhausted. In her fist she held an elf¡¯s head by the dark, blood-sodden strands of his hair. ¡°If we ever pull this off, it will be without fighting a two-front war.¡±
A series of images flashed before my eyes. I remembered shaking his hand, a lifetime ago as he joined us as an ally. Weeping with him as he broke down, losing more and more of himself until there was almost nothing left. The three of us standing together on this very tower, watching the world end.
Ume.
¡°Tie his knot before you killed him?¡± I asked, my voice hollow.
¡°He¡¯s gone.¡±
I swallowed, knowing the answer before I voiced the question. ¡°Was it quick?¡±
She didn¡¯t answer, for a moment, shame and rage struggling for dominance across her harsh features. ¡°As quick as his cowardice deserved.¡±
¡°Gods. He wasn¡¯t a coward, Thoth, he lost his mind.¡±
Who could fucking blame him?
Rage won out, and her mouth pulled wide, pointed teeth showing in a tight grimace. ¡°It¡¯s so tiring when you make excuses for them.¡± She stood close enough that I could smell blood on her breath. ¡°Why were they all so weak? We¡ªwe¡¯ve been here since the beginning. Hands just as bloody. Souls ragged and threadbare. Yet we are still standing.¡±
¡°Maybe. But can you really say we¡¯re better for it?¡± I stared out over the chaos.
There was no answer.
¡°How are the casualties?¡± Thoth asked, disquieted but clearly ready to move on.
¡°Considerable. In line with expectations.¡± I watched a clutch of dwarves under attack by a group of primate-style aberrations that always gave the infantry so much trouble. Magic flowed through my veins as I prepared to form a multifold glyph, outer circle formed from super-heated fire while the inner runes served to heal the dwarves. The dwarves all died before the outer circle formed as their defenses crumbled, and the sadistic monsters tore them limb from limb. I hissed, feeling annoyance. Not that the dwarves had died, but at myself, for trying to save them at all. ¡°Half left. Maybe less. Same as it always was without the orcs. Like you said. Ume screwed us from the start.¡±
¡°Any of the titans show yet?¡±
I shook my head, melancholy as I always was at this point of the cycle.
¡°Every soldier that falls in a hopeless battle is a possible mage in the next iteration.¡± Thoth pointed out. She was trying, in her own way, to comfort me.
It wasn¡¯t working.
¡°With just as many souls scattered to the void, never to return again.¡± I watched out of the corner of my eye as she reached out toward me. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me.¡±
The hand dropped before it made contact.
¡°That is the cost.¡± She said, a ring of finality to the statement.
¡°Not much for us to do until the titans appear. Show me your forms.¡± I said.
Thoth jolted at the command, staring at me in disbelief. ¡°Now?¡±
We had little of this iteration left. She knew it as well as I did. In a way she was playing for time. Something that in the grand scheme of things, we had so much of, yet never enough.
Begrudgingly, she held out her hand and focused. Air moved around it, currents visible through the bits of dust and detritus that swirled in complex patterns. With a practiced motion, she raised her arm skyward in a masterful display of the second form, clouds above us swirling downward in the cyclone that descended. I anchored myself to the stone floor with earth, as the cyclone intensified. The first and second had never been an issue. It was the third that proved problematic.
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Beads of sweat dripped down her forehead as she grunted in effort, attempting to reverse the flow. There was a part of me that wanted to let it be, make her work for it, maybe even let her suffer the embarrassment of failure for what she¡¯d done to Ume.
But the truth was, regardless of how, in the end she¡¯d only done what I¡¯d asked her to do.
And I was about to ask for more.
Thoth shuddered as tendrils of life magic sunk into her, aligning her mana pathways, redirecting stray mana from where it idled to its intended destination. Her eyes widened in surprise even as the dark hole formed in her palm, creating a dimensional vacuum, absorbing the tornado above and the detritus until the air suddenly stilled with an audible crack.
A long silence passed.
¡°It has been ages since you taught me so,¡± She finally said, turning to clear a stray piece of dust from her eye.
There was a flash of guilt. The distance between us had grown significantly over the last dozen or so iterations, but there was a part of me that believed she hadn¡¯t noticed. Maybe that was na?ve. After all, I could barely stand to look at her, routinely felt ill if she was anywhere near me. And she was as perceptive as they come.
¡°Again.¡±
I watched silently as Thoth ran through the first and second form, and after a struggle, managing the third entirely on her own this time. There was a sense of wonder in her expression, and a giggle as the hole in her palm disappeared. ¡°Wait. Did you interfere¡ª¡±
I shook my head.
She smiled wide and grabbed my shoulders before I could step away. ¡°Does that mean¡¡±
Air had always given her trouble, and now, she¡¯d finally overcome it, almost entirely of her own power. ¡°Congratulations, Arch-Mage.¡±
Thoth¡¯s mouth dropped open, and before either of us realized what she was doing, scooped me up in a hug. ¡°Thank you for the lesson, master.¡±
I pushed her away gently and gave her a dull look. ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡±
¡°You used to like it.¡± She scowled.
The title was a joke, and not even an accurate one. We¡¯d both started at almost nothing. As I¡¯d learned faster than she had, I¡¯d helped her along the way, but the pace of my learning meant I reached the inevitable plateau that much quicker. While her own progress was slow, it was steady. She had to put in significantly more effort than I had to reach the same height, but when my progress stopped, she¡¯d slowly closed the gap, continuing at the same glacial pace.
With this ultimate achievement, we were equal.
I let go, watching her expression shift from elation, to confusion. ¡°And with this grand accomplishment, the conditions have been met. I need to leave for a while.¡±
Any trace of excitement disappeared, replaced with full-blown panic as Thoth stepped back. ¡°No.¡±
¡°We talked about it.¡±
¡°Lifetimes ago.¡±
¡°You¡¯d rather every sin we¡¯ve committed be in vain?¡± I asked coldly.
Her eyes darted back and forth. ¡°With Ume undermining us this iteration, and that shit in Lese the iteration before, we haven¡¯t had an ideal iteration in a while. What if we tried again¡ªjust one more, now that he¡¯s out of our hair?¡±
Out of our hair¡
I stared down at where Ume¡¯s head had landed, after she¡¯d tossed it away. The nausea returned, so powerful and overwhelming I nearly wretched. Once he¡¯d started showing the signs it¡¯d escalated quicker than the others. His inability to sleep, anger, and constant lashing out at everyone who looked at him wrong almost effortlessly transitioned to killing without purpose. The last time I¡¯d talked to him, he¡¯d barely made sense, spouting more half-babbled delusions of grandeur than anything approaching sane.
And when I¡¯d told Thoth how far gone he was, she¡¯d immediately volunteered. Saw it as more challenge than tragedy.
Had he really meant so little to her?
¡°It¡¯s time to face the facts. This isn¡¯t working,¡± I said, extending my arm out towards the battlefield. ¡°One more run isn¡¯t going to change that. Even if you found a way to put the fear of the gods into the Orcs and brought them to our side in a single iteration¡ªwhich, be honest, it¡¯s going to take more than one to get it right without Ume¡ªit wouldn¡¯t matter. We¡¯ve had them on our side for this before. Every time they fight, they fall. If we expend ourselves to mitigate the losses and engage the titans in a weakened state, they skewer us. If we save every portion of our reserves for the titans themselves and miraculously survive the battle, we, and everyone else, dies in the aftermath.¡±
¡°But¡ª¡±
¡°We need a stronger force. And for that to happen, I need to reach the summit.¡± I said, my voice final.
After letting that settle, I whispered. ¡°It¡¯s been decades since I reached the third tier of life magic. And ever since, I haven¡¯t progressed. Not even a little. I need the power that only you can give me.¡±
Thoth¡¯s face grew paler, skin ghostly white. But after a moment, her jaw set. ¡°Because of the numbness.¡±
¡°Nothing shocks me anymore. Nothing hurts me anymore. It¡¯s like the person I was died a long time ago, and my body and mind are simply going through the motions. My soul hasn¡¯t changed in countless iterations. I¡¯m stuck in equilibrium.¡±
Though the whites of her eyes grew red, Thoth didn¡¯t cry. It was possible she wasn¡¯t even capable of it anymore.
The sound of battle grew distant, more scattered. Another loss. Same as always.
¡°How many iterations do we even have left? A hundred?¡± I asked quietly.
Thoth shook her head.
Less than that.
¡°It¡¯s not just my soul.¡± As I continued, a feeling of heaviness pressed down on me. ¡°I can¡¯t even see them anymore. They¡¯re all just numbers in my head. People who can contribute to the fight¡ and people who can¡¯t.¡±
No answer.
Even if we¡¯d agreed on it as a hypothetical, it was much harder to face in practice. She needed more. She needed hope. I bit my lip, already regretting the cruelty of what I was about to do. ¡°It¡¯ll take some time to get my head right. And a lot of focused, intentional effort to break through. But maybe, after a few iterations on your own, after all this accumulated blood is washed away, I could see you¡ªand myself¡ªwithout the taint of everything we¡¯ve done¡ and we can start anew.¡±
Thoth froze, every muscle in her body taut. I saw the calculations behind her eyes, the possibility of loss suddenly tempered with how badly she wanted the potential gain. ¡°Do you really believe that?¡± She asked me.
¡°Yes.¡± I lied.
The truth was, all I wanted was a way out. To breathe again. To get away from the constant reminder of the person I was, the person I¡¯d become. The monster I¡¯d created.
And I would have said anything to make that happen.
Slowly, Thoth reached towards the sheath on her belt. And drew the ceremonial dagger, reflective silver still red with Ume¡¯s blood.
I tensed, instinctively reaching for my blade.
¡°You ask too much.¡± She growled.
201. Fracture VIII
What the hells?
I¡¯d seen hints of this before. Glimmers of a past that cast Thoth not as an enemy, but as an ally. But from the way we talked, how that version of me felt, we weren¡¯t just allies.
We were friends.
More than that, I was an agent. In that timeline, I¡¯d taken part in the Metamorphosis society¡¯s conspiracy to ward off Ragnarok. From the sound of it, I was one of the first. Same as Thoth. There wasn¡¯t a lot of hard information about the cult, there never had been, and Thaddeus¡¯s absence had severely impeded any advancement in that direction. But from what Ralakos had told me, it wasn¡¯t a small undertaking. They intended to use children with high potential for magical talent¡ªone of many tensions that eventually led Ralakos to walk away from the project¡ªand from the way he¡¯d described it, there¡¯d been far more than three.
My predecessor seemed saddened by the loss of the elf, but not at all surprised. More disquieting was the sense of finality to the proceedings.
Had every other looper shared the same fate as the elf? Lost their minds over hundreds of iterations, countless wasted decades fighting against an enemy that could never truly be vanquished?
As the hemorrhaging husk of my soul loomed over me, swimming in the nothingness of eternity, it left me with a final, unanswerable question.
What the fuck was I supposed to do?
No, really.
I was approaching the limits of plausibility here. Even if I exploited every loop with potential, used vurseng to increase the time I spent conscious, squeezed every drop of blood, potential, and effort out of myself until there was nothing left, it still wouldn¡¯t be enough. I¡¯d lost, at the very least, centuries of experience. And the real number was almost definitively more. And assuming the absolute best case¡ªthat Thoth somehow hadn¡¯t reached the unknowable upper echelon of power my previous self was striving for¡ªshe¡¯d still have a far better grasp on her power than I did.
It was unwinnable. It always had been. There were plenty of signs to that effect, ample evidence to draw from. I¡¯d been here before. But before, it was different. I¡¯d always been able to find the one reason to push forward, the one small, key, sliver of hope to keep marching forward. To keep fighting. Now there was nothing. Just a vacuous hole, as dark as the void that surrounded me.
Hate her. Stoke the fire until it¡¯s so hot you can barely stand it.
Clarity stilled the darkness, terrifying in its intensity. For all her self-righteous grandstanding, Thoth was the one who had betrayed me. Whatever our bond, whatever her history, it was the only explanation. My previous self hadn¡¯t intended to leave the loop indefinitely. His mind was shielded, but of that, I was sure. It was a temporary reprieve, one that carried with it the chance of ascending to a higher level of power. I couldn¡¯t imagine being willing to give up everything I¡¯d built. So, when she removed me from the loop, potentially the same way she¡¯d removed Ume, I¡¯d trusted her to bring me back in. And she hadn¡¯t.
It wasn¡¯t until either by chance or outside intervention I¡¯d kept my memories of a loop, and been granted an ability that in some small way countered Thoth¡¯s that I¡¯d been able to offer any opposition at all.
My essence moved back and forth in the spiritual equivalent of pacing, as I tried to put myself in the headspace of my unknowable patron.
Again, why? Why bother? They must have known there was little to no chance of my offering all but the most token resistance. That the best I could do within my smaller loops would ensure my survival to the end, that even if I used every smaller loop to the fullest I¡¯d only reach a fraction of her centuries of accumulated power. Gods were not known for bestowing frivolous boons. Well, to some extent they were, but the boon I¡¯d received was anything but frivolous. If my gift was divine, given in a time where the gods themselves were fading from this plane, it was almost assuredly astronomically expensive, even by divine standards.
So why? There had to be a reason. Something I had now that the previous loopers didn¡¯t.
When we are born, our souls are pure. When we die, our souls are damaged. Pure arcane energy repairs the soul¡ªwhether you want to call that god, or the devil, or whatever else¡ªbut it doesn¡¯t do a perfect job. Residual magic left behind after repairing a soul is where manifested elements come from.
A chill cut through me, as Ralakos¡¯s words surfaced in my memory. The foraminous soul. The rational reason my previous self wanted to be removed from the loop. He said that nothing affected him anymore, implied that the accumulated numbness stunted his ability to break through. To what, exactly, I still didn¡¯t know.
Slowly, I raised the memory orb, studying it silently. I had embedded it within my soul. If it wasn¡¯t for the extensive damage and my attempts to stabilize myself, I would have never found it. And I was becoming increasingly convinced that I¡ªrather, my predecessor¡ªwas the one who¡¯d hidden it there as a message, hoping it¡¯d eventually be found.
And as far as I knew, I was the only person who could find it.
Not giving myself enough time to reconsider, I struck outward towards the center of my soul, five sparks of absolution forming apparitional fingertips. Soul matter trembled beneath the fire, cleaving.
¡°What are you doing?¡± The demonic eye squealed, shuffling toward the sudden blaze.
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¡°Something I should have done a long time ago.¡± I shoved further inward, carving out another section. This was what I¡¯d been missing. The reason I was chosen. Numbness aside, the centuries I¡¯d lived before the loss of my powers and memories had not been without cost. With the current state of my soul, I could sense the potential for another awakening years from now.
And that wasn¡¯t good enough.
I needed more power, and I needed it now. That was the advantage I held over the previous loopers. Perhaps, the only one. They needed some soul damage to reach arch-mage status, but their preferred method was erosion. Realistically, with potential centuries ahead, they couldn¡¯t hasten the process without risking a collapse several iterations later.
But no matter how much the days, weeks, and months I repeated added up, I only had one life to live. Reincarnation meant little when my soul¡¯s future resting place was consigned to the hells. There was no guarantee I¡¯d keep my memories in the event of a true restart. If beyond all odds I did, it meant that I¡¯d lose.
Everything.
At first, I tore away almost mindlessly, a dark glee driving me forward as I carved piece after piece free from the whole. There were sections, places that when I neared them, a primal instinct warned me to leave alone. I had enough mind left to heed those warnings and sometimes carved around them, sometimes cut through the surrounding matter and moved them.
Dimly, I remembered several diagrams I¡¯d encountered doing research on the soul in one of the many pocket libraries filled with ancient texts, scattered around the Sanctum. Diagrams of souls within them were grand, luminescent things, imparting a far more heavenly image than the dark-red-reality of the construct before me. The text itself was a necromantic bible, delving far deeper into the forbidden magic than anything I¡¯d found in the more carefully censored sections of the Infernal libraries. The author was clearly a necromancer, and it was implied¡ªthough never directly stated¡ªthat the diagrams of souls she¡¯d transcribed were from kidnapped subjects, all with varying degrees of magic potential. Of her many, many victims, one stood above the rest. A powerful mage the necromancer believed to be reaching the end of his reincarnation cycle.
The uniqueness of the subject¡¯s soul extended beyond the potency associated with age. Because unlike common souls, it kept a distinct shape. She¡¯d described the shape of his soul as a spiral, completely hollow at the center, encased by rings of soul-matter descending towards the base. The base itself never returned to a discernible whole, rather it appeared to be composed of increasingly smaller rings, eventually growing so tiny they were impossible to discern even with the necromancer¡¯s considerable abilities and equipment.
And in the center, a core of pure, primal mana, encased within the rings.
The structure gave an obvious advantage. Over the course of a typical reincarnation, a soul''s reconstruction was imperfect. Mana filled the gaps. The captured mage had somehow manipulated his soul to force a far greater quantity of mana towards the center. Over the remaining pages, before she moved on to the next section railing against the then-current practice of ritual sacrifice, the necromancer spent a lot of time engaging in frustrated hypotheticals.
For one, she wasn¡¯t certain that a soul with such heavy modifications could survive the process of reincarnation and being transplanted into another body. It was likely too tampered with to be viable by the divine powers that decided such things, and would instead be sent to its final rest.
She admitted there was a possibility the mage might have intended to use whatever method he used initially to restructure his soul to something more passable before he reached his end, but without knowing the method, that was more conjecture than anything else.
My movements and adjustments became more calculated, intentional, as I continued to mutilate my soul, forming the top part of a spiral according to the diagram. It felt unstable, like it wouldn¡¯t take. I hesitated, not sure how to proceed.
¡°Stop!¡± The eye squealed again. Seemingly at the end of its patience, one of the infernal chains came loose, snapping over the spiral and clamping down, holding it in place.
An idea formed. I floated above the eye, staring down at it, hoping my presence communicated disdain. ¡°I wonder what Ozra will do to you if you fail this simple task.¡±
¡°Many bad things.¡± It snapped. ¡°Awful, awful things. And you will be dead. Very dead.¡±
¡°Then help me. And we both get what we want.¡± I communicated the structure I intended to form, and the ideal way for the infernal bindings to be rearranged. Unless the mystery mage had been an infernal with dantalion flame, we were probably using different methods here. I didn¡¯t have access to whatever esoteric magic he¡¯d used, that was apparently obscure enough that it stumped a necromancer powerful enough to capture him. What I had was a demonic contract, and the reinforcing binding that supported it.
The eye buzzed unhappily. ¡°No. Too risky. Far too risky. I¡¯m not allowed to adjust the terms of the contract.¡±
Interesting. Even in its demonic, tangible form, the eye-parasite still considered the chains as terms.
¡°Even if the soul itself is under threat?¡± I asked.
No answer.
¡°Shame.¡± I shoved fingertips of fire into the depths of my soul, intentionally brushing against one of the vital sections. Up to then, the entire process had been unpleasant. Painful. But the pain had receded into a dull buzzing. That dull buzzing suddenly exploded into a deep vibration, rumbling within me.
¡°WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?¡± The eye shouted.
I withdrew the fire and plunged it in once more, directly beside the previous point, creating two cavernous holes. ¡°Because this is required. I will not stop. I¡¯ll keep at this until I reach the end, or there¡¯s nothing left.¡±
It seemed to regain some backbone at the threat. ¡°A bluff! All things fear their undoing. You would not dare.¡±
I tore out the barrier between the two, leaving a crater. ¡°You¡¯ve been with me since the Enclave. I¡¯m guessing you¡¯ve seen much. My battles, my actions, my choices. You¡¯ve had a front-row seat for all of it. So tell me. After everything you¡¯ve witnessed. You think nothingness is what I fear?¡±
There was a long silence. Long enough that I withdrew the fingers of flame, and prepared to plunge them in again, tearing the vital section free. Suddenly the eye disappeared, reappearing directly in the path of my ghostly hand. It squinted, the red iris barely visible.
¡°If this turns out to be some sort of ploy to escape your contract¡ª¡±
¡°It¡¯s not.¡± I interrupted.
¡°¡ªI will be punished. Severely. But the retribution I face will be a pittance compared to the penalty you¡¯ll face in the hells.¡± The eye said. Despite its pathetic appearance and voice, the threat carried enough weight that I got the impression it was probably telling the truth.
Slowly, the chains unfurled, creating a spiral trellis.
We built.
202. Fracture IX
My eyes opened slowly, the blur of unconsciousness fading to gossamer curtains shifting silently in the grasp of an unfelt breeze. Soft art decorated the walls, still lives, landscapes, all dyed in fading colors that had long since lost their original color. It all seemed so familiar, but my mind couldn¡¯t be bothered to make the connection. I was still lost in the annals of my soul.
I also hadn¡¯t finished the reconstruction. Shaping a soul was far more of a monumental, arduous undertaking than I¡¯d realized. Destroying was far easier than creating. With the eye¡¯s help, I¡¯d created an initial framework. After perhaps a third of the work was complete, I¡¯d felt my connection to my body fading. It didn¡¯t seem to happen nearly as quickly as when I was transporting myself through the physical plane, but it still left much to be desired.
The physical side effects made themselves known in short order. Tightness in my chest, lungs so bound I had to fight for every inhale. A panicky vibration pressing in at the sides of my temples. Pain, a pervading soreness that permeated every muscle, but that, I welcomed. Almost instinctively, I focused inward, and let the sting radiate. Because as long as I was preoccupied, I couldn¡¯t think about¡ª
¡ªLong nails, longer than they¡¯d ever been. A small smile eternalized on gray, desiccated lips, hinting at a secret that would never be uttered. Worms¡ª
I choked, struggling to breathe. Every gasp ragged and stubborn.
Thoth, cackling at a joke only she knew the punchline to.
My fingers sunk into the soft material beneath my head. The edges of my vision tinged red.
Make her SUFFER.
Mana streamed into me as I unintentionally drew it. It felt different somehow, fuller. At first, I held the confused impression that the mana itself had changed. That it was richer, and I¡¯d been taken to some previously unknown place of power.
But after a moment, I realized it wasn¡¯t the mana. It was me. I could perceive it more clearly now. Pull from it less selectively.
I let it flood me. Breathing became easier. My vision sharpened. The scent of lavender filled my nostrils, so rich and overpowering it was almost nauseating. The texture of the chaise beneath me was still soft, but I could detect a near-minute inconsistency in the feathers that padded it. Before me was a circular marble table that housed a narrow-necked crystal vase. Its opening was so tight it nearly strangled the rose that emerged from it, stem visible through the glass stripped of both leaves and thorns.
I realized where I was, moments before thin fingers stroked through my matted hair.
¡°Don¡¯t close your eyes.¡± Her voice was aloof, dreamlike. But it carried a current of urgency beneath the surface.
At the core of my weakness, there was a part of me that wanted nothing more than to stay there. To take comfort in a touch long denied. To weep. I nearly did. But in scant seconds, the weakness burned away, leaving only anger in its wake.
I sat up slowly, removing my head from her lap, keeping my gaze focused on the table before us. ¡°So. You¡¯ve finally deigned to speak with me.¡±
¡°The road to recovery has not been smooth, darling one.¡± Queen Elaria placed her hand over mine. ¡°Yet I could not have walked it without you.¡±
I wish I could claim the recognition meant nothing to me. That the only matter of importance was her recovery. And it was. But hearing her acknowledge the part I¡¯d played slightly thawed the frost in my heart. ¡°I did little. Maya¡¯s the one you should be thanking.¡±
¡°Perhaps. And I have. Yet the infernal diplomat would likely never have entered Whitefall willingly, were it not for the choices you¡¯ve made.¡±
I laughed then, the noise harsh to my own ears. Because even without my intervention, Maya would have entered Whitefall and eventually made her way into the castle itself. In a very different context.
It was all so gods damned twisted.
Slowly, I removed my hand from beneath hers and stood. The curtains billowed in the breeze, the source a cracked-open window at the far end of the room. She always preferred her rooms to be unbearably cold. ¡°Apologies. I¡¯ve imposed too long on your recovery. I¡¯ll take my leave.¡±
I moved to do so, before she stopped me, her voice barely more than a whisper. ¡°Tell me about her.¡±
¡°Who?¡± I asked, almost automatically, fearing the answer.
¡°The friend you lost.¡±
Slowly, I turned, looking at her for the first time. A long pearl nightgown framed her from the shoulders down. Her blonde hair, while unkempt, had regained some of its previous luster. She folded her hands in her lap, and somehow, she seemed smaller than I¡¯d remembered, almost timid, were it not for the emerald eyes that pierced straight through me the same way they always had.
Again, the ice thawed. Yes, she wasn¡¯t being entirely forthright. Maya herself had described my mother¡¯s recovery as relatively smooth and untroubled, and I knew how good Maya was at her craft. But she broke her absence to watch over me in my darkest moment. And I knew whatever bitterness I felt towards her was likely displaced, a byproduct of the tragedy I was mired in.
¡°Her name was Lillian. She was an apothecary¡¯s daughter. And the arch-mage murdered her.¡±
My mother pursed her lips. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±
Not as sorry as Thoth will be.
¡°As am I.¡± I said, hoping a byproduct of my directness was that my mother would let it go.
The analytical look I received said otherwise.
¡°Yes?¡± I finally asked, tiring of waiting.
She traced the back of her hand with a finger. ¡°It¡¯s just¡ you¡¯ve told me the beginning of her story, and the conclusion, but nothing of the middle.¡±
¡°What does it matter? She¡¯s gone.¡± I stated bluntly.
¡°I¡¯d argue it matters a great deal, dear one.¡± Her tone was light, almost teasing. ¡°Have you forgotten all the stories we read, as the light dimmed and the hours grew late?¡±
¡°Of course. I remember those nights fondly.¡±
¡°Then you recall the structure of a good story.¡± Elaria extended her index finger. ¡°The beginning serves to introduce the characters.¡± Her fourth finger unfurled. ¡°The ending provides a conclusion for both character and reader, revealing if the tale is one of victory or tragedy.¡± She added her third with a small smile, the three forming an odd solute. ¡°What purpose does the middle serve?¡±
¡°It¡¯s where everything falls apart and becomes tedious if the author is poor at their craft.¡± I crossed my arms.
¡°True enough.¡± My mother nodded. ¡°And if they are not?¡±
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I sighed. ¡°It is where the characters are given heart. They rise from the page, flesh and blood in the mind¡¯s eye. Yes, I grasp the metaphor. What exactly do you want to know?¡±
Elaria moved her arms to either side and smiled, leaning forward on the chaise. ¡°Everything. How did you meet? That must be an interesting story, yes? The royal alchemist attends the needs of most who live in the castle, so barring a daring trespass, you must have met her in the city somehow. What was she like? How did she come to mean so much to you?¡±
Her enthusiasm and earnestness was so genuine that I nearly answered.
We¡¯d never been able to talk about Lillian. Because in my previous life, my mother had died before I met her. There was a time I would have paid a king¡¯s ransom to have this conversation. To tell her all about Lillian, the first person to steal my heart. Spend hours boring her with the minutia and specific details that meant everything to me, and little to anyone else. Ask her advice on how to best pursue this relationship to ensure it survived the crown.
Because she was a romantic. Like me. Unlike practically anyone else around me, she would understand.
Come to think of it, perhaps I was a romantic because of her. Because I grew up listening to how she spoke of the unyielding power of love, the way it wove life¡¯s shadows into rich tapestries of meaning. That love always won over evil in the end.
That all seemed so silly now.
And embarrassing, that for a time, I had believed it.
So, I opened my mouth, mind primed with an altered version of the events that brought us together. Only, the words I wanted wouldn¡¯t come.
¡°Maybe some other time.¡± I finally said.
My mother shook her head. ¡°The wound is fresh, dear one. As open and raw as it will ever be. Recalling cherished memories, no matter how insignificant or small, balms the loss. Hastens healing.¡±
There was truth to what she¡¯d said. I¡¯d discovered that the hard way the first time around, drinking myself stupid in Topside and spilling my guts to anyone drunk enough to listen. For a time, that would make me feel better. Just getting the way I was feeling out into the open. Unburdening myself from the weight and turmoil that plagued me until the night was over, staggering home until the sun was about to rise.
But the harder truth was that the wound was not nearly as fresh as my mother believed. It had festered long ago. And now it, and the pain it carried, was part of me. I didn¡¯t want to grieve. Because at the core of it all, grieving meant letting go. Grieving meant getting over it. Accepting this loss as yet another unfortunate tragedy, buttoning up my jacket and moving on.
Perhaps after Thoth had fallen, her soul secured, her body left unburied on some forgotten battlefield.
¡°I can¡¯t.¡± I admitted, trying for a smile and failing. ¡°It¡¯s too fresh. And there¡¯s too much that needs doing to mire myself in loss.¡±
That should have been the end. My mother could be domineering, but one of the key differences between her and King Gil was that she not only respected my boundaries, but encouraged me to set them. She never pushed.
Which made it even more shocking when her demeanor soured. It happened quickly, the light and warmth went out of her like a torch left out in the rain. ¡°Fine. This shouldn¡¯t be surprising. You¡¯ve preferred your father¡¯s counsel, as of late. Scurry off to him. Seek his thoughts on the matter.¡±
It was the spite that knocked me back. I couldn¡¯t fathom where it was coming from.
¡°Mother. What the hells are you talking about?¡±
She rolled her eyes and nibbled on well-worn fingernails, pulling her legs up beneath her. ¡°Of the many qualities the king possesses, ¡°easily impressed,¡± is not one of them. Yet he¡¯s been bellowing your praises since your return.¡± Her eyes turned accusatory. ¡°Calling you the son he¡¯s always wanted.¡±
A myriad of mixed emotions rose to the surface. It would have been difficult enough to parse this exchange if I wasn¡¯t reeling. As it was, it was practically impossible. I struggled still, trying to find the correct response. ¡°Father is a problematic leader. That much is self-evident. But you cannot deny he is a useful and powerful ally. If our interests align, what is the harm¡ª¡±
¡°¡ªThat you have the boldness to count a wolf among sheep shows how little you understand¡ª¡±
¡°He¡¯s done nothing wrong.¡± I snapped, in a mix of incredulousness and frustration that was only magnified when her eyebrow shot up. ¡°Yes, he committed many atrocities in the past. His method of ruling is steeped in the ancient traditions of our ancestors, and they are methods that fell by the wayside for a reason. This is known. I returned here fully expecting him to undercut and shout me down at every turn. I was prepared to lead a rebellion against him if dire action was necessary. Yet he¡¯s done nothing but enable and support me. I can¡¯t say to what extent or significance, but it¡¯s obvious that he is changing.¡±
Her mouth tightened. ¡°You see what you wish to see. And in doing so, conflate change with actions of convenience.¡±
¡°Then what, exactly, do you expect me to do?¡± I threw my arms up, fed up with the conflict and the fact she¡¯d chosen to broach it now, of all times. ¡°Perhaps it would be best to state preference directly, since only the gods know when we¡¯ll speak next.¡±
The queen held her silence. But the murder in her eyes spoke volumes.
My jaw dropped. ¡°You¡ want me to overthrow him.¡±
The minor rebellions. The way your lessons just happened to be relevant to whatever situation he¡¯d mired himself in. All the verbal jousting on the rare occasion we took meals together. The way you¡¯d look to me every time he did something particularly damning, making sure I realized the significance of it. Only, in my first life, you got sick. And the sickness drained the fight out of you.
¡°That¡¯s what you always wanted.¡± My mind raced, covering too much ground for me to process without speaking aloud. ¡°Why you acted so strange, the night of my return. The reason you refused to see me after. You were probably waiting for him to bring me back, kicking and screaming, ready to capitalize on all my anger at the injustice. Maybe you already had a plan. Only that didn¡¯t happen. Instead of quarreling, we found common ground.¡±
A hand covered her face. ¡°It was already lost. I could see that you would welcome his aid. And in return, he would turn your heart to hate.¡±
Something snapped within me, releasing a feral torrent. ¡°Anyone I love is someone Thoth can leverage. Any honor or compassion I show creates a point of weakness she will exploit. You can sit on your tuffet and drink your tea and pontificate on the necessity of goodness in the universe until the end of all things. But the truth remains. Love and honor do not win wars. Kindness will not shove the blade into her throat, nor the thumbs in her eyes. If you are correct, and its father¡¯s intentions to harden me for trials yet to come, perhaps that¡¯s best.¡± Tears streamed down my face. ¡°If he already had, perhaps I wouldn¡¯t feel this way. Maybe I¡¯d be exactly the sort of person capable of fighting her.¡±
Queen Elaria rose from the chaise and embraced me tightly. Though her arms were thin and frail, there was a surprising strength there. I resisted only for as long as it took for the words of comfort to reach me. Then returned the gesture, burying my face in her shoulder.
¡°Look at yourself, dear one, and tell me. Is that truly what you want?¡±
I turned willingly as she rotated me around, facing me towards a mirror on the wall. My haggard, unshaven visage, the unkemptness of my hair, the wrinkled state of my clothes and general tiredness in my face were all overshadowed by my right eye. Unlike my left, which was still relatively normal, the iris had expanded, growing a much more vibrant blue. And replacing the long dot of the iris was a black slit.
It wasn¡¯t dissimilar to Thoth¡¯s. Save the color, it was almost exactly the same. I cupped my hand over it instinctively.
Internally, I realized that during the argument I¡¯d started channeling more mana than before. I relaxed, and stopped pulling at it, then removed my hand, holding my breath all the while. The iris had receded in size, losing some of its luminescence, my pupil was still slit but also seemed to revert, albeit more slowly.
I¡¯d found nothing productive on Thoth¡¯s eye, though I¡¯d researched the topic and inquired amongst powerful mages intensively. Ralakos was almost certain it was either the product of a demonic contract or a glamour, as it was not uncommon for powerful mages to wear them. I supposed now, I finally had an answer.
Something occurred to me. A dark observation that had likely haunted me for some time, finally making itself known. ¡°I¡¯ll answer your question with a question, mother. The queen¡¯s guard is loyal to you above all others, even the king himself. It¡¯s well known that father spends many of his evenings in your chambers, leaving his honor guard behind. If you were always so convinced of his wretchedness, why wait for my involvement? Why not solve the problem yourself?¡±
No matter how strong the warrior, or vibrant the magic, a sleeping man had no defense against a well-struck knife in the dark.
I could see in the mirror, from the way her eyes slid to the side, that this was not the first time she¡¯d considered it. Slowly, her hands slipped from my shoulders.
I stepped away from her, resisting the tug of regret as I exited her chambers and retreated down the long hallway. As much as my mother might prefer otherwise, the time for philosophizing and hand wringing was over. I had no intention of overthrowing my father unless he gave me reason to do so, given that there was little reason to divert from the existing plan. But the modifications to my soul had changed something.
And I needed to figure out what it was.
203. Fracture X
It was mid-day, maybe a little later. Instead of heading straight to the rooms, I diverted outside, heading towards the fountain a small distance from Annette¡¯s rooms. The same fountain I¡¯d tried to quench her from demon fire in, a lifetime ago.
The snow on the ground was slush, and the fountain itself was flowing freely, cascading streams of water.
I needed to get away. To think.
With the way events had transpired, the queen turning me away every time I tried to visit after the return, I¡¯d had time to prepare for something like this. I thought I¡¯d prepared for the worst. That simply being ready for the only source of shelter and parental love to no longer be that person to me now¡ªdespite the lengths I¡¯d gone to save her¡ªwas enough.
I was so na?ve.
Because this was worse. Considerably.
If she had simply hated me, it would have been hard, but I could have come to terms with it. Eventually. Perhaps even made amends when the threat allowed. But her demeanor and actions hadn¡¯t been that of a parent disappointed with her child. The desperation, the franticness with which she beseeched me, were all parts of a whole I was entirely too familiar with. A near feverish effort to reel back a plot gone to ruin.
That was all I was to her, now. A failed endeavor to forge a living weapon against my father.
When I replayed some of my earliest memories from the beginning, it all fit. Part of the Queen¡¯s enigma to me, as a child, was her complete adherence to an ethos that was entirely different from anything my father and the warmakers and schemers that bolstered him believed. Her world was one where a leader could be kind, where wars could be fought without sacrifice. Where heroes could win, without turning into monsters by the end.
The queen wasn¡¯t a fool. Certainly not so much so that she believed the things she taught wholeheartedly. She¡¯d made considerable sacrifices and compromises before I was even born. Marrying my father to guarantee an alliance between her house and his, staying his hand from her insurrectionist family.
What she¡¯d done, she¡¯d done intentionally. Instilled a sense of false justice in me that was so far off the scale of realism it didn¡¯t even register. One that both my father and Whitefall itself would be judged by. It was an ingenious plan, really. Once her rose shaded interpretation of the world was solidified in my mind, there was little she had to do other than wait, and reinforce my dissatisfaction every time Whitefall moved in a questionable way.
If she hadn¡¯t fallen ill, or¡ªin this lifetime¡ªlost contact with me for years, it probably would have worked.
The king was a monster. The legions of nonhumans he¡¯d ruthlessly oppressed could not simply be discounted. But I¡¯d never had the luxury of giving him the benefit of the doubt, never been able to decide who he was for myself. Any goodness I might have found in him immediately and definitively tainted by the persistent whispering in my ear. Maybe, if I¡¯d been less inclined to hate him, so utterly jaded against anything he had to teach, the version of him I knew in this lifetime might have been a natural progression of our relationship.
Even now, we did things differently. And I had no intention of following in the footsteps of his terror. Yet he still respected me, still allowed me to make my own decisions, now that he knew I was capable.
It was all so backwards.
I felt a presence behind me, before Vogrin¡¯s smooth voice broke the silence. ¡°There are things I could teach you. Demons have had eons to experiment with the sort of dark magics typically forbidden in ¡°civilized¡± societies.¡±
¡°Like?¡±
¡°Necromancy, for one.¡± Vogrin mused, his sandal shod feet hovering inches above the ground. He suddenly seemed to realize the implications of what he said and waved his hands as if to ward off misunderstanding. ¡°They would not return as they were. Once dead, the soul is gone, and in the exception of highly specific cases and artifacts, this is a hard constant. But once the soul is taken, fragments that failed to reincarnate remain. These fragments are vicious, vengeful things. And with the help of necromancy, usually enough to drive the shambling shell towards retaliation¡ªor what it is made to believe is retaliation.¡± For the first time since I¡¯d known him, Vogrin removed the head wrap that shrouded his eyes. ¡°And there are other things, other methods that leverage existing magics in¡ traditionally questionable ways.¡±
I forced a smile, gripping the edge of the fountain and staring down into it. ¡°You realize you¡¯re being a cliche right now?¡±
¡°How so?¡±
¡°Tempting the hero with forbidden magic at his darkest moment. That you just happen to be a demon is extra credit.¡° The chuckle in my throat tasted bitter.
Vogrin scoffed. ¡°You lack the zealotry required to consider yourself a hero. To your benefit, I might add. Such a belief would not allow you to achieve a fraction of the progress you have. The scheme to undercut Ephira and subsequent slaughter of her men is evidence of that, alongside countless other examples.¡±
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¡°Not exactly something I¡¯m proud of, Vogrin.¡± I rubbed my eyes. Lillian¡¯s memory threatened to resurface, and I tried to suppress it, the anger growing within me again with nowhere to go. ¡°What ways?¡±
¡°Hm?¡±
¡°You said, there were other avenues available to us with traditional means.¡±
To my surprise, Vogrin hesitated. His hands clenched at his side, and his mouth spread in an uncharacteristic leer. ¡°When you first clashed with Thoth in the Sanctum, you kept a specimen of her blood.¡±
¡°Which we used to track her. I remember.¡±
Vogrin nodded, smiling in an unsettling manner. ¡°What you may not fully understand, is the relationship between demons and blood. Whether it is given voluntarily, a blood sacrament is no trifling thing. I know her blood as thoroughly as I know the tenants of malfeasance, and the teachings of the ancient ones. It would be a simple matter to put it to use.¡±
I absorbed that. ¡°Despite all the ambient magic of the sanctum, we still needed to use fleet-footed golems to expand your range. It took them time to find her. And while the sanctum felt massive, compared to multiple continents, the distance was small. We already know she¡¯s in Teragor. Not sure what difference knowing her exact location would make.
His smile turned to a leer that chilled me. ¡°You misunderstand. Naturally, I will play the bloodhound once the war party is seaborne, but I¡¯m referring to a more immediate, indirect undertaking. One that¡ªif successful¡ªwill create a tactical advantage and result in considerable satisfaction.¡±
¡°Through what means?¡±
¡°Blood is not simply blood.¡± His voice was quiet, almost whisper-like. ¡°Blood carries with it potential, and more importantly, origin. The arch-mage appeared on the world¡¯s stage as a veritable unknown. No one knows who she was, or where she came from. But she came from somewhere. Was squirted into her mother¡¯s womb, same as any mortal. There are things about her I believe are intentionally misleading. Her muddled heritage and mixed features would be far more common to an intermixed continent like Silvandor or Ignal, her speech pattern is almost certainly Teragorian, and her demonic eye and features could be an offshoot of many astral planes.¡±
¡°Doesn¡¯t exactly narrow it down.¡± I said, feeling lost. Either he didn¡¯t have a point, or I wasn¡¯t in the headspace to see it.
Vogrin crossed his arms, almost itching with excitement. ¡°Exactly. The signs lead everywhere, because that is what their intended purpose is. Distract. Misdirect. Point away from a truth that is far more simple.¡±
I thought about it. The beginning of the iteration. Thoth appeared within minutes of my return to my body. And relatively speaking she hadn¡¯t had that many people to her name. Compared to the overwhelming force that assaulted the city, the force she¡¯d gathered was relatively small. And the second time we clashed, shortly after I escaped the Everwood and Barion¡¯s clutches, her force was mainly composed of middling mercenaries that¡ªafter the ambush was unsuccessful¡ªthe rangers made quick work of.
There was only one logical explanation.
¡°Because Thoth isn¡¯t from Teragor, or Ignal.¡± I realized, breathing out slowly. ¡°She¡¯s from Uskar.¡±
¡°And her blood is not solely her own.¡± Vogrin drifted in front of me. ¡°Anyone who invests such effort in hiding their origins almost certainly has something to protect. It¡¯s possible she has a family of her own parents, a mother and father, siblings, even a child.¡±
My stomach twisted, as I realized what, exactly, he was offering.
Vogrin continued, ¡°I could find them. You need only say the word. It would require the creation of a different, more economical golem, one with a massively extended detection range and capable of sustaining itself for long spans of time. And we would need several. Given that, they likely could not move on their own. But if instead, they were placed on trade caravans, each heading to a separate distant corner of the land¡ then it would likely only be a matter of time.¡±
I swallowed. ¡°Putting aside everything else wrong with that, such a venture would stoke her ire like nothing else.¡±
¡°I do not care.¡± Vogrin snapped, losing his composure. ¡°She believes herself untouchable, above it all, that she can do whatever she wishes with no consequences, divine, mortal, infernal, or otherwise. And despite seemingly boundless power which could be used in far more productive manners, she consigns herself to tormenting my charge, torturing him with petty, puerile evils, chipping away with childish sadism.¡± His eyes locked with mine. ¡°Let me show her the true nature of the evil she plays at.¡±
Vogrin was correct. The trade caravans coming and going from Whitefall traveled far and wide, spanning the entire continent. They were so regular and well-stocked that those who lived in more rural areas would venture out to meet them on their routes in order to purchase otherwise unattainable essentials. If the golems he made were as effective as he expected, and he consulted Annette and the merchant¡¯s guild for calculations of range and route coverage, it was only a matter of time.
For a moment, I let myself waver. A part of me wanted to give in right there. What did it matter? My hands were long since soiled. I¡¯d already failed the person I¡¯d vowed to protect. It should have been simple arithmetic. One more potential weapon brandished against Thoth, or squandered, left on the table.
But nothing about this was simple.
¡°I¡¯ll think about it.¡± I said, finally.
¡°As you please.¡± Vogrin sighed and retied the cloth wrap around his eyes. ¡°But make haste. The sooner we seed golems amongst the caravans, the sooner they bear fruit. Admittedly, there will not be enough mana to make them until your soul recovers from turmoil¡¡± His irritation shifted to confusion. He looked at me from the left, then the right, trying to study something beneath the surface. Eventually, he floated away from me, his jaw slack. ¡°What in the heavens have you done?¡±
I reached down, letting my fingertips graze the surface of the water. Slowly, I went through the same mental exercise my predecessor had when he ran Thoth through her paces in the contents of the memory orb. Ice formed, cradling my fingers in frost as it expanded outward, the thin layer expanding in an ever-widening radius.
204. Fracture XI
The yoke was gone. Every hangup, every doubt, every fear, none of it seemed to matter anymore. The worst had already happened. My soul had been torn asunder and reconstituted, leaving me with more mana than I knew what to do with, and a new element. It was almost enough to distract from the ache, the hollow in my chest that widened with every breath.
¡°Come on Mari, get after it like the oversized bloodhound you are!¡± I yelled, radiating false cheer.
¡°You pansy-faced bastard!¡± Mari hollered after me, huffing and puffing, cheeks flushed the color of strawberries as she chased me around the courtyard with an axe. ¡°What sort of fecking spar is this?¡±
The kind where I convince you I¡¯m still capable of leading.
None of them showed any doubt or disloyalty, but I knew how it must have looked. Too weak to stand, practically quaking in my boots, completely checked out and a thousand windspan away as they combed Topside for Lillian. I needed to convince them that I was over it.
Mari slammed her axe into the fountain, sundering the stone. ¡°Cocksucker!¡±
¡°Are we fighting or flirting?¡± I winked, then dodged away in a series of complex acrobatics that were more flash than practical, the sort of thing I would have never attempted in full armor. Multiple wind-aligned aegis¡¯s placed strategically around my body made the maneuver effortless. I landed on top of a planter, balancing on one foot on the rim, arms out for balance.
She seemed to stop, center herself, and purge some of the anger instead of doggedly pursuing me.
Good. She learned from the grand melee.
With a slow, intentional motion, she leveraged the axe head towards me. ¡°Your ass is mine.¡±
¡°Really doesn¡¯t clear up my question.¡±
The jape did the trick, and Mari charged again. I meant to take her more seriously now that she was winded, but the flash of motion at the edge of my vision told me my one-on-one time with her was over. With an upward thrust of my arm, I summoned a geyser of water from the fountain and plunged it down on top of her, drenching her leathers before flash freezing it.
It didn¡¯t freeze her solid. Not only would doing so have been lethal, there wasn¡¯t nearly enough water for that, and everything I¡¯d heard from water element magicians pointed to such feats being vastly more trouble than they were worth. What it did do was cover her in a blanket of frost, immediately sapping her body heat and bringing her to one knee.
I tumbled from the planter, diving beneath Zin¡¯s slender blade, not nearly as gracefully as before. Still, I managed to right myself and face him. The dark elf wasn¡¯t fully focused, and while his blade was trained on me, his attention was split between me and Mari.
¡°Already to the second stage. That really a new awakening?¡± Zin asked.
¡°Still getting the hang of it.¡±
I could manipulate streams of water better than a beginner, and the ice formation was an advanced skill, but there was one critical flaw. I couldn¡¯t generate water from nothing. Much to Vogrin¡¯s irritation, after many attempts, I wasn¡¯t able to summon as much as a drop. The adjustments I¡¯d made to my soul hastened my third awakening, but it wasn¡¯t perfect. I¡¯d need to venture inward again, see if there were any flaws in the existing structure before I started trying for more.
Zin stared at me. ¡°Gonna make me run?¡±
I shook my head. ¡°Tempting. But I think of the two of us, you¡¯re faster.¡±
¡°I am.¡±
A crescent of focused wind barreled toward me with a flick of his wrist, lightning quick.
Grunting, I leapt back, gained ground giving me time to counter his magic with a crescent of my own. The two wind-spells bisected each other and split apart, dissipating.
Without missing a beat, Zin dove between them, practically flying as he swung his blade thrice wide, crescents of air creating a net. If I moved to the outside, the net would catch me. If I absorbed it, dove beneath or jumped over it, Zin would be right there in the middle, ready to follow-up.
So I didn¡¯t bother.
I formed another crescent alongside my blade, discreetly summoning a stream of water from the fountain, body blocking the maneuver from view. Zin grinned at the apparent mistake, sensing victory.
A crescent blade of water, augmented and held together by air, Spiraled, dashing his spells, and slammed into his chest.
I advanced.
¡°Wait¡ª¡± Zin started
I slammed my chitinous left fist into his head, pulling the punch at the last second. It still landed with enough impact to daze him, and he wobbled on his feet, openly glaring daggers. ¡°Been ready for a rematch since the first time you sucker punched me, and you still end it the same way.¡±
¡°Sorry.¡±
¡°Hold it back at the end?¡± He asked.
¡°A little.¡± I admitted.
¡°Appreciate the spared concussion.¡± He gave me a dismissive wave before he turned away rubbing his jaw, walking over to where Maya and Alten sat on a stone bench. Maya''d been watching me like a hawk ever since I¡¯d asked her to oversee, Alten¡ªWell, Alten was almost completely absorbed by the apple he was eating.
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Ping
Something tinked gently against the back of my armor, xescalt resonating.
¡°Alas. I have been felled.¡± I turned to see Sevran, lowering his spear from where he¡¯d ¡°wounded,¡± me.
The violet infernal smiled, crows-feet crinkling around his eyes. ¡°A leader must always be aware of their surroundings, your grace. But that was only your kidney.¡±
¡°Suppose even if the blade punched through, I have a spare.¡± I mused. ¡°How the hells are you so quiet in plate?¡±
¡°A mix of padding and practice.¡± His mysterious smile faded. ¡°How much of this is an act?¡±
¡°Pretty sure Zin and poor Mari don¡¯t think any of it¡¯s an act.¡± I said with playful bravado, glancing over at where Maya was treating Mari¡¯s frostbitten skin. I knew full well Sevran wasn¡¯t asking about my martial prowess, but I wasn¡¯t in the mood to discuss it. What happened could not be undone. And certainly not by talking.
The smile disappeared entirely. ¡°Either way, I¡¯ll have my answer soon enough.¡±
A charge went through the air.
I¡¯d never seen Sevran fight in earnest, but I¡¯d watched the elite spearmen in the enclave long enough to have an idea of how he would open. Either a fast jab towards the throat, or if the spearman was strong enough¡ªwhich Sevran almost certainly was¡ªa sweep. If an infernal spearman got you on the ground, the bout was almost automatically lost. The strengthened xescalt the infernals used for blades was strong enough to punch through almost anything except xescalt itself, which was more of a coin toss. And even with my xescalt armor, if he knocked me down first, it was a coin toss I¡¯d lose.
Opposite me, I could see Sevran going through a similar process, eyes far away as he thought through the bout. But unlike me, I had a feeling he wasn¡¯t thinking a few moves ahead. He had the same clarity and focus Annette did. She¡¯d told me, once, that when she played Koss, if she knew the opponent, she could often visualize the whole match. Sometimes it went differently, but she identified the potential branching paths ahead of time and accounted for them.
Somehow I knew that Sevran was doing the same thing. It was unnerving. And I had a feeling that unlike a game of Koss, this bout would be over in seconds.
I tried to do the same. Force myself to think ahead, use my knowledge of the infernal spearman to prepare for whatever Sevran might throw at me. But I was at a massive disadvantage. He¡¯d seen me fight twice now, and I¡¯d never seen him wield his spear.
Need to get close above all else. Use the range of his weapon against him.
¡°From rest.¡± Sevran said.
I sheathed my sword, leaving my hand on the hilt.
He planted the tip of his spear in the ground.
Somewhere in the distance, snow accumulating on a rooftop fell.
Crunch.
I drew my sword and swung wide, stepping-in.
Sevran leaned back, just enough that my blunted blade missed his throat and passed harmlessly beneath his jaw, kicking the haft of his spear upward.
Only, he didn¡¯t. Instead of seizing the spear, he ignored it, allowing it to spiral freely in the air.
Misdirect.
I caught his offhand wrist holding a nasty looking dagger, and skidded along the ground being pushed back as I spun my sword up and around his head, pushing the edge towards his throat. But I didn¡¯t have enough leverage, and he caught the edge of my blade with his empty main hand.
With a shove, we disentangled, and Sevran caught his spear out of the air.
An explosively loud clap resonated through the courtyard.
We lowered our weapons, turning towards the disturbance. King Gil approached, continuing to slowly applaud. He was flanked by two of his honor guards, who had been at the entrance to the courtyard, as he made his way to us.
¡°A good fight.¡±
I could help but feel irritated by the interruption. ¡°We were only getting started, your grace.¡±
My father laughed, unpacking a heavy bundle under his arm. ¡°I¡¯m curious what you¡¯ve done to instill such loyalty in your sister, in so short a time. Despite my insistence¡ªwhich was considerable, given the circumstances¡ªshe refused to relay what the two of you were planning. I had to get it from Thaddeus, or risk breaking her. Regrettably, I did the former.¡± Sevran bowed and took his leave.
I realized then what my father was wearing. At first, I¡¯d mistaken the light armor for the leathers he typically wore around the castle, but these were worn and cracked, and considerably thicker.
Training leathers.
I swallowed. ¡°To what do I owe the pleasure, father?¡±
¡°Is Sera alright?¡±
¡°She¡¯ll be fine.¡±
¡°If I may ask, why would our plans matter to you?¡±
A massive hand grabbed the top of my breastplate and yanked me forward. His eyes were full of rage. ¡°You almost fucking died, boy. And despite the infernal¡¯s mystical yammering and your bodyguard¡¯s cagey report, I had very little explanation as to why. Of course I looked further into your affairs. Of course that fucking mattered to me.¡±
Some of the fire faded, and he pushed me back. ¡°You haven¡¯t been quick to share with me since your return.¡± I was about to refute that, but he shook his head, silencing me. ¡°I may not be much of a politician, but I¡¯ve held the crown long enough to know when I am being cut out.¡±
¡°It was¡ complicated.¡±
King Gil snorted. ¡°It is always complicated with you, boy. Probably complicated enough without forgetting who your allies are.¡±
I felt cold fingers grip my spine, as my father unpacked a shining object. It was a sword¡ªor sword to be¡ªa massive slab of steel with a hilt, the edges unsharpened.
¡°What are you doing?¡±
My father tested the weight, lifting and maneuvering the steel like it was nothing. ¡°I¡¯ve led many soldiers in my time. Seen enough men cut down to get a feel for the wounds that bleed, and the wounds that kill. They don¡¯t always kill right away. Sometimes the man heals and the wound kills him anyway. They gape when they should move, tremble instead of falling back.¡± He looked at me coolly. ¡°I won¡¯t pretend to understand what happened to you. That¡¯s the healer¡¯s job, and the brand¡¯s. What I do understand is that the wound slit you from throat to cunt. And while the rest of these fucks might buy that you¡¯re ready to lead them into battle, I don¡¯t.¡±
Fuck. I knew this would happen. I screwed up. Let him see me vulnerable. And now, he¡¯s going to walk back that trust.
¡°Thaddeus didn¡¯t know much, just enough to put together that you think there¡¯s something under the city abducting the demis. Maybe there is. Maybe there isn¡¯t. I¡¯ve waited to move on it, because I have no desire to steal your glory. But I¡¯ll be damned before I let you throw your life, and the life of these thankless fucks away because you couldn¡¯t tell a wound that simply bleeds, from a wound that kills.¡±
Subconsciously, I dug my heel into the dirt, shifting my weight. ¡°Then what do you suggest?¡±
His face grew serious, devoid of mockery or disdain. He leveraged the unfinished weapon at me, steel glinting in the sunlight. ¡°I respect your accomplishments. They are not without merit. And because of that respect, I¡¯ll give you a choice. Walk away. Or demonstrate for everyone watching that you are still the man you pretend to be.¡±
205. Fracture XII
A challenge. One likely designed to test my limits while reminding me of my limitations. Nothing particularly surprising. If I looked at the sequence of events rationally, from the skirmish where I punched him in the face up to now, it was strange that he hadn¡¯t done this sooner.
I was ready for it. Had been ready for it.
What was surprising, was that he intended to administer that challenge himself. It wasn¡¯t about besting him, of course. He was a king of unreasonable expectations, but that was more unreasonable than most. More realistically, he wanted a good showing.
Still, his readiness, his attire, the slab of metal on a stick all spoke to his intention. There was no getting out of this. Not now.
So I searched for it, sifting for a nerve, a spark of rebellion, some natural curiosity of how I¡¯d stack up against him.
I dug deep. And came up with nothing.
There was a rustling of leathers as someone stood beside me. ¡°There¡¯s got to be a more effective alternative.¡± Mari said. She was high-strung at the best of times, but somehow looked more ill at ease now, her back ramrod straight.
¡°What the fuck did you say?¡± King Gil snapped, leveling his attention on her in an instant. The air grew heavy with tension.
Mari, to her credit, weathered the storm well, wavering, yet never succumbing to the pressure. She lowered her eyes, showing respect that did nothing to soften her words. ¡°I fecking said, your highness, that perhaps there is a better way of testing my captain than a spar.¡±
¡°There some criticism you¡¯d like to air on the subject of how your king raises his son, Banner Lieutenant?¡± He growled.
Mari didn¡¯t blink. Instead, her eyes grew cold. I was about to get between them, when she spoke. ¡°Few years back, I served as a training officer in another unit. Littered with boys not yet men, though I¡¯ll go to my grave attestin¡¯ that they showed more heart than any battalion twice their size. We had a standout though. Half-elf lug named Arion. Wasn¡¯t much between his ears other than flowers and poetry, but the man was built like an ox and had a mastery of the oversized bastards you lot favor. Mauls, axes, feck-off-swords. Didn¡¯t matter what. When he swung it, it was like watching an artist work.¡± She cocked her head. ¡°Remember ¡®em?¡±
¡°No.¡±
¡°Well, at the time you knew his name. On account of all the people whisperin¡¯ to each other that he might be the better fighter. Better than even the Doomsworn King.¡± Mari grimaced a tight smile. ¡°Course, that couldn¡¯t stand. Wasn¡¯t long before Arion got a gilded invitation. Come to the palace, test his mettle against the King, in the spirit of friendly competition. And we all know how that went.¡±
My father¡¯s brow furrowed. And not in a way that struck me as demonstrative. ¡°Obviously, we don¡¯t, as I have no memory of the man. If this is a stalling tactic, your prince would be better served¡ª¡±
Mari¡¯s voice was raw. ¡°Took you seven moves to kill him. The first six were variations on a basic kata. Familiar. Probably put him off his guard. Made him think you were taking it easy. The last caved his skull in like a ripe grape.¡±
There was a long silence, before recognition flickered in King Gil¡¯s visage. ¡°Ah. The knife-ear built like an orc. I remember.¡± He crossed his arms. ¡°You are complicating a more simple explanation with malice, lieutenant. Gil shifted his attention to me, wary. ¡°Does all leadership in your regiment have some deep-seated issue with me? Or is it just these two?¡±
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I took the opportunity to put a hand on Mari¡¯s bicep in appreciation. She¡¯d bought me time to recover, find my way through the malaise. I half-shrugged at my father. ¡°I¡¯d like to hear it. The simpler explanation.¡±
King Gil rolled his eyes. ¡°You are clearly not yourself. If you were, you would not dare to question me so. But given the circumstances, I will answer regardless. What do you know about the Elven Bloodsworn?¡±
¡°Nothing.¡± I said, surprised. Of the three primary nonhuman races, the elves had been second on my list to contact after the infernals. Not for any preferential reason, simply because the alternative¡ªthe dwarves¡ªwere notoriously difficult to work with and had more bad blood with humans than the other two put together. As such, I¡¯d studied the Elves extensively. And the term Bloodsworn had never come up.
¡°Not surprising.¡± King Gil pointed his two-hander¡¯s blunted blade downward, and rested his arms on the pommel, looking equal parts irritated and bored. ¡°They are not openly discussed amongst the elves, secrecy surrounding them exceeding even the usual knife-eared taciturnity. Most men who meet them in battle do not live to tell the tale. There are few fighters among the demis I respect,¡± His eyes shifted towards Sevran before they returned to me. ¡°Even fewer institutions. But the Bloodsworn earned that respect. In iron. They use magical reinforcement to grant them far more practical advantages than magic typically lends. Toughened skin. Muscles bulging with mana and the strength of a dozen men. They should not be fought in pairs, and are never to be taken lightly.¡± Gil gave Mari a stiff smile. ¡°Your recruit was one of them. In addition to his build, his fighting style, the tattoos around his neck. There was no mistaking it. As such I was forced to take him seriously. Unfortunately¡ªfor him¡ªhe did not grant me the same respect. Engaged me without utilizing his reinforcement.¡±
Mari turned an intensifying shade of red the longer the king spoke. Nevertheless, with considerable effort, she clawed the rage back. ¡°And now, the prince has returned, an unknown quantity, trained by the upper echelon of infernals in both magic and martial combat. You¡¯d need to take him seriously as well, yes?¡±
My father¡¯s expression was stony, as he turned towards me and nodded. ¡°Aye.¡±
It was a clever trap. One that raised Mari¡¯s estimation in my eyes. I¡¯d expected her to navigate politics the same way she navigated combat. Bluntly and passionately, leading with heart rather than head. She was clearly savvier than that. I just wasn¡¯t sure it would make a difference.
With a relaxed motion, he swung his blade up and rested it on his shoulder. I immediately tensed and instinctively reached for my hilt. No matter how relaxed or passive he appeared, it didn¡¯t matter. My father loved a surprise attack, ending a conflict quickly and definitively. His change in stance was meant to look casual, but the truth was, with the sword on his shoulder, we were both easily within striking range. I ignored him and watched the blade. It was both heavy-looking and considerably long, at least as tall as me. But for a high steel blade, it lacked the usual sheen.
Smith¡¯s barely touched it. Untempered.
I returned the gesture, simultaneously summoning water and navigating it from around the back of the fountain, attempting to mask my focus as I led a small stream of water through the grass towards his feet. As far as I could tell, he didn¡¯t notice, his attention entirely fixated on Mari. Something akin to respect flashed through his eyes, gone in an instant, replaced with casual disdain.
Instantly, I grew more wary. That Mari was only indirect in her insubordination shouldn¡¯t matter. The king would only see the insubordination. The only reason she wasn¡¯t bleeding out on the ground right now with me above her, negotiating for clemency, while Maya tended her was because Gil was pleased with her resistance. Which meant he was testing for it. If he pivoted right now? Changed the terms? It wouldn¡¯t be because of Mari, brave as she was. It would be because he intended it from the start.
¡°Perhaps, there is wisdom to your words.¡± My father cocked his head, flexing his fingers on his hilt slow and thoughtful. ¡°What then, boy? What would be a proper contest?¡±
¡°Haven¡¯t had a decent joust in a while.¡± I tried. It was the one martial event where I¡¯d stand a chance against him. Assuming I dodged the lance and didn¡¯t take it on my shield.
¡°Thought you hated horses?¡± The King frowned.
That¡¯s right. I hadn¡¯t really taken a liking to the beasts until I was thirteen or fourteen. In my defense and opinion, a horse was terrifying when it was twice as tall as you.
¡°Let¡¯s say I¡¯ve expanded my horizons.¡±
He waved dismissively. ¡°Regardless, a joust is too simple. Too quick. And no more a show of capacity for leadership than a spar.¡± All at once, his expression went cold. ¡°Ah. I have it.¡±
I braced myself.
¡°Your sister has expended her usefulness here in Whitefall.¡±
206. Fracture XIII
The statement was delivered calmly, utterly matter-of-fact, without glee or remorse. Despite preparing for the worst, I felt an icy chill travel my spine. Was this it? The moment he finally turned? Showed his true face?
A growl escaped my throat. ¡°Sera¡¯s your gods-damned-daughter.¡±
¡°So she is. But I wasn¡¯t talking about Sera.¡± King Gil responded evenly.
¡°What?¡±
¡°Annette is no longer needed here. She has done little for years, and serves no current or eventual advantage for the looming threat.¡± King Gil stated matter-of-factly, as if he was listing the pros and cons of weaponry.
¡°Horse shit.¡± I spat. ¡°She¡¯s a tactical genius, worthy to retain on that merit alone.¡±
¡°Genius.¡± The king rolled his eyes, subtly enjoying the reaction he was raising. ¡°What wars has she won?¡±
¡°What conflicts have you sought her counsel for?¡± I countered, knowing the number was probably none. ¡°Annette won the battle against my regiment. I¡¯m no stranger to strategy but engineering a victory in a battle like that is beyond me. She knew the chokes, the terrain, where best to lay an ambush and where to avoid at all costs. Her knowledge is far more than hypothetical. It¡¯s practical, worthy of any general or lord of arms at your call.¡±
¡°Yet I have many generals, and only two daughters.¡± King Gil took a step forward, now a torso length away from me. ¡°My intention from the start was to marry one of them off to House Westmore.¡±
I nearly pondered why he was telling me this before the name sunk in, washing away everything else.
¡°The House of shady deals and slavers?¡± I seethed.
He sneered. ¡°Grow. Up. With my heir¡¯s absence, it made sense to keep them both close as contingencies. Now that you¡¯ve returned, there¡¯s no need for both. A political marriage to House Westmore would serve us greatly. Offer more beneficial trade terms and secure supply lines overseas that could otherwise be bought out from beneath us. They will make considerable concessions in exchange for proximity to the crown. And if what I hear about the rarity of her magic is true, they will inevitably make more. With their full backing, no matter how long the war with the arch-mage extends, our coffers will never run dry.¡±
I struggled to keep my voice low. ¡°You informed me our current agenda was to end the war early.¡±
¡°Does a farmer plant only the minimum number of crops necessary to reach his quota, boy? No. He accounts for complications. He accounts for loss. Why should we do any different?¡± He said, entirely nonchalant. ¡°It was supposed to be Sera. She is middling and unimpressive in nearly every way, making her ideal for these purposes. However, given the value of Annette¡¯s recently uncovered talent, and the reports of Sera¡¯s performance in the mock battle¡ well.¡± His mouth quirked. ¡°I changed my mind.¡±
¡°And the reports of how House Westmore treats their women?¡± I snapped, pleading the one progressive view I knew he held. As a society, Uskar wasn¡¯t strictly patriarchal. It didn¡¯t matter if you were a man or a woman. Anyone could hold a title or fight in the armies, so long as they had a varying mix of blood, connections, or merit. House Westmore¡¯s protest to this was mostly silent. Legally, their women were afforded the same rights as the rest of the nobility. Behind closed doors, however, the rumors painted a completely different picture. Annette¡¯s royal blood wouldn¡¯t matter. She¡¯d always be treated as less. Subservient.
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¡°Unfortunate, but of little import.¡± King Gil shrugged.
¡°This was all going so well.¡± I said, my voice too frigid to recognize.
I couldn¡¯t hold it back any longer. My aura spilled out of me in a gale, ruffling through my hair, unsettling everyone else around us. But not the king.
Instead of reacting, he slid into a stance, unfinished sword pointing behind him, prepared to swing. And grinned. ¡°There they are. The teeth I¡¯m looking for. You¡¯re not some feckless poet, mooning over some common flower you can barely remember. You¡¯re a wounded animal backed into a corner.¡±
I ground my teeth and began to circle, signaling a closed fist behind my back to hold position, visible only to Mari. ¡°Is that what this is? Some mind game to test my mettle?¡±
Still grinning, he mirrored my movement, languid in the growing tension, ¡°Oh no. This is very real. I have struck a deal with the Westmore Nobility. Annette will marry into their bloodline. As I never expected you to see reason, the Black Shields remove her from the castle premises this morning.¡±
¡°Where. Is. She.¡±
¡°A more secure location. If all goes well, she¡¯ll be on a trader¡¯s ship by evening.¡± His brow raised. ¡°However, the lord she¡¯ll be marrying is on a tight schedule. If the princess was delayed, the ship forced to leave without her¡ well. It would be some time before we could make new arrangements.¡±
There it was.
In hindsight, I should have expected something like this. A simple combat trial wouldn¡¯t be a satisfactory test without stakes. He¡¯d want to see how I managed under the pressure of real consequence. Nothing about this was demonstrative. I couldn¡¯t afford to fail. If I failed, there was a good chance I¡¯d never see or hear from my sister again.
¡°Terms.¡±
¡°None. The deadline is nightfall. Annette is within the city walls. And I have instructed the city guard to turn a blind eye.¡± He paused. ¡°To be clear, the Black Shields are simply following orders. One such order was to use blunted weapons. Given that knowledge, the terms of engagement are up to you.¡±
¡°If you were concerned about the lethality of my response, it would have been wise to threaten something I cared about less.¡± I breathed.
Out of the corner of my eye, Mari stiffened.
¡°Good.¡± King Gil nodded approval. ¡°Never cede an advantage to your enemy, given the choice¡ª¡±
¡°Save it.¡± I snapped. Even beyond what he intended for Annette, he¡¯d spent the morning ¡°interrogating¡± Sera. As she hadn¡¯t told him what he wanted to hear, it wasn¡¯t hard to imagine how exactly that went for her. I was done listening to him. ¡°How do we begin?¡±
¡°In the spirit of fairness, I¡¯ll allow a safe period for you to confer with your banner lieutenants. Form a strategy. When that discussion ends, or any out of the ordinary movement is spotted from your camp, including,¡± He pointed his sword at Maya, ¡°the emissary¡ªIt will be taken as a signal of readiness.¡± There was a harsh crunch, followed by the vibrating keen of steel as he planted his blade into the ground, leaning on it and crossing his arms, assuming an expression of boredom.
For a statement so simple, it was laden with deception. The tell was how reasonable it sounded. He¡¯d sprung this on me out of nowhere, completely unexpectedly, giving me almost no time to prepare. If he was anyone else, the allowance of unlimited time to strategize would probably be a genuine olive branch. But this was King Gil. And the lessons he doled out so earnestly, such as never ceding an advantage to your enemy, were part of a core ethos he followed with the devoutness of a bishop. Further supported by the way he seemed intent on staying nearby, presenting himself as a threat.
I needed to test something.
¡°Will you consider dispatching runners to alert and gather the rest of the regiment as out of the ordinary?¡± I asked, keeping my tone neutral.
He made a show of considering the question, then shook his head. ¡°No. But if they deviate from that exact order, or are instructed to gather here, there are limits to my generosity.¡±
Shit. It was a risk he¡¯d only take if Thaddeus had been summoned back from whatever hole he¡¯d crawled into since my return.
¡°Very well.¡±
I turned on my heel and jogged over to where my banner lieutenants were standing, Mari trailing behind me.
207. Fracture XIV
Sevran and Maya were quietly conferring, while Zin looked up first. For someone so consistently unflappable, he looked unnerved. He pointed to a long dark ear with a grim expression. ¡°Heard everything, conveyed it to the others. We¡¯re trying to come up with a strategy.¡±
¡°Caught the bit about runners?¡± I asked, my mind racing.
Sevran nodded. ¡°Sent my personal servant off the moment that was confirmed. The regiment should be assembled shortly.¡±
¡°Where¡¯s Atherya?¡± I asked after the half-elf banner lieutenant. She¡¯d been the least pleased to serve under me, and her silent refusal to take part in the spar was a way to remind me of that. As if the gods themselves had heard me, a silhouette plummeted from the high wall behind us, and she landed gracefully a few feet away.
Out of everyone, Maya and I were the only ones who jumped.
¡°Present and accounted for,¡± Aetherya announced, sounding awfully put upon for someone who had only just been bothered to show up.
¡°Lord below.¡± Maya breathed.
I stared at the elf. Despite her thoughtless entrance, she was dressed for combat, bow and full quiver on her back. ¡°What? So you were just up on the wall, waiting to be summoned?¡±
Aetherya nodded minutely, not bothering to offer any further explanation.
¡°She does that.¡± Zin said. ¡°Think of it as functional brooding.¡±
¡°And unnecessary theatricality.¡± Sevran sighed.
¡°You had need of me. I am here. What then, is the problem?¡± Aetherya asked, panning the other lieutenants with a dull look.
¡°Yes, your grace. Gratitude for deigning us with your presence. Only us being down one lieutenant instead of two won¡¯t matter with that feckin¡¯ war elephant in the room.¡± Mari chucked a thumb behind her. ¡°He¡¯s clearly planning to wade in as soon as there¡¯s an excuse. Sevran and Prince Inferno in the mix, we might stand a chance if we attacked all at once, holding nothing back.¡±
¡°Not the wisest move, politically.¡± Zin murmured. ¡°If we set that pace he will meet it. And if against all odds we survive, we will gain the reputation as the regiment who attempted to turn a contest into a coup.¡±
¡°Doesn¡¯t matter if it¡¯s the only move we got. But there¡¯s a problem.¡± Mari looked behind her at my father¡¯s personal guard, lingering in the back. ¡°The Black Shields holding up pillars behind him are doing a good job of looking casual, I got a strong feeling they ain¡¯t.¡±
Sevran nodded agreement. ¡°We were just discussing that. The Black Shields¡¯ loyalty exceeds their discipline. His men will interfere if the odds turn against him, even if they have direct orders to the contrary.¡±
Maya bit her lip, then spoke. ¡°What if I get in close? I can incapacitate him without causing more harm than necessary and fix him after we find Annette.¡±
It was one of the first ideas I thought of and, unfortunately, discarded. I shook my head. ¡°Good idea, but with his experience, he¡¯s aware how much of a threat a life mage poses. He called you out specifically. My guess is, of everyone here, you¡¯re the one he¡¯s least likely to lose track of.¡±
And the most ready to put down.
¡°We¡¯re not talking about besting him in single combat. All it takes is a single touch.¡± Maya argued. ¡°I can do it.¡±
I rubbed my face. ¡°First, consider his build and choice of armor. He¡¯s tall enough that he towers over most of us, excepting Sevran. Training leathers cover him from foot to neck. Meaning not only will he be considerably faster than usual, you¡¯ll also have to touch his head. Now think back, hard, to our skirmish outside the Enclave. How fast he was. He was wearing plate then. Are you faster?¡± When Maya looked discouraged, like I¡¯d shot her down out of turn, I amended. ¡°It¡¯s not rhetorical, Maya. I honestly don¡¯t know. We haven¡¯t sparred, and you saw plenty of combat in the Sanctum that I wasn¡¯t there for. Are you fast enough to land a touch, knowing we may not be able to pull his attention away from you?¡±
Her brow furrowed, and she spoke aloud, as much to herself as to us. ¡°If he was in plate¡ maybe. I have my staff on hand, and the mana conductivity of xescalt isn¡¯t widely known because of the shortage. That would make up for the lack of reach¡ but if he¡¯s faster than he was then?¡±
Sevran put a hand on her shoulder. ¡°There¡¯s wisdom in knowing one¡¯s limits.¡± He looked back towards where King Gil waited for the challenge, like a barbarian in a foreign land. ¡°But if he engages us the way I suspect, this avenue is moot.¡± The infernal¡¯s mouth thinned.
¡°Care to share with the group, Sevran?¡± Mari goaded.
¡°The king will resort to insurgent tactics. The rational choice when outnumbered.¡±
¡°He¡¯s right.¡± I realized, slightly horrified at my oversight. It was right there in his lessons. He¡¯d hammered into me that If you found yourself taking on a superior force, you needed target the supply lines and healers first, skilled mages and casters second, whittling both groups down until they could no longer service the army you intended to undercut. If he succeeded, leaving us with no quick method of tending injured troops, the already difficult situation became an order of magnitude harder. ¡°She¡¯s our only healer relevant to such a short timeline. The king will target Maya immediately, aiming to incapacitate.¡± I stepped away and paced, irritated with myself for missing such an obvious detail. ¡°None of this would be a problem if we had greater numbers.¡±
Aetherya shifted uncomfortably.
¡°But the moment we call for troops he descends on us.¡± Zin finished.
Mari crossed her arms. ¡°So we¡¯re back where we started. Plenty of grass around. I¡¯ve seen how fast that hornfire of yours spreads, and it¡¯s obvious you can control it¡ªguide it somehow. Think you could set this whole place ablaze and¡ encourage¡ him to stand down? At least temporarily?¡±
A previous discussion I¡¯d had with Vogrin popped into my head. ¡°If he was anyone else, sure. But I tried that tactic before outside the Enclave, and it didn¡¯t work.¡±
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¡°What happened?¡± Zin asked immediately, pressing me on my vagueness.
I paused. A small voice of paranoia whispered in my ear that revealing Vogrin¡¯s theory about a powerful void mage interfering on the battlefield was a terrible idea.
But if Vogrin was right, the void mage was a serious tactical threat. The exact sort of thing I needed to keep my regiment¡ªor at least their command¡ªinformed of. Still not entirely confident, I glanced at Maya, who after a moment, nodded.
¡°There¡¯s a good chance he has a powerful void mage at his disposal. One capable of exceeding the contact limitation.¡± I admitted.
Zin drew in a sharp breath.
Mari groaned.
Aetherya, looked mostly unimpressed. Considering her banner was mostly ranged, a void mage would create the least problems for her.
Unlike the others, Sevran just peered at me. ¡°What evidence do you have to that end?¡±
I grimaced. ¡°It¡¯s hard to explain. My casting was subverted multiple times that day, like there was some sort of outside interference. Didn¡¯t really nail it down as void until I tried to create the exact sort of firestorm Mari¡¯s imagining, and it just¡ failed.¡±
¡°That¡¯s never happened before?¡± Sevran pressed. ¡°Is it not more likely you simply miscalculated, lost focus on the magic?¡±
¡°Impossible.¡± Maya said. ¡°The grounds outside the Enclave are as verdant as they ever were. Dantalion flame is, in many ways, an enhanced version of its sister magic. It yearns to burn, to consume. And Cairn was drawing on its raw, elemental form. If he had made a mistake, there would have been more fire running rampant in the chaos, not less. It had to be void.¡±
¡°Fascinating.¡± Sevran¡¯s jaw worked furiously. ¡°I have more than a passing familiarity with void. Like many infernals, as a child, I was both terrified and fascinated by it. From the considerable time I spent in the archives, I can say, definitively, there¡¯s never been a record of the sort of usage you¡¯re describing. Not even amongst legends.¡±
¡°Maya¡¯s right.¡± I shrugged in frustration. None of this was helping us. ¡°Unlikely or not, it happened.¡±
¡°While I¡¯m tempted to prolong this discussion¡ªI suspect this discovery may lie at the very root of why Uskar¡¯s armies have been successful in so many conflicts within which they should have been overwhelmed by superior magic, for us, it changes little.¡± Sevran mused.
¡°Seems like it changes everything.¡± Zin said irritably.
Sevran waved the argument away. ¡°Until you consider the context. If such a mage exists, capable of derailing powerful magic from a distance, they would be amongst Uskar¡¯s most valuable and closely guarded secrets. That there is no record of them is not an accident. The King has been careful with this asset. And our captain is making a considerable show of trust merely by telling us his suspicions. They will not interfere unless there is no other choice.¡±
¡°Like a raging inferno.¡± Mari groused. ¡°So there goes that feckin¡¯ idea.¡±
It annoyed me to no end that this was likely exactly what King Gil wanted. It would be so easy to lose hours and potentially, the challenge itself, by miring ourselves in ways to subvert the threat he posed, only to be left with too little time to find my sister. If I was willing to burn a restart¡ªand from the way this discussion was going, there was a good chance I¡¯d be forced to¡ªthat would solve most of our problems once I knew her location, we¡¯d have the entire day to deal with the king. As much as I wanted to conserve the magic that fueled my returns, that was looking like the only viable option.
¡°I have a card to play.¡± I admitted. ¡°It involves magic, and if I do it right, it shouldn¡¯t draw the void mage¡¯s intervention and should make it considerably easier to keep the king indisposed. But with the rest of the regiment out of play, whoever stays will likely not escape, meaning we need to split into two groups.¡±
Again, my half-elf lieutenant shifted uncomfortably.
¡°For the gods sake, Atherya, speak if you have something to add.¡± Sevran snapped. He¡¯d appeared almost placidly calm to this point, but it seemed like the pressure was getting to him.
The typically aloof half-elf looked trapped beneath the many eyes that turned towards her. ¡°Hm.¡± She cleared her throat and regained a measure of composure. ¡°What if we¡ had a small contingent of troops at our disposal.¡±
Sevran stared at her, unamused. ¡°Even if we were to send a runner to pull such a group, the king would not wait for them to get here. His whisperers travel more quickly than ours. A pointless hypothetical.¡±
Surprisingly, Atherya didn¡¯t seem dissuaded or offended by this. If anything, she looked more nervous. ¡°Before I say anything else, I would like to point out that the Valen house and the term ¡°Sparring accident,¡± are almost synonymous. And that before our captain¡ªwho is of House Valen¡ªinvited us to spar, the last time we saw him, he was weeping over a grave, in threat of serious soul-damage.¡±
That was all it took. The mere mention of Lillian felt like a punch in the throat. A ringing in my ears return, and I tasted bile.
¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Mari sniffed at the air. ¡°Smells like treason in here.¡±
Before the half-elf could rise to the provocation, Sevran held out a hand. ¡°Enough. Speak plainly, Atherya.¡±
Atherya glanced at me, genuine fear in her eyes.
I fought through the malaise threatening to drown me, struggling to speak. ¡°Whatever you did. If¡ If it helps us here? Gives us an advantage we wouldn¡¯t have had otherwise? All is forgiven.¡±
¡°There are a number of archers embedded on the walls and the surrounding rooftops.¡± Atherya admitted.
¡°How many?¡± I asked.
¡°Fifteen of my best.¡± Atherya stared down at the ground. ¡°They were only to take action if the exercise¡ escalated.¡±
What she¡¯d said before finally clicked into place. When I¡¯d invited them to spar, my banner lieutenant had feared the worst. She¡¯d set up archers around the sparring grounds in case she needed to interfere, in case I shared my father¡¯s penchant for taking things on the training field too far. On one hand, it stung. I thought I¡¯d demonstrated considerable competency and restraint during the mock battle, enough to dissuade this sort of fear.
On the other hand, I couldn¡¯t be happier with the result.
¡°Thank you, Atherya.¡± I said, truly meaning it.
She looked up, her visage noble and proud. ¡°Am I to be relieved of command?¡±
Even if it¡¯d come from a place of fear and treason, she¡¯d given us the piece we needed.
Finally, I shook my head. ¡°No. Even if I hadn¡¯t promised. You took action out of loyalty to your fellow lieutenants. I¡¯ll never punish loyalty. Though I hope that one day, I¡¯ll be on the other side of it.¡±
To her credit, Atherya seemed to acknowledge the statement as genuine, absorbing it silently, without an air of hostility.
Five minutes later, I strode toward my father, pace accelerating the closer I drew.
He watched my approach, unimpressed. ¡°Seeing how you left your troops behind, I assume you¡¯re here to negotiate.¡±
¡°No.¡±
¡°No?¡± I was pleased to see the clipped response had thrown him off.
Need to make him angry.
¡°You know what I think?¡± I stalked towards him furiously, fists clenched at my side. ¡°I think you had this planned from the start. And I think you pushed me towards it. Because you¡¯ve seen what I can do. And you¡¯re too much of a coward to risk your dignity in a straight fight.¡±
He squared up, yanking his sword from the dirt and holding it at his side. ¡°Spineless provocation accomplishes nothing, boy.¡±
¡°Maybe I learned it from you. Least I didn¡¯t pick up your habit of hiding behind the skirts of innocents and threatening the weak as a bartering tactic.¡±
His eyes narrowed.
Hit.
¡°If you need to be reminded of why I am king, that is a lesson I¡¯m happy to administer.¡± He growled.
¡°Well? Go on then. Teach me.¡±
I drew my sword, igniting it with violet flame, heating the blade until it was almost white.
And charged.
208. Fracture XV
The tactic could work. Even as I rushed towards him, boots crunching grass, I believed it fully. Lingering doubt and the mental fog that clouded me dissipated as I focused on him, leveraging every injustice, every cruel word, every snide, backhanded remark.
Almost casually, he hefted his sword in a slow, casual arc, completely telegraphing the first downward diagonal swing. In the morning light, his blade caught the light, as if coated in oil.
He started with a simple kata.
And so far, at least, he hadn¡¯t noticed.
I manipulated the water coating his steel, pouring mana through the weave, until the clear coating flash froze opaque, dimming the shine.
There was a flash of doubt a split second before our swords met. His cool blue eyes shifted from me to the altered surface of his untempered blade. But I¡¯d already shifted, and instead of trying to hit him, I was aiming for the blade itself. Roaring flame hotter than any forge collided with the frigid ice of the north.
And as the adage goes, ice sunders all.
King Gil¡¯s blade exploded into shrapnel and shards that whizzed through the air in a sphere, the solid, sturdy-looking metal reduced to ruin. In that brief moment, wonder flitted across his face. Which of course, was when I transferred all the momentum from the run, spared by the shattering sword, and drove my demonic arm into his gut.
Because whether by divine gift or aberrant biology, I¡¯d learned from our first clash that the King of Whitefall had an iron jaw, and had no intention of making the same mistake twice.
He grunted from the impact and bent forward slightly, a manic gleam in his eye. During the exchange he¡¯d caught my sword arm and now held it with a vice-like grip. ¡°My turn.¡±
Shit.
Before I had time to think, let alone counter, I was airborne and inverted; the sky zipping by beneath my feet.
Then I was splayed on my back, panting for the air that was knocked out of me. A dent in the back of my armor pressed up into my spine, and I called to the wind, forcing a torrent through my mouth and down my impact. After a moment, the contractions ceased. But I kept taking small gasps of air, feigning incapacity. Belatedly, I checked the xescalt gauntlet and found several gems were cracked, others outright crushed, the delicate mana pathways carved into the surface disabled from the damage.
How? With his gods damned hand?
King Gil stared down at me, more irritated than anything else now that the dust had settled. ¡°A less than ideal outcome. Someday soon, boy, we will need to discuss the difference between a marathon and a sprint.¡± With that, he raised his heel above my head. Unlike before, the movement was measured and controlled. Still more than enough to knock me unconscious.
I feigned weakness until the last second, looping strands of air through the back of my armor, forming an aegis behind my back.
His heel plunged. I empowered the spell, using the now frictionless back of my armor to scoot upward. There was a ringing impact, and a considerable dent where his boot struck my chest plate. I snared his foot, wrapping my arms around it.
¡°What¡ª¡±
¡°DO IT!¡± I shouted.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Immediately, a blunted arrow struck just above his ear, with pinpoint precision. The king¡¯s head snapped to the side, and slowly, hatefully, he turned to look for the shooter. And found far more than one. In the distance, on top of the walls, at least a dozen bows were held taut. With a collective twang, they were loosed.
The King covered his face with his gauntlets and instinctively tried to turn away. But I put every ounce of strength I had into holding his foot in a vice-like grip, and the trapped foot and misplaced movement were enough to send him tumbling to the ground.
¡°Archers! Cover his majesty!¡± One of his personal guard lingering by the exit shouted.
Several responded immediately rushing forward, shields held before them. They¡¯d have him defended in short order, and after that, he¡¯d be after me in earnest.
Thwip Thwip Thwip
Or maybe not so short order. The bulk of the blunted arrows were still aimed at the king. But I watched bemused, several absurdly well-aimed arrows ricocheted off railings, urns, the fountain itself, and despite carrying a fraction of the speed forward, found their way to the honor guard¡¯s hidden faces and helmets. Several fell from the unexpected impact, others forced to route around them.
I spared a glance to the top of the wall, to where Aetherya stood atop a palisade with two of her best shooters.
My first thought was that it seemed like something of a waste. It must have taken countless hours of repetitive shooting to achieve this level of accuracy, and anything but the blunted tips of skirmish arrows wouldn¡¯t bounce so predictably. Despite that, this single seemingly pointless ability waylaying the king¡¯s guards was buying me significantly more time than I¡¯d have otherwise. I nodded to her.
Aetherya responded by firing an arrow that nearly parted the skin from my cheek, the resulting clang sending a rushing guardsman crashing to the ground.
Right, gotta move.
Predictably, the black shields were almost entirely focused on protecting the king rather than attacking his son. A few took errant swipes at me as I ran into the castle, but none landed a hit as I weaved between them, and none shifted their attention fully.
My legs pumped as I descended the stairs, heading for the ground floor and aiming lower. As we¡¯d discussed, other than Aetherya, my lieutenants would be taking an alternate route, meeting with their soldiers outside the palace and then splitting up, taking varying paths that appeared to lead other directions but all eventually ending up in Topside, near Kilvius¡¯s headquarters. Out of every possibility of places House Westmore and the Black Shields could hide Annette, it had to be somewhere in Topside. Even if he wasn¡¯t the savviest political mind, my father was hardly stupid. He wouldn¡¯t risk an outbreak of violence around the critical houses, especially given the volatile state of things. It had to be Topside.
I¡¯d avoided seeking Kilvius¡¯s help to locate Lillian. He probably would have, but given the recent rockiness of our relationship and the high likelihood she was dead, I¡¯d chosen not to cash in that chit. And thank the gods I hadn¡¯t.
Before I could leave the palace, I needed to find Sera. If my lieutenant¡¯s path was contested, Maya would stay with them. However, if the path was clear¡ª
¡°Cairn, cushion!¡± Maya¡¯s voice echoed down the stairs just as I reached the bottom. I looked up to see her diving downward, narrowly threading the gaps in the rails.
I summed a disc of air, solidifying it beneath her in scant seconds before she landed and threw her balance forward, running past me. ¡°Really want to get out before the pissed off king catches up to us!¡±
For a second, I stared before running after her. ¡°What the hells were you going to do if I didn¡¯t get the spell off in time?¡±
¡°I knew you would.¡±
¡°And if I hadn¡¯t?¡±
¡°Used the shard of the mirror to heal my incredibly sore ankles¡ªgods I¡¯m out of shape.¡± She glared at me as I jogged alongside her. ¡°Are they trying to fatten me up? The food I¡¯m served is far too decadent to eat every day.¡±
¡°You¡¯re keeping pace fine, but I¡¯ll tell the chefs to put you on porridge.¡±
¡°Do that and wake up one day to find your lower intestine lined with taste buds.¡±
Equally amused and horrified, I laughed. Somehow, despite the severity of the situation I felt lighter. Partially from the adrenaline, partially because with the first hurdle cleared, I knew I could pass this test. House Westmore was primarily a merchant house. The black shields were observant, generally excellent fighters, but they were guardsmen first, trained to escort a king who was rarely anything but visible.
Somehow it made me feel more like myself.
¡°You¡¯re smiling.¡± Maya observed.
¡°Yeah. I guess I am.¡±
209. Fracture XVI
The dim entryway to the section of the castle that housed the dungeon loomed in the distance. Retrieving Sera was outside the parameters my father had set. Regardless of her recent accomplishment, I got the feeling he didn¡¯t consider her a full banner lieutenant in my regiment, the thought simply hadn¡¯t occurred to him. There were two guards in standard uskarrion armor.
¡°Are we sure Sera¡¯s in the dungeon?¡± Maya asked.
¡°Not necessarily,¡± I admitted. ¡°From the sound of it, she thoroughly pissed him off, so off instinct, she¡¯s probably here.¡±
¡°And if she¡¯s not?¡± Maya asked.
¡°With the dungeon¡¯s layout, we can¡¯t afford to check somewhere else first and be wrong, then check the dungeon later. This is our only chance to do so without the king breathing down our necks, blocking our escape.¡±
I slowed to a brisk walk, Maya following my lead. ¡°Let us through.¡±
The guard shook his head. ¡°Can¡¯t do that milord. Got a noble vacationing today.¡±
¡°Damn.¡± Maya did a double-take. ¡°That¡¯s a lovely locket.¡±
The dungeon guard perked up immediately, fingers brushing the broach around his neck. ¡°Thank ye, miss. It¡¯s from the lady to be.¡±
¡°Where did you find the jeweler?¡± Maya inclined her head slightly toward the other guard.
I took it as a signal and cocked my left fist back, ringing my dungeon guard¡¯s helmet like a gong. He dropped, his eyes blank, while Maya¡¯s slumped to the ground in blissful sleep. She strode over to mine and checked him, placing her fingers on his neck. ¡°He¡¯s fine. But you really can¡¯t just go around giving people concussions.¡±
¡°Concussions heal.¡± I pointed to the guard she dropped with little more than a touch. ¡°But that one¡¯s going to have trust issues forever.¡±
¡°They don¡¯t always heal.¡± Maya groused, but didn¡¯t argue further.
We descended the spiraling cobble pathway at a brisk jog. After a few minutes, we were stopped at the door.
¡°Hold right there. Why the hells weren¡¯t you turned away.¡± A new face, strict and a little bored. I assumed he was one of many replacements for the several guards that were either executed or banned from service after the drephin prisoner escaped. Probably demoted from his previous role.
I was tiring of being waylaid, the mental image of my father sprinting, frothing mad at our flanks. So I tried the direct approach. ¡°Where¡¯s the princess?¡±
¡°Now you really have to leave.¡± He crossed his arms. Several other guards approached cautiously, a few of the dark clothed torturers pausing in the middle of their work.
So I did the rational thing. I breathed fire out of my nose. Little spouts of dantalion flame flared on my skin, my armor, my neck. I stomped backward, gnashing my teeth. ¡°I¡¯m so fucking angry.¡±
¡°Look what you did, you made him angry.¡± Maya said mildly.
¡°Every time we come down here, we get no respect. There is no recognition of my status.¡±
¡°And you didn¡¯t recognize his status.¡±
¡°I am about ready to burn this whole goddamn place to the ground!¡± The dantalion flamed leafed around me in a fiery display that was more showy than practical.
¡°We¡¯re underground.¡± Maya added quietly.
It was all, apparently, too much for the guard to handle. ¡°Okay, I don¡¯t get paid enough for this. I didn¡¯t see shit. Not you, or you, or the princess at the back of that hall in the left side cells.¡± The guard turned on his heel and raised his voice, addressing the others. ¡°Nobody saw shit. Clear?¡±
And just like that, any resistance we might have faced either found something more interesting to focus on or went to lunch.
/////
The cell door creaked open, light spilling in. A silhouette chained to the wall jerked at the sound, craning her neck for a better look.
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¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± Her voice was weak.
¡°Cairn, the emissary¡¯s with me.¡± I answered, hurrying to her side.
It wasn¡¯t the worst I¡¯d seen, but Sera was in rough straits. The prisoner¡¯s rags they¡¯d clad her in were torn and threadbare, and through the many holes and tears there was considerable bruising around her torso. She seemed to have difficulty holding her head up, and there was a nasty gash splitting her eyebrow.
Holy shit. No matter his reasoning, or how he justified it, this was too far. The treatment was considerably more sadistic than anything the King had put his children through in my previous life. And I had to wonder why. Why Sera? If she was slacking, or being the obstacle he¡¯d warned her not to be, I could almost understand the treatment¡ªthough never condone it. But she wasn¡¯t. She¡¯d been doing well.
¡°Hey Cairn. Got any wine?¡± Sera rasped.
I pulled a waterskin from my belt and held it to her lips. ¡°I¡¯ll do you one better.¡±
¡°That¡¯s¡ªglug¡ª not better.¡± Even so, she swallowed greedily. I pulled it away, certain that if I hadn¡¯t, she would have finished the whole thing.
Maya interposed herself between us. ¡°Sera, I need to touch you to heal you.¡±
¡°Do we have time?¡± I leaned in to Maya¡¯s ear and whispered.
¡°It will take longer to leave if she can¡¯t walk.¡±
Nodding, I stood next to Sera, occasionally giving her water as Maya worked. From the way she stiffened, it almost looked like the healing was hurting her more, but I knew from experience that the sudden absence of pain could be just as unsettling as pain itself. In addition, you tended to feel it more in the places that hadn¡¯t been healed.
¡°He really messed me up.¡±
I pressed my forehead to hers. ¡°You could have told him what we were planning. I¡¯d never ask you to endure this.¡±
There was a long pause, and for a moment, I thought she might slip away until her body jerked, and she blinked several times. ¡°I didn¡¯t?¡±
My gut twisted. ¡°No. You didn¡¯t.¡±
As the healing progressed, color returned to her cheeks. She glanced at me with cloudy eyes. ¡°Didn¡¯t want him¡ to take our victory¡ our glory.¡±
¡°I know.¡±
¡°The damage is extensive.¡± Maya said, not bothering to hide her disgust. ¡°Your legs should be more or less as they were, three of your ribs were broken, which I fixed, and most of the contusions that would limit your mobility should pain you less. If we had more time I could heal you completely, but this will have to do.¡±
¡°Time¡ªYou¡¯re breaking me out?¡± Sera sounded surprised, and despite the circumstances, smiled.
I nodded. If I¡¯d known she was in this bad a state, I would have still come, but I wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d be able to fight in the regiment, let alone act as a banner lieutenant.
¡°During your¡ absence¡ the political landscape has shifted. Annette is in peril. Father¡¯s treating it like a game. If we can¡¯t find and retrieve her before midnight tonight, he intends to marry her off to House Westmore.¡±
Considering my sisters¡¯ rocky relationship, I wasn¡¯t sure how she¡¯d react to the news. They¡¯d bonded during the lead-up to the mock battle. But some wounds take longer to heal than others. So it was a relief when Sera wrinkled her nose, a ray of focus shining through otherwise foggy eyes. ¡°What? That doesn¡¯t even make sense.¡±
¡°My thoughts exactly. Even in the coldest terms it¡¯s an uneven trade. For what he¡¯s getting, a noble daughter from one of our close allies would have sufficed.¡±
¡°He¡¯s overpaying.¡± Sera filled in. She stepped away from the wall and rubbed the deep red imprints on her wrists. ¡°Not to mention, Annette would lose her mind. Elphion. And I thought he hated me.¡±
Maya stuck her head out the door. ¡°We need to go. Aetherya was doing well when we left, but as soon as the black shields¡ªand for that matter the king¡ªfind their way onto the wall, the tides will turn quickly.¡±
¡°Right. Servant¡¯s entrance is nearby. We¡¯ll slip out that way and regroup at Kilvius¡¯s.¡± I turned to Sera, still thinking through the rest. ¡°Kilvius is a connected, well-organized friend with plenty of manpower around him. You¡¯ll be safe there.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t want to be safe.¡± Sera said.
¡°Sorry?¡±
¡°What, huddle in a room, shivering, while the king is out there doing his level best to scare the shit out of our sister and catapult her across the Sapphire Sea?¡± Sera snapped. ¡°No. Maybe it wasn¡¯t flashy, and she didn¡¯t see any direct combat, but Annette proved herself worthy of more than that in the mock battle. Same as me.¡±
I hesitated. This was what I wanted. Sera punched well above her means in a fight, and having another strong caster would only give us more flexibility. But it would potentially mean confronting a person who¡¯d spent the last day tormenting her personally. I remembered how I¡¯d felt, fresh out of Ozra¡¯s clutches, the sheer, stark, terror that resonated through me whenever he appeared. It¡¯d taken a long time to fade, and it still wasn¡¯t completely gone. Sera¡¯s treatment by comparison had been milder¡ªa severe beating, as opposed to the cruel knives of the demons¡ªbut she¡¯d still been tortured. ¡°You realize the king will be playing an active role in this conflict? That we may have to fight him directly?¡±
Though my elder sister was visibly quaking on her feet, her expression was frigid steel. ¡°If anything, this presents a unique opportunity. To return the favor.¡±
There was no denying it. Sera had been affected by the ordeal, but by either intent or brevity, she hadn¡¯t broken. What I felt from her wasn¡¯t just fear, but a desperate need to reclaim her strength. To prove to both herself and anyone else that was watching that she still mattered.
And perhaps it was my own past experiences clouding my judgment, but I didn¡¯t think twice about denying her that.
¡°Then let¡¯s move.¡±
210. Fracture XVII
We escaped the castle with little issue. I got the sense that there were probably more Blackshields waiting for us before they were pulled away from potential ambush points to help excise the king from his snare. Aetherya bought far more time than I¡¯d expected, which gave us breathing room to stop by the armory and equip Sera. She left the armory dressed as one of my father¡¯s honor guards and shopped around until we found a gondola willing to venture to topside.
I took one more look around for unwanted attention before I joined them, taking a seat in the center and peeking through the curtains.
¡°See anyone?¡± Maya asked.
¡°No. Doesn¡¯t mean they weren¡¯t out there.¡± I squinted at a woman who seemed entirely too preoccupied with checking the quality of a produce stand¡¯s potatoes. ¡°If the King tapped Thaddeus for this, better to assume they saw us.¡±
¡°This still seems unhinged.¡± Maya shook her head. ¡°To risk open conflict within his own capitol.¡±
Sera and I shared a glance.
¡°While I agree that it¡¯s not normal, it¡¯s hardly the first time.¡± Sera shifted uncomfortably.
¡°In a way, it¡¯s almost like he encourages it.¡± I mused. ¡°He¡¯s brought multiple noble houses harboring treasonous intent to their knees in Whitefall. When that undertaking takes a violent turn¡ªwhich it often does¡ªhe goes out of his way to see that violence done publicly in the middle of the day.¡±
¡°For all to see. He handles peasant rebellions and uprisings in the same manner.¡± Sera agreed.
Maya steepled her fingers. ¡°So a show of power. Or reinforcement of authority. Still, that doesn¡¯t entirely make sense in the context. Outcome notwithstanding, when the details of this leak¡ªa king and prince at odds regarding the fate of a princess¡ªit will paint the very picture of a house divided. The opposite of what he should want.¡±
The words lingered in my mind, even as the carriage driver knocked on the back panel signaling our arrival, and we emerged at the destination. A mix of around thirty regiment soldiers mingled around the square that housed the mission. I spotted Kilvius holding up a wall across the street, searching the faces and evaluating. When his eyes landed on me I nodded, only for him to scowl as Maya stepped out of the carriage behind me. Almost immediately, Kilvius turned and walked away. At the same time, Sevran flagged me down.
Maya put a hand on my arm and whispered. ¡°Go. I¡¯ll get Kilvius.¡±
¡°Are you sure?¡± I asked. She was being decisive in the moment, but the anxiety of an unplanned reunion was written all over her features.
¡°Least I can do.¡± She didn¡¯t sound confident, but a sudden warmth and scrape of teeth against my earlobe stunned me long enough for her to slip away.
Behind me, Sera chortled like a lecherous old man.
¡°Shut up.¡± I muttered.
¡°Come now.¡± Sera¡¯s eyes twinkled. ¡°A lover that can tear you apart, and piece you back together after the fact? Anyone would be jealous.¡±
¡°Anyway,¡± I cleared my throat loudly as we approached Sevran. ¡°Is this all we have?¡±
Sevran glanced around. ¡°Still more en route. To be expected with such little notice. I ordered several of my soldiers to form a sentry line to the rear. If they actively pursued us, we should know the second they cross into Topside. Zin and Mari took your late arrival as an opportunity to scout. They¡¯re still looking, but from initial reports, there''re no signs of Black Shields where they shouldn¡¯t be.¡±
My confidence wavered. I¡¯d been so sure the King would move Annette here, but that surety had come from instinct. And my instincts had repeatedly failed me as of late.
¡°Aetherya?¡± I checked, already guessing the answer.
Sevran shrugged. ¡°Nothing from the woman herself. A few of her banner mixed in with the rest. Safe to assume she¡¯s been detained.¡±
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My stomach twisted. If my father heeded the rules he set and Aetherya and her archers yielded once they lost the upper-hand, they should be safe. Problem was, he had a habit of bucking the rules once they no longer suited him. Poor Aetherya. I¡¯d basically abandoned her to him. Just like I¡¯d abandoned¡ª
Sevran¡¯s perceptive gaze cut my mental spiral short. ¡°Gathering the most capable level-headed people you can find and giving them orders is only part of being a leader. The more difficult thing is to trust them to carry those orders out to the best of their ability. Aetherya volunteered. It was her prerogative to reveal the presence of archers on the rooftop and she did so willingly. Out of everyone, you took the greatest risk by confronting the king directly. The promise you made to us is untarnished.¡±
¡°You¡ fought father?¡± Sera asked, looking between us in disbelief.
Not really.
¡°With the exact brand of decisiveness and underhanded brutality the king himself so often employs.¡± Sevran threw back his head and cackled. ¡°How furious he must be. What a blessed day.¡±
Both Sera and I stared at Sevran blankly. He didn¡¯t seem to notice, his attention landing on Sera for other reasons. ¡°You have been through much since we spoke at the tavern.¡±
In a gesture that completely surprised me, Sera bowed. It wasn¡¯t overly low. No matter the internal dynamic of the regiment, she was still a princess. When she bent, it was mostly from the neck and shoulders. But it was far more deference than I¡¯d ever seen Sera give another person willingly. ¡°Reporting for duty.¡±
¡°Yet, where are your bannermen?¡± Sevran asked.
It wasn¡¯t exactly a fair question. Sera¡¯s actions in the mock battle likely drew the interest of many reserve soldiers, and possibly several who were already assigned. But forming a banner was a time-consuming process, and the mock battle only a few days ago. I braced for an explosive retort. Yet none came.
Sera struggled to keep her face neutral. The fire in her eyes burned. ¡°A banner lieutenant without a banner to lead is still a soldier. And this soldier wishes to serve.¡±
¡°You would obey the orders of a Demi-human? Accept the commands of a commoner?¡± Sevran asked, without a trace of mockery.
Sera stepped forward, standing eye-to-eye with Sevran. ¡°So long as those orders place the good of Uskar above all else? I will serve.¡±
Slowly, I let out a breath I hadn¡¯t realized I¡¯d been holding.
Sevran smiled. ¡°Go, then. I suspect you¡¯ll find many willing among the reserve and the remnant of Aetherya¡¯s banner.¡±
For a moment Sera looked as if someone had slapped her in the face. ¡°I¡¯m¡ sorry?¡±
¡°Gather the cornerstones of your Banner, Lieutenant.¡± He looked her up and down in obvious approval. ¡°You¡¯d be wasted as anything else.¡±
Sera choked. ¡°Thank you, sir.¡± Then turned on her heel and jogged towards the pack of soldiers, scattered around the road. Sevran watched her go, warmth seeping from him like a fire pit quenched in the dead of winter. ¡°Before the healer got to her, how bad was it?¡±
I grimaced. ¡°It seemed he avoided methods likely to result in permanent injury or scarification, but from what she said¡ he administered the interrogation himself. And he was insistent in his inquiry.¡±
¡°You yourself have been tortured, yes?¡±
¡°Yes.¡±
¡°I have not, though I¡¯ve fought beside and commanded men who were not as lucky.¡± Sevran watched passively, as Sera struck up a conversation with a group of three soldiers in the distance. ¡°Do you recall the symptoms that followed your ordeal?¡±
Empty.
¡°Bouts of sleeplessness. Fear. An emptiness.¡± I swallowed. ¡°A constant echo of what happened to me, repeating forever in my mind¡¯s eye.¡±
Sevran nodded. ¡°Trauma has a way of unmaking a person. Altering allegiances, unseating priorities. It is distressing by nature. But once you move past the hurdle of the initial shock, it presents a period of malleability uncommon in life. A period within which one is most capable of change.¡±
Slowly, I realized he wasn¡¯t just talking about Sera.
I swallowed. ¡°And what would you advise?¡±
Sevran gave me a half-shrug. ¡°Treat her with care, meeting any mistakes she might make with grace, all while keeping in mind she will be far more vulnerable in the aftermath, more likely to take any condemnation to heart. Give her time to fill the hollowness, not with your counsel or mine, but with her own. She will only be stronger for it.¡±
I gave him my thanks and stepped away, finding a quiet corner to summon my familiar. Once I¡¯d given Vogrin a sample of my blood, he disappeared, slipping into a shadow and moving south, intending to search Topside in a grid-like pattern that would eventually collide with Mari and Zin¡¯s path, forming something of a net. It wasn¡¯t perfect. If we¡¯d had time and mana to create the style of golems he suggested using to track down Thoth¡¯s blood relatives, that would have been far more effective, but sending Vogrin himself was the best alternative that didn¡¯t involve me draining my mana to almost nothing before the coming conflict.
A few minutes later, Maya emerged with Kilvius in tow. Their arms were intertwined. Kilvius was even smiling, leaning over to say something to her in his classic fatherly manner. Until he saw me looking and stepped away from her.
Kilvius crossed his arms. ¡°So. Care to tell me why you¡¯ve parked an armed regiment on the doorstep of my clandestine organization?¡±
211. Fracture XVIII
It occurred to me later that I should have felt more, forcing Kilvius¡¯s hand like this. Some sense of responsibility, or at the very least, guilt. As it was, I felt nothing at all.
Before Thoth drove the dagger home and I meddled with my own soul, the guilt was always there. A primary force comprised exclusively of my own failings, driving me forever forward. I saw it in the faces that haunted my dreams, felt it in the passage of every waking minute that went by without progress or improvement. Only now, it was gone.
Only the frost of numbness remained.
¡°I¡¯ll let the two of you talk,¡± Maya said, taking her leave down the cobbled steps. Her strained smile said it all. Whatever they¡¯d discussed behind closed doors had mended some of the damage. But not all.
¡°Well?¡± Kilvius asked.
¡°This is hardly an inquest. We¡¯re just talking.¡± I looked up, to where members of my regiment were still knocking on doors, undoubtedly asking after an unnamed noble matching Annette¡¯s description. ¡°It¡¯s the second time they¡¯ve been out here, looking for a woman. Given the sheer volume of gossip that circulates these parts, they¡¯ve already drawn very different conclusions.¡±
¡°Those with a keen ear likely have no idea what to think at all. Given¡ the most recent events.¡±
My reaction was instantaneous. My fists clenched at my side, and the mountainous air was suddenly in far shorter supply.
Kilvius drew the right conclusions quickly. It was something I¡¯d always liked about him during our time in the Enclave, only now, the same trait was working against me. Several tactics I could use to move this conversation in a more cooperative direction popped into my mind unbidden, and I reviewed them, keeping my face neutral.
When Kilvius spoke again, his voice was barely audible over the din of the busy street. ¡°I don¡¯t know who she was. Or what she meant to you. But from all accounts, she was one of a kind.¡±
¡°And you know this how?¡±
Kilvius grunted, rubbing at the shadow of stubble on his jaw. ¡°I take an interest when any of my assets¡ªfriendly or otherwise¡ªdo anything out of turn. Such as taking a cohort of armed men to a cemetery and unearthing the dead.¡±
Dead
The word hung in my mind, catching at the spokes, eroding focus. I needed to stop him before the distraction worsened.
¡°And has your interest been sated?¡±
¡°Enough to conclude it is not my business.¡± Kilvius studied his pointed nails, rubbing at the quick. ¡°What remains is little more than idle curiosity. A question. One that my network and associates are incapable of answering.¡±
¡°Ask.¡±
¡°My wife¡ªthe one you took from me¡ªtold me something, once. It seemed like nothing at the time, an idle observation in the night with little meaning behind it. ¡®His heart remains in Whitefall.¡¯¡±
Despite the sheer pain of what he was poking at, I couldn¡¯t help but laugh. ¡°That¡¯s not like Nethtari at all.¡±
There was a flash of a smile across Kilvius¡¯s features before it was gone. ¡°What you saw during your time with us was just how she was with the children. A cold pragmatist unamused by whims of fancy and pointless theoreticals. Probably to counter my whimsical and carefree influence. But in private, she did fancy, and she did dream.¡±
I thought back. ¡°There were moments of vulnerability where you could see it. Especially when she was drinking.¡±
¡°In time she dreamed of a day when a certain ward became family. For all the good that did her.¡± Kilvius ground a heel into a small mound of impacted snow, clearing it from his doorstep. ¡°While I appreciate the opportunity to speak to my daughter again in a non-hostile environment, our time together grows short. Once whatever shit-heap you¡¯ve brought down on my head is resolved, and the rash of abductions beyond that, I expect you and I will not meet again. Persephone will handle any official business. My role here requires discretion, and you garner too much attention to associate with even in secret.¡±
¡°So you will help me.¡±
¡°Only if you sate my curiosity.¡± Kilvius leaned against the wall, shivering slightly as he contacted the cold surface. ¡°The girl. Who was she to you?¡±
There was a time I might have described Lillian and our relationship in such vivid, ponderous detail that anyone who asked would likely regret it. That time was long past.
¡°A lesson.¡±
Kilvius raised an eyebrow. ¡°Of what nature?¡±
¡°That anything I care for can be taken away at any time.¡± The words came out harshly, almost forced. ¡°Any vulnerability, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant presents an avenue of attack. And that¡ perhaps the wisest course is to simply not care at all.¡±
¡°Then we are both lost in the same endless cavern.¡± He chuckled darkly, musing to himself. ¡°Damned as we are. Me, undone by my own kindness, and you, a prime example of one of life¡¯s greatest ironies.¡±
¡°Which irony?¡±
¡°That those who strive hardest to separate themselves from their parents inevitably become them.¡±
It was all I could do not to take a step back. He could have gutted me open with his claws and left me bleeding on the snow with less impact. It was a killing blow, intended to sully and sever any history we had with one decisive strike. Part of me wanted to rage, to recount in detail every single painful death and heartbreak that brought me to this point. To shake him out of his single-minded hatred for me, if nothing else. But there was no point. He¡¯d only forget.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
It was better to focus on the things I could still change.
To not care.
I leaned against the wall beside him, so I didn¡¯t have to look him in the face. ¡°My younger sister was relocated from the palace last night.¡±
¡°Relocated. Not kidnapped?¡± Kilvius observed.
¡°By the king¡¯s decree, her time as a carefree princess is over. She¡¯s being married off to solidify a relationship with a so-called-noble house in the land of their holdings.¡±
¡°House Westmore.¡± Kilvius¡¯s expression soured. ¡°They¡¯ve carved out an influential niche in the last few years, especially for vermin who started as nothing more than base slavers. But that is a poor trade by any reasonable scale. Especially considering the rumors.¡± He began to speak again, then stopped, cocking his head. ¡°And Uskar does not expend its royalty without cause. There¡¯s another reason I take it?¡±
¡°Due to recent events, the king questions my judgment.¡± I ground out. ¡°And this is the method he chose to test my ability. Test or not, the threat is real. If I don¡¯t find Annette come midnight, she will likely be lost to me forever.¡±
Metal whisked against leather as Kilvius withdrew the knife from his belt, manipulating it, surprisingly dextrous. ¡°There are many noble houses that play at the fringes of the illicit, dipping their toes in questionable waters for nothing more than petty thrills. House Westmore is not one of them. They are far more entrenched in the lower channels of society than any other group in Whitefall I care to name.¡±
¡°Then I¡¯ll be doing the kingdom a service.¡±
¡°That answers my follow-up. Did you learn nothing from your dealings in the Enclave?¡± Kilvius shook his head. ¡°Power is power, illicit or otherwise. You cannot simply eliminate those that oppose you and hope others more difficult to deal with won¡¯t immediately fill the void.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t have time for this.¡± I rubbed my head hard. ¡°And if my father intended a diplomatic solution, he wouldn¡¯t have started this by setting an impossible time limit and swinging a sword at my head. Even now, he¡¯s likely on his way here, eager for the second round.¡±
Kilvius¡¯s brows knitted together. ¡°Warranted or not, what you just expressed is an emotional reaction. Think. Is it possible the king created this situation in order to lower your estimation in the eyes of a kingdom? Because if you tear through every Safehouse and holding facility in Topside in an indiscriminate fiery gale, it will affect your standing in the upper-city.¡± He shifted his head in concession. ¡°Granted, it might not be that underhanded. If this is a test, the manner you approach a solution may be part of it.¡±
With the pressure in my mind building to a climax, I nearly disregarded this altogether. After all, Westmore was less than scum. They deserved to be buried, foisted from their seats of power and cast down into the dirt with the rest.
Only, my father knew my feelings on the topic. That I¡¯d been looking for an excuse to deal with the house since my return, an excuse he¡¯d all but delivered into my waiting arms.
I paced.
¡°There¡¯s no such thing as a fair test, as far as my father is concerned. He expects me to tear Topside apart. It¡¯s the natural conclusion to draw. So it¡¯s safe to say he¡¯s banking on me doing that.¡±
It was so easy to forget he was also a tactician, not just a singular force of nature.
¡°Okay.¡± Kilvius inclined his head.
My pacing picked up speed. ¡°It¡¯s the only thing that makes sense. Misdirect, send me chasing shadows, maybe even force a confrontation during the search to give the impression I¡¯m getting close. Only I¡¯m not. Because Annette¡¯s not in Topside at all. The safest place for him to put her in terms of insulation and coverage would be¡ shit.¡±
The Magnate¡¯s Quarter. A relatively small section of the city for all the wealth it comprised. It was architecturally beautiful, almost on par with the palace itself, and immensely secure. For good reason, as almost every Noble House in a position of power and favor had holdings there.
Not playing fair, father. But that¡¯s nothing new.
Slowly, I pieced something together.
¡°For now, you have an advantage.¡± Kilvius observed. ¡°But positioning towards the Magnate¡¯s Quarter will lose that advantage immediately.¡±
I smiled, despite myself. ¡°Can¡¯t move on the magnate¡¯s quarter in force anyway. As soon as they see palace soldiers moving en masse, every Noble House will be up in arms. Clever, father. But not perfect. I need a target to hit in Topside. Something valuable to House Westmore, but isolated enough that it won¡¯t cause a massive stir.¡±
¡°A false target. And I know just the one. But why?¡±
¡°Vogrin?¡±
Vogrin appeared beside Kilvius, mouth pursed in a snarl. ¡°Are you certain you and your sister share the same blood?¡±
¡°Lord below,¡± Kilvius breathed, jolting at the sudden appearance.
¡°Yes.¡± I confirmed.
¡°Then I do not know what conclusions to draw.¡± Vogrin ranted. ¡°It is a distinctive scent, one I would not miss, that carries a subtle stench of the divine.¡±
¡°You gave a demon your blood.¡± Kilvius observed dryly.
¡°They already have a hold on my soul, I don¡¯t think blood is going to suddenly give them an edge.¡± I looked to Vogrin. ¡°But stench of the divine? That¡¯s news to me.¡±
My demon groaned. ¡°Don¡¯t get full of yourself. It is not uncommon for royal families to have some degree of divine meddling. Typically, too many generations up their family tree to make a difference. The gods are nothing if not amorous. But it is more rank and ergo more distinguishing than I am accustomed to. I would notice if I crossed her trail. And yet, nothing.¡±
¡°You can¡¯t have searched all of Topside yet.¡± Kilvius said skeptically.
¡°Enough that I should have smelled something!¡±
I waved a hand. ¡°Relax, you¡¯re not here for that.¡±
Vogrin¡¯s eyebrows shot upward and his tone turned sarcastic. ¡°Oh! Have we simply moved on in my absence?¡±
There were a lot of factors in play. I needed to be careful with how I approached this. The legion made several mistakes in the early days of our pact, and to their credit, they had recognized those mistakes, and extended several courtesies to me to compensate. Offering Vogrin as a summon and use of the artifact I¡¯d traded them chief among them.
Despite that, there was a sense that our standing as of late was approaching equal, and that they had repaid their debt in full. I wanted something from them. But I wanted it in a way that would widen that gap, rather than close it.
¡°Did I miss something? What is going on? Why is he smiling like that?¡± Vogrin asked Kilvius.
Kilvius shook his head. ¡°From experience, you may want to stop floating before you fall down.¡±
¡°Vogrin.¡± I said carefully. ¡°How would you like to tally a favor with your boss? One he¡¯ll find particularly delightful.¡±
Almost immediately, Kilvius paled. ¡°No.¡±
Vogrin was silent for a long moment. ¡°By boss, you¡¯re referring to¡¡±
¡°Who else?¡±
212. Fracture XIX
The abandoned house Kilvius selected for the meeting put us deeper in Topside, farther from my father¡¯s reach. Yet the interior still felt cramped. Kilvius himself as well as a handful of others waited in the adjacent room, while me and Maya sat on one side of the table.
Some of the discomfort I was feeling was from the cramped space. Most of it was directly sourced from the being sitting across from us.
Alongside Vogrin, Ozra, the Archfiend of the Asmodials was within arm¡¯s reach. In human form, he appeared as a grizzled middle-aged man, his muscled frame giving the impression of a well-kempt craftsman or retired soldier. His long dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and in an odd reflection of the fateful day we struck our pact, his dark eyes were transfixed on the memory orb in his hands.
¡°I should be angry with you, for bothering me with this.¡± He said, continuing to focus on the sphere as he rotated it in his hands.
¡°Perhaps.¡± I agreed.
¡°Other Arch-Fiends would consider this so far below them that it would be perfectly acceptable to slaughter you on the spot for even proposing it.¡±
There was a reactive clink of metal as every other person in the room tensed at the explicit threat, while I forced myself to remain relax and unbothered.
¡°They might.¡±
¡°Typically, I would not so much as entertain the idea. I am of course a being of great import.¡±
¡°You certainly are.¡±
¡°The hells are rather dull as of late. They attack us, we win. We counterattack, they stalemate. Everyone licks their wounds and bides their time, separating to various corners while whatever boorish spawn develops to create the next generation, waiting to fight over the same territory, over and over.¡± Ozra rubbed his face, then looked over to Vogrin suspiciously. ¡°Did you tell him I was bored?¡±
¡°No, your eminence.¡± Vogrin lied.
¡°The answer should be no.¡± Ozra frowned in consternation, as if surprised at himself. ¡°Yet¡ I have not visited the human cities in over a thousand years. Triple that, by invitation. And perhaps I am in need of a change of scenery at the very least. However.¡± His tone dropped, and an air of danger enshrouded the room. ¡°This role you¡¯ve chosen for me¡¡±
I braced myself, praying Vogrin wasn¡¯t off the mark and I hadn¡¯t miscalculated.
¡°It is delectable.¡± Ozra finished, as he rubbed at his shoulders and shivered in glee. ¡°Delightful. Dare I say, even a little diabolical. Not since my youth have I had the pleasure of toying with a king. And this king?¡± He caressed the orb with his thumb. ¡°Oh, what fun we¡¯ll have.¡±
When it sunk in, what I was about to unleash on my father, there was a degree of guilt. But when I reminded myself what he¡¯d done to Sera, and the sheer terror that had to be coursing through Annette at this very moment, that guilt magically went away.
¡°I¡¯m glad you like it.¡±
¡°Do not misunderstand. I am not some simpleton for you to manipulate.¡± Ozra suddenly glared at me, hands gripping the table between us, changing tact too quickly for me to keep up. ¡°I am aware that you are only resorting to this as a method of leveraging the artifact you traded, an artifact that may I remind you, belongs to us.¡±
¡°There¡¯s truth to that.¡±
Stressful as it was, facing down an arch-fiend, it helped that I¡¯d done it before. There was a certain rhythm to negotiating with Ozra. Aggression was counter-productive. He was simply too ancient to be leveraged or bullied. What worked best was more akin to a slow seduction, letting him work out the benefits of an offer before an even bigger reveal. Not unlike the way the demons themselves operated. After all, evil attracts evil.
¡°The first time was free. If I asked to use the scepter again, it would cost me. That much is undeniable.¡± I steepled my fingers and smiled, leaning forward. ¡°But there¡¯s far more to it than that.¡±
¡°Oh?¡± Ozra matched me, leaning forward. His manner bordered on mocking but it was clear his heart wasn¡¯t in it. He wanted to hear what I had to say.
¡°I could do it myself. That was always an option. I¡¯m not a terrible actor¡ªin fact, I think I¡¯m rather skilled.¡±
¡°Passable.¡± Ozra commented. When I raised an eyebrow, he continued. ¡°Better than average in terms of commitment, but there are several biological tells you are unlikely to overcome in a mortal lifespan.¡±
The perfect setup. I jumped on it without hesitation, ratcheting up a sense of manic glee I didn¡¯t feel. ¡°Exactly. If I did it myself, it might throw him off. Perhaps even unsettle him. But the King is a resilient man.¡±
¡°And how much sweeter would it be to shake such a man to his core.¡± Ozra finished.
¡°It only makes sense to turn to the most magnificent liar I know.¡±
Ozra worked his jaw and leaned backward as the chair creaked beneath him. He looked away and smiled. ¡°Had you asked for his defeat, or some other overwhelming form of assistance, I would have denied you. But this is far more interesting.¡± He looked up, mentally tallying. ¡°Instead, you have given me a chance to see a capitol city again as a guest, meddle in the affairs of kings, and inflict an unspeakable cruelty on a fascinating target. It is a precious gift, and I¡¯m tired of pretending it¡¯s not.¡± He stared me straight in the face. ¡°I will not forget it. Now name your terms.¡±
There was the catch. No informed individual, be they god or man, was insane enough to strike a deal with demons in an uncontrolled environment. As a mortal, it didn¡¯t matter how smart or methodical you were. There was always some catch, some loophole left unconsidered. And demons had been exploiting those oversights for centuries longer than any of us had been alive.
This matter seemed relatively small, especially for a being as powerful and ancient as an arch-fiend. Because of that, I wasn¡¯t sure that Ozra would try for a deal. But Kilvius was, and had argued fiercely enough to that effect that it¡¯d momentarily stumped me.
Until his daughter offered a solution.
I caught Maya¡¯s eye and nodded, signaling her. There was a shuffling of parchment and she leaned forward, slamming a contract taller than a tome on the desk in front of Ozra.
Ozra pouted, turning a woeful look towards me. ¡°Have we built no trust between us?¡±
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
¡°On the contrary.¡± I smiled a thin line. ¡°Our previous dealings underlined the importance of upholding such traditions. And I do not have the hubris to negotiate an oral contract with a being as cunning and timeless as you.¡±
¡°Yes, yes, your flattery is noted.¡± Ozra rolled his eyes as he placed a pair of gilded spectacles on the bridge of his nose. Then he leafed through the first few pages of the contract, seemingly in disbelief. ¡°Still, considering the rushed circumstances and what I observed from the orb, I¡¯m shocked you put this together so quickly¡¡± He trailed off, turning a few more pages. ¡°Is this boilerplate?¡±
Maya leaned back, arms crossed in front of her. It wasn¡¯t uncommon for her to grow stoic in a crisis, but something about her demeanor now was different. As if she was carved from ice. ¡°It is a generic contract, yes. A tailored variant of a document I prepared for this exact sort of occasion.¡±
Ozra squinted, his page turns accelerating until they were little more than a blur. ¡°Even for an infernal, you are very well-prepared. Not to mention annoyingly thorough. Though some of these are reaching. Come now, we haven¡¯t attempted to stake a claim on a firstborn through summon-rights in over a thousand years.¡±
¡°Forgotten trends often return to circulation at unexpected times.¡± Maya shrugged.
¡°And this entire section on chronal magic is nothing more than a flight of fancy.¡± Ozra stopped mid-page turn. Slowly, he looked up at Maya, turning the full intensity of his gaze on her. ¡°Or is it?¡±
Maya was too experienced to let the shock show. But I could tell Ozra had caught her flat-footed. Even by demonic standards, the way Ozra was picking through a contract for a relatively simple matter with a fine-toothed comb, seemingly in seconds, couldn¡¯t be accounted for. There wasn¡¯t time for me to read through Maya¡¯s entire contract, but I could guess what happened. She¡¯d snuck something in that protected not only the current reality, but the subsequent loops as well.
And Ozra caught it.
I spoke up, letting annoyance cut through my tone. ¡°The greater enemy has made several comments that belie the possibility of such power. Future sight, as well as a more limited ability to jump through time. We are simply accounting for it in advance, ensuring that unexpected complications do not cause issues with the contract should they arise.¡±
¡°But you have nothing in stone?¡± Ozra questioned.
¡°Not at this time.¡±
¡°From extensive research, it is most likely a bluff.¡± Maya added.
Ozra moved on, seemingly content with the answer. ¡°Well, seeing how you have an entire subsection on patechistic runes¡ªwhich are even less likely to exist¡ªI¡¯m inclined to believe you. Still, the thoroughness and knowledge this contract implies is astounding. Do you practice Contract Law as a vocation?¡±
¡°My mother did.¡±
¡°The sharp little counsellor from the cave, of course.¡± Ozra realized, brushing the feather-side of the pen along his lips. ¡°And what Legion did you say you were affiliated with, girl?¡±
¡°I didn¡¯t.¡± Maya said coldly.
The arch-fiend¡¯s nostrils flared. ¡°Hellhound. Their stench is recognizable anywhere. Vile as they are, I can¡¯t help but feel a degree of sympathy for them. Stupid creatures. With your intelligence, you must have negotiated them all the way back to the first circle.¡±
¡°We reached a satisfactory accord.¡± Maya continued to stonewall.
¡°Come now.¡± Ozra rested his chin on his palm and leered. ¡°This contract is your soul laid bare before me. I can feel it through every brush stroke, ringing out clearly between each carefully forged line. The sheer avarice for power.¡±
I wanted to intercede. Maya had seen the truth of what happened in the Enclave, the callousness with which the Asmodial Legion had slaughtered her friends and family across countless loops. But if I spoke up now, it would only encourage him.
Ozra continued. ¡°Has their upper echelon even seen fit to greet you in the flesh? Acknowledged the prize pearl nestled in his palace of mud? Does he¡ know?¡±
Maya stiffened. ¡°It was my assumption that arch-fiends seldom have the time to toy with mortals directly.¡±
Instinctively, I gripped the sides of my chair. Whether it was a ploy or out of her own well-earned dislike, Maya was bordering on rebellious arrogance. It wouldn¡¯t cost her immediately. Drawing from our previous encounter, Ozra seemed to like that sort of thing. Find it novel.
At least, until he didn¡¯t.
For the moment, Ozra seemed unbothered. ¡°Let¡¯s make a wager.¡±
¡°No.¡±
He made a frustrated huff. ¡°A non-binding wager with no actionable outcome.¡±
Maya hesitated for a second too long. ¡°I¡¯m¡ listening.¡±
Ozra rattled off the wager, as if he¡¯d planned it from the start. ¡°The hellhound arch-fiend is distastefully enamored with me. Bordering on obsessed, really.¡± His voice took on a mocking, bestial overtone. ¡°¡®Show me what you¡¯ve learned over the last century, Ozra. How long before our legions clash in glorious battle, you shadow-addled coward.¡¯¡± He shook his fist derisively, voice returning to normal. ¡°And on, and on, and on. Irritating enough that I¡¯ve acquiesced on multiple occasions, but crushing him seems to only encourage the behavior. Point being, our paths in the hells often cross. It would take little more than a few choice words to draw his attention to a clearly undervalued asset.¡±
¡°That seems¡ unbelievably benevolent.¡± Maya hedged.
¡°Perhaps. But assuming my evaluation is correct?¡± Ozra continued, low voice rumbling. ¡°Even if Phaedron rolls over and plays dead in renegotiations, offering you every resource at the Hellhound legion¡¯s disposal, eventually, you will find them wanting.¡±
¡°And if I do?¡± Maya asked, the question barely more than a whisper.
¡°All I ask is to be considered.¡± Ozra placed the pen down and steepled his fingers. ¡°Should you wish to change your allegiance, the Asmodial Legion is prepared to buy out your contract, providing you with the same benefits the Hellhounds did and more.¡±
¡°Including a powerful generational summon?¡± Maya challenged.
Ozra¡¯s eyebrow twitched, but he nodded. ¡°Of course.¡±
¡°To be clear. All you¡¯re asking is that I consider the Asmodial Legion as a first choice, if I¡¯m looking to cut existing ties?¡±
¡°Simple as that.¡± Ozra shrugged. ¡°We both know there is only one legion that can offer what you truly seek. What you desire most. And should you seek to attain it, you need only ask.¡±
¡°I¡¯m not there yet.¡± Maya snapped.
¡°But one day soon, you will be.¡± The statement had an air of finality to it, as something unspoken passed between them.
Whatever the truth of the subtext was, the offer was a double-edged sword. A prohibitively dangerous one at that. There were a litany of infernal ballads and dramatic renditions of legends that explored in harrowing, painstaking detail, exactly how badly life went for mortals who had the misfortune of drawing the attention of an arch-fiend. The tragic heroes center stage in these tales tended to be brash and foolhardy, but even those who weren¡¯t made some key mistake that cost their souls in the end. And if I knew that from my brief time immersed in infernal culture, Maya did too. She was just winding him up, playing along until he signed. After all, she¡¯d seen what I traded. What saving the Enclave cost me. There was no way she was considering this seriously.
Right?
¡°I accept.¡± Maya said. She¡¯d shifted slightly, and the fire-pit cast a shadow over her face.
Unable to hold it in any longer, I stood. ¡°Maya¡ª¡±
She held out a hand. ¡°Later, Cairn.¡±
Ozra grinned devilishly, withdrew a stack of papers from beneath the table and slid them over to Maya. ¡°Very well. I suspect you¡¯ll be hearing from Phaedron soon, shortly after my return from this much needed vacation.¡±
Immediately Maya¡¯s expression grew unreadable. ¡°We agreed the wager was non-binding.¡±
¡°You were about to ask for the guarantee in writing, were you not?¡±
¡°¡Yes.¡± Maya hesitated, looking it over.
Ozra leafed to the end of her contract and signed it, then stood from the table, stretching out his arms ¡°Well, this has been fun. Really ought to do this more. My devout are more than competent, but delegating everything is so boorish.¡± He looked at me and grinned. ¡°For that matter, I need to get changed. If I get too lost in the weeds and miss the main event, I¡¯d never forgive myself.¡±
¡°The King is more clever than he appears.¡± I warned. ¡°All it will take is a single misstep, and he will know the truth of it.¡±
¡°Then I will strive for the straight and narrow path.¡± Ozra winked. ¡°So. Which of your companions will be joining me, for this doomed mission?¡±
213. Gil I
¡°It seems your prediction was correct, my lord. The prince has led the bulk of his regiment to the warehouse district in Topside.¡± Thaddeus reported, arms wreathed in the sleeves of his robe.
The King of Uskar stroked his beard, not particularly pleased at the news. It was often a great pleasure to fool one¡¯s enemies. But fooling one¡¯s heir, and so easily at that? The disappointment outweighed the pleasure. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but a sense of wariness washed over him. Multiple scouts reported the boy prioritizing brutal efficiency over honor during his recent mock battle. On one such occasion, he¡¯d even stooped so low as to pose as a simple soldier, using deceit to make up for the numbers advantage. In Gil¡¯s previous estimation, his heir was far better suited to the role of a general rather than a prince. But now, it seemed like even that no longer held true.
Like so many other so-called tacticians who lost their edge the moment battle turned personal.
¡°And there¡¯s confirmation they saw his face?¡± Gil questioned. ¡°He wasn¡¯t wearing a helmet, or obscured by his troops?¡±
¡°Multiple eye-witnesses confirmed it, my lord.¡±
This wasn¡¯t how it was supposed to go. Gil had even lingered, taking his time unseating the elf banner-lord to select a group of men from his pre-existing honor guard, releasing a few with problematic egos for trumped up infractions. But now, even the meager force he¡¯d gathered seemed excessive. Dagon, captain of the black shields, trailed behind him, crimson mage¡¯s robes modified around his chest plate.
¡°Captain.¡± Gil called him.
¡°Yes, my lord?¡± Dagon sidled up beside him, maneuvering the chestnut war horse deftly.
¡°Go home. Eat dinner. Fuck your wife.¡±
His captain tilted his head in confirmation. ¡°Don¡¯t need me?¡±
Gil shook his head. ¡°Or your section. There is no battle to be had. Only a child who will not be spared the rod.¡±
¡°Fair enough.¡± Dagon sighed, staring up at the sky. ¡°Guess I can sit out discipline duty. Plus the market¡¯s still open. Quality cuts might not be picked over yet.¡±
Gil looked to Thaddeus, grinding his teeth in displeasure. ¡°Much as I hate to say it, House Westmore will need to be handled through more subtle means. Wait until the princess is dispatched. Then gut them. Make sure whoever is promoted from within the house understands their place.¡±
¡°Are you¡ certain that¡¯s wise?¡± Thaddeus hesitated as he spoke. Still lingering, Dagon gently yanked the reins, forcing the horse to maintain some distance from the spymaster. ¡°Obviously, you are more than capable of handling the boy, his regiment likely too green and spread out around the district to react in time. But he is not the only threat.¡±
¡°Someone keeping you up at night, spymaster?¡± Gil groused, too annoyed with the way things were shaping up to give Thaddeus¡¯s mothering his full attention.
As always, Thaddeus latched on to the opportunity. ¡°Currently, there are two individuals that give reason for concern. The prince¡¯s infernal banner lieutenant, and his bodyguard.¡±
¡°Why does any of it matter if the regiment is as spread out as your people claim?¡±
¡°He¡¯s keeping both close at hand.¡±
Gil would begrudgingly admit he was slightly less versed in urban warfare, but only slightly. He could easily see that a warehouse was an ideal place to spring a trap. They were secure, sturdy buildings. All he needed to do was wait for his heir to grow preoccupied searching one. His men would hold the door, while he dealt with his errant spawn.
¡°Your concern is unnecessary. A silver sword and a stray mutt plucked from a refuse pile in the annals of Topside pose little threat to me.¡± Gil shook his head. This was all such a bother. Perhaps he should follow his own advice to his second. Come nightfall, Annette would be gone, married off to a second-rate house with nothing but her brother¡¯s incompetence to blame. That might be punishment enough for the failure.
¡°The bodyguard I cannot speak for, other than a few scattered rumors that give pause.¡± Beads of sweat collected on Thaddeus¡¯s brow. ¡°However, I would caution against underestimating the silver sword. The infernal is notorious for his time in the plains.¡±
¡°And why haven¡¯t I heard of him?¡± Gil asked, growing less interested by the second.
¡°A combination of factors, I suspect, largely stemming from his race and low-birth. Were Sevran human, I believe he would have his own regiment by now. In terms of martial prowess with a spear, it is possible he is the best we have. Both he and the bodyguard are staying close to the Prince. If my liege intends to force a close confrontation, you will likely have to contend with all three. But Sevran may use the opportunity to¡ escalate grievances.¡±
There was an idea. Cairn had handled himself well during their earlier altercation. He made no attempt to fight a superior warrior on even-footing. In some ways, Gil lauded the pragmatism of it. But what if, instead, Cairn¡¯s back was against the wall, bolstered by a powerful warrior and whatever the hells the bodyguard was? Maybe then, he could finally see it. The iron that even now, from Whitefall to the Enclave and beyond, was slowly giving birth to legend.
Even now, the possibility interested him. This might not be a complete waste after all.
¡°Where¡¯s the diplomat?¡±
¡°No one¡¯s seen her.¡± Thaddeus answered. ¡°She was sighted accompanying his regiment for a brief time, then disappeared.¡±
¡°Still has enough cunning to realize he needs to keep her out of harm¡¯s way. Hasn¡¯t completely lost his mind.¡±
A silence went by before Dagon spoke up. ¡°So, am I going to the market or¡¡±
¡°Leave.¡± Gil commanded, and Dagon went.
/////
Taking the warehouse was a simple matter. The hardest part¡ªfighting their way through the bulk of the mixed regiment and getting him inside¡ªwas already done. With that milestone accomplished, the black shields were experienced in maintaining a foothold rooted in hostile ground, and on average, his soldiers were simply more experienced than his son¡¯s. Numbers mattered more, but they were evenly matched on that front, and the experience showed through.
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It was far too easy.
And while he¡¯d hoped the battle would ease his bloodlust, it simply wasn¡¯t the same. The dull thumps of blunted weapons didn¡¯t sing the same song as the razored steel they replaced.
The interior was dark, fraught with more shadows than light. On their approach most of the opposing soldiers had poured out of the warehouse. But there could be more, held in reserve.
However, if there was a trap¡ªany sort of cobbled together reversal¡ªGil believed there was less than twenty men to carry it out. Twenty seemed to be the magic number regarding the amount of fully armored men. Any more and he¡¯d already hear them, the subtle shifts in their armor, clinking scabbards, echoing in the black.
Less than twenty.
Gil left his retinue behind with instructions to keep watch at the door. It wasn¡¯t ego. Not exactly, though he was confident in his ability to overcome such a scant number. It was to drive the lesson home. Foreign royalty and leadership often performed poorly in battle. The King of Uskar had no such luxury. Perhaps if he could punctuate that fact, demonstrate how strong a leader must be, his son would finally understand that trickery and tactics did not make the whole.
A King was a force of nature, unstoppable, no matter the foes that plagued his path.
Gil stopped, cocking his head and listening. ¡°Is that a rat I hear, scurrying in the dark?¡±
Someone sprang from the shadows. Gil cursed and planted his feet. He¡¯d expected them to bide their time and wait for an opportunity. Instead, they were attacking before his eyes adjusted.
Sparks flew as blade impacted blade, illuminating a fierce visage for a split second before the blade pulled away, its bearing sliding back from the impact of the return stroke.
¡°Human. Better than an average mercenary. The mongrel.¡±
A half dozen vicious swings answered, each cloaked in darkness, giving him minimal time to react. He blocked each in kind, feeling a thrill as he allowed them to land as close to their intended targets as possible.
Underside of the arm, legs. Striking at the throat only after realizing the attack is unlikely to connect. Holding back. Well. That won¡¯t do at all.
¡°Much better than average,¡± King Gil grinned at the shadow, feeling the blood beginning to boil in his veins. ¡°But there¡¯s a bit of wasted motion holding you back. An islander, perhaps? Suppressing the clownish movements that plague your kind?¡±
The explosive response forced him to retreat a step, wincing at the sparking flares that punctuated every impact.
Definitely an islander.
¡°Tell me. Have your folk finally stopped shitting in bushes and wiping their asses with leaves? Or are they still the same savages they¡¯ve always been?¡±
The mongrel stopped. His face was wreathed in darkness, but Gil could feel his disdain. ¡°Are we primitive? Maybe. But none of us are animals enough to torture their own child.¡±
¡°I¡¯d never expect one as simple as you to understand the complexities of¡ª¡±
The attack from behind was a whisper. If the din outside the warehouse were any louder, it might have gone entirely unnoticed. Gil pivoted, moving on nothing but instinct as he spun, catching the heft of a spear tightly in his fist. The sharpened xescalt tip was a mere finger span from his face, dark metal glistening in the darkness.
Cold white spheres studied him from the darkness, detached and analytical.
Sevran, I presume.
Before he could so much as make a mocking rejoinder, the infernal pushed forward with a terse, brutal movement, nearly driving the point home. Gil slid back with a grunt.
So, Thaddeus was right. The infernal¡¯s fighting to kill.
Without hesitating, the mongrel footsteps padded pavement, intending to capitalize on the lapse in attention. Gil released the spear and skipped backwards, fully expecting the two of them to collide. Only to his shock, they didn¡¯t, passing each other effortlessly and ending up on opposite sides.
They¡¯re good.
The realization was as elating as it was irritating. Because, if the spymaster¡¯s report was correct, Cairn had won the loyalty of both largely through combat prowess. And while facing a pair of competent opponents who didn¡¯t cower at the thought of engaging the crown was a delight, he still nursed the ever-growing desire to see what his son could really do. While his idiot daughter¡¯s resistance to questioning was unfortunate, it meant that all the pieces were there. The berserker rage of the Northmen was rooted in Cairn just as deeply as it was rooted in himself. Gil could see it when Cairn talked about the arch-mage, the way the embers of hatred burned in his very soul. Only he was hesitant to lose himself in it. Every time he fought, he seemed so committed to remaining in complete control that he ended up holding himself back.
Clinging to outdated ideals of decency.
If he could break Cairn of his reluctance, the boy could be a force to be reckoned with. Untouchable. This most recent setback with the commoner wench in the graveyard would be nothing more than wood tossed on a blazing bonfire. Losing the younger princess would still be unfortunate. Necessary, but unfortunate. It was an uneven trade and there was nothing Gil hated more than to be on the losing side of an exchange.
But an heir that could topple empires beat the loss of an odd daughter unfit for politics or combat any day. Securing that would be worth almost any sacrifice.
The mongrel and the infernal were moving faster now. There was a synchronicity between them that felt spontaneous, as if they¡¯d only just discovered it. If Gil had to guess, they hadn¡¯t fought together much before today.
Better to put a stop to that now.
King Gil changed tact, minimizing pointless exchanges that accomplished little and giving ground, shifting his position, forcing them to come within close proximity of each other. Eventually one of them would strike the other, and their uniformity would be broken. This sort of thing wouldn¡¯t work with a disciplined line of spearmen, or squad of soldiers, but it was an excellent way to drive a wedge between two warriors.
Only, it didn¡¯t work.
The mongrel was a wild dog, biting at every feigned opening, recovering quickly enough to escape the follow-up. But the infernal was his shadow. His dark armor in the low-light condition made him difficult to track. More impressively, he was always there, spear coiled and ready to strike the moment the mongrel needed to recover. Again, Thaddeus was correct. If they¡¯d lined up and fought him tournament style, the infernal would be the better fighter. His motions, while simple, had a certain flair to them that only the most experienced spear fighters used, adding up to give each strike an astonishing amount of force considering the weak nature of the weapon that delivered it.
How long has it been since a mere two men posed a challenge for me?
His mouth split wide, and he smiled despite himself. Against all odds this had turned out to be entirely worth his time. And his son hadn¡¯t even shown his face yet.
Probably hanging back and letting these two wear me down.
Though his first instinct was to find that cowardly, it wasn¡¯t a terrible strategy. Cairn was strong, but he had hardly finished developing. He had the stamina of youth on his side, yet it would take a great many battles before he was fully battle-hardened. And Gil knew, from minute changes in their reaction-times and counters, that these two would tire long before he himself did.
Without even the slightest shift as warning, Gil shot forward, leveraging the full-strength of his muscled body, ducking beneath the spear-tip that lashed out after him and charged the mongrel, knocking his sword aside and grabbing him by the neck, lifting the man¡¯s weight as if it was nothing and continuing to run, eventually slamming the mutt into the warehouse wall with a resounding clang.
The mongrel grunted, sliding to the floor and coughing. The scent of fear filled the air, Gil laughed, raising his blade.
And brought it down.
214. Gil II
Like clockwork, the spearman was there to ward off the killing stroke. Only he¡¯d played the support role too well. Effective, but predictable.
Gil roared, gripping the hilt of his massive blade tightly and changing direction at the last second, slamming it into the infernal¡¯s plate. The banner lieutenant¡¯s white eyes widened a moment before collision and he braced, lowering his arm, expertly spreading the impact between gauntlet and chest plate, the defused force still enough to send him sliding backward, one hand pressed to the ground to keep from toppling over. The spear skittered to the side, spinning off into the shadows. The infernal¡¯s primary arm dangled uselessly.
¡°Going back on your terms. I should not be surprised,¡± Sevran observed, speaking for the first time.
¡°What choice did I have? Untreated steel was no longer an option. Your captain made that explicitly clear.¡± Gil smirked, listening as the mongrel behind him struggle to stand. As soon as he heard the man¡¯s feet take purchase, he slammed an elbow backward, feeling a rush as hard leather impacted soft flesh. The mongrel toppled, and for the moment at least, did not get up again.
¡°Difficult to believe the armory did not house even one tempered, blunted blade in your preferred configuration.¡±
¡°Speaking of which, where is your captain?¡± King Gil said, observing the infernal¡¯s reaction. ¡°Up in the rafters, perhaps? Lurking on one of those tall shelves near the back?¡±
¡°He isn¡¯t here.¡± The mongrel grunted. Somehow, he¡¯d stood and moved out of reach, though from the sound of his speech and breathing, his nose was broken. ¡°You¡¯re wasting your time.¡±
¡°Hm?¡± Gil hefted his sword, giving it a casual swing. ¡°That¡¯s unfortunate.¡± He looked up, feigning sudden remembrance. ¡°Come to think of it, you¡¯ve both spent some time with the princess recently.¡±
¡°Alten did. My experience was limited to witnessing the chaos her illusions wrought.¡±
¡°Tougher than any kid has a right to be.¡± Alten confirmed as he wiped his face on his shoulder. ¡°Let alone a princess.¡±
¡°So it seemed.¡± Gil agreed. ¡°From the day Annette tore her way out of the queen, she never cried. Punishment and correction never phased her. A complete departure from my older children. At first I thought it nothing, a manifestation of winter¡¯s blood.¡± He studied his blade with distaste. ¡°It took some time to comprehend that it was not merely her sorrow that was muted. And what I had believed¡ªperhaps hoped¡ªto be strength was little more than masked frailty.¡±
Showing his experience, the infernal had guessed what he was doing, and held his silence. But the mongrel did not.
¡°Because she lacked a warrior¡¯s fire?¡± Alten asked, his tone flat.
¡°No. Because she held no fire at all.¡± King Gil¡¯s mouth tightened in disgust. ¡°No matter how much knowledge she consumed and technical prowess she attained, there¡¯s never been so much as a single drop of passion in her blood. She is a walking husk. And that has always been her way. So when I informed her of the decision, I expected little reaction, if any.¡± He leered into the darkness towards the back of the warehouse, where his heir was undoubtedly hiding. ¡°Imagine my surprise when she tried so desperately to change my mind. Begged me to reconsider. Had I been at all unsure in my decision, it would have been solidified in an instant, given the way she wept when I denied her. Perhaps the queen bore an indiscretion. Such a pathetic child could never be mine.¡±
King Gil leaped back, sensing the projectile long before he saw it. Air compressed into the form of an arrow rocketed into the hard ground and rebound, homing towards him. The spell rebound at an angle so fortuitous it had to be intentional and Gil raised a gauntlet to shield his head, absorbing the impact effortlessly.
Sevran dashed for his spear while Alten rushed forward.
Only, Gil wasn¡¯t concerned with Alten anymore. He spun, turning to face the figure that landed behind him, marveling at the malevolence and rage.
¡°If you wanted to die so badly, there are easier ways to go about it.¡± Cairn snarled. His mother¡¯s eyes were gone, replaced with those of a monster¡¯s, one iris glowing blue, the dark pupil it housed a dark slit. The same way he¡¯d been at the gravesite. Only now it was harnessed, directed. Terrifying. The potential Gil saw in this version of his son was fathomless.
Now. How to direct it?
Gil frowned as he took a step to the left and trapped the bodyguard¡¯s sword beneath his armpit, waited for the lull between efforts, and released, driving his elbow into the man¡¯s forehead without giving him so much as a glance. The resulting thud of a body hitting the ground confirmed he¡¯d struck home, and the king barely heard it.
It would be a decade of battlefield experience and dedicated physical training before Cairn had even the slightest chance of winning such a direct engagement. His magic wasn¡¯t enough. The gulf was simply too wide. It went without question that the potential was there. If he¡¯d had the same upbringing as Gil himself, there was a good chance Cairn might have already reached the point he wouldn¡¯t even need the underlings to eke out a win. But his mother had coddled him. Threatened her own life and that of the child in her belly. For all his grand battles, and strategic victories, and military excellence, it was the one fight Gil had lost.
And now the son she¡¯d tried so desperately to protect paid the price.
He spoke, still enraptured by the brutality in his son¡¯s gaze. ¡°Everything I¡¯ve done, I¡¯ve done for the good of the kingdom.¡±
A sword answered, singing death, arcing towards his neck. He knocked it away, appreciating that the boy had finally started focusing on more vital targets.
What he didn¡¯t see coming was the dagger. Cairn had concealed it well until the last possible moment, flicking his wrist and bringing the lowhil weapon to a forward grip seconds before the blade made purchase. It bit into his chest plate, digging in right beneath the breastbone, and Gil smiled grimly, feeling the dagger¡¯s tip pierce his underlying skin.
¡°Is that what you said to Annette? To Sera?¡± Cairn growled. In an insane gambit, he dropped his blade and gripped the dagger with both hands, attempting to push it further rather than disengage. Gil¡¯s eyes widened and gripped the dagger by the blade. The edge cut into his leather-gilded fingers.
¡°Your sisters have always held an overly-inflated view of their own worth. The eldest made a rout inquiry far more difficult than it needed to be. And the youngest? Well. Smart as she is, she really should have seen this coming a long time ago.¡±
A surge of furious intent filled Gil with alarm. Every honed instinct told him an attack was coming, but from where? Cairn¡¯s dagger was trapped. Was there another hidden blade, a spell from one of his many inscriptions? Or would it be that absurdly strong left fist again?
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What would I do?
Gil tucked his chin and leaned forward, shielding the softer target and allowing his son¡¯s forehead to slam against his own. To Cairn¡¯s credit, he didn¡¯t recoil. He remained planted in place, still pushing. His soul-vitiated eye burned, a finger¡¯s span away.
For just a moment, the king faltered. It was as if he¡¯d spent his entire life slogging through knee-high snow, constantly on the verge of freezing to death, trudging towards some forgotten destination he¡¯d lost all hope of ever seeing. And now, before him, there was a hearth. It was mostly ash, and what little was left of the flame burned dimly. But it was there. And he wanted to protect that flame. Nurture it, until it burned through the clouds that stretched horizon to horizon.
With all his heart.
Gil drove a knee upwards. His son finally released the dagger, cushioning the impact and scampered backwards towards his sword. He hesitated. When Gil nodded, Cairn slid his boot beneath the hilt of his weapon and kicked it up into his hands. Slowly, and far more focused than before, Gil held his blade before him. It was not an equal match. But the boy was an opponent worth taking seriously. Unfortunately, that meant once the others reentered the fray this would end. Quickly. He needed to make the best use of the time that they had left.
¡°If you take only one lesson from the conflict, let it be this.¡± Gil leveled the blade at Cairn. ¡°You are not solely at fault for today¡¯s failure.¡±
Cairn¡¯s eyebrows furrowed. ¡°The game is still undecided.¡±
¡°Soon, it will be.¡±
¡°If your intent is to disparage my men¡ª¡±
¡°The fault is mine.¡± Gil murmured. The words stunned his son to silence. He continued, struggling to communicate what he felt. ¡°Not long after my coronation, I pondered what would happen when the end of my reign came to pass. I knew I would expand our borders, annex weaker powers, and strengthen our holdings. That was inevitable. But I also knew that none of it mattered a single golden rod if the King that came after was too weak to hold the spoils. For the first time I could remember, I felt fear.¡± He stared at his son. ¡°Everything you¡¯ve accomplished, everything I¡¯ve witnessed leads to one definitive conclusion: You will be strong enough. And to simply maintain the status quo, strength is all that is required.¡±
¡°Then¡ª¡±
¡°But strength is not all there is. It is foundational, and necessary, and the gods help any king without it, but it is not the end.¡± Gil smiled. ¡°I had to be strong, boy. It was my only path forward. Cunning has been my ally, but in the end, it only serves to facilitate strength. I keep whispering sycophants like Thaddeus around for a reason. Because while I am cunning, cleverness never came naturally to me. Not like you.¡± His smile faded. ¡°Never lose that in your anger. A king capable of upholding both in equal measure¡ªstrength, and cleverness¡ªwould surpass me so vastly I cannot fathom the gulf.¡±
Understanding dawned in Cairn¡¯s expression, followed by horror. ¡°Annette was never in Topside. That¡¯s why you¡¯re saying all of this.¡± He looked away, mouth tight. ¡°And now we¡¯ve lost the initiative.¡±
It would be so easy to give him a second chance. His original plans were already ruined, so House Westmore would remain. They would make a fuss, but in the end, they would bend their knee, just as they always had. Thaddeus probably already had a plan for that if Gil went that route. But if he caved, the lesson would not be learned. ¡°There must always be consequences for failure, son. But know that I take no joy¡ª¡±
THUNK
King Gil keeled forward, seeing stars, an aching warmth spreading up the back of his skull. Beside him a spear bounced to the ground, pointing off to the side. The filthy fucking infernal. How dare he.
Gil spun, closing the gap at a dead sprint, wrapping his fist around the creature¡¯s throat. A sneer split his lips as it attempted to break his grip, violet skin turning white. ¡°Perhaps I¡¯ve been too lenient. Just because your kind is allowed to squat in our lands, eat our food, and shelter beneath our rooftops, does not mean that allowance cannot be rescinded. Know. Your. Place.¡±
He bore down as the infernal struggled, shrugging off the bodyguard as the man tried to pull him off. ¡°Stay back, mongrel.¡±
¡°My lord, please! He was just doing as the prince¡ª¡±
Gil was done. Done with all these upstarts, and self-important commoners, and Demi-humans, and islanders that didn¡¯t know their place. They¡¯d crossed a line, and while a small voice whispered through the fog of his rage that this would only make his son hate him more, it could not be ignored.
Hands seized him from behind, attempting to loosen his grip.
¡°Do not interfere!¡± Gil spun, releasing the infernal swinging viciously at the bodyguard, fully intending to part the man¡¯s head from his shoulders. The man stepped backward at the last moment, his expression shocked.
Because it was not the bodyguard. It was his son.
What?
No. That was wrong. It had to be wrong. He was so sure it¡¯d been the bodyguard. But there he was, standing off to the side unharmed.
¡°Boy.¡± Gil trailed off, his jaw working furiously.
A line of red appeared across Cairn¡¯s throat. He staggered backward, hands clutching at his neck as crimson gushed through them. The bodyguard and infernal both dashed to his side, attempting to aid.
¡°Keep pressure on the wound.¡± Sevran commanded, ¡°We need a healer.¡±
Alten shook his head, doing as instructed, grimacing. ¡°No time¡ª¡±
¡°Where¡¯s the diplomat?¡± Gil asked, still not able to comprehend what had just happened. One moment he was counseling his son and now¡ ¡°Her magic will save him. Where is she?!¡±
¡°Across the damn city.¡± Alten grunted. ¡°Stashed for her own safety. The prince believed she¡¯d be targeted if she was present.¡±
There was so much blood. With nothing to soak into, it spread across the stone, pooling around the boy¡¯s head. The din of battle outside swelled, becoming loud, almost unbearable.
Gil¡¯s hands clenched into fists and turned toward the fortified door and bellowed. ¡°STAND DOWN. EVERY FUCKING ONE OF YOU, STAND DOWN.¡±
Though the fighting slowed, it did not stop. That was unacceptable. They heard the command and did not obey. Gil¡¯s face screwed up in anger, and he cracked his knuckles, preparing to emphasize the order with force.
Something caught his boot. He looked down to see his son¡¯s bloody gauntlet, fingers wrapped around his heel. A little to the right of them were words scrawled in blood, short sentences hastily written.
acting on my orders
Sevran too
only chance we had
don¡¯t punish them
please
As he absorbed the words, Gil felt the fight go out of him. Unsure what was taking the infernal so long, he bellowed again. ¡°Get a healer in here now!¡±
But he knew how pointless it was. With that wound, an entire regiment of healers wouldn¡¯t make a difference. His son was already dead.
There were many things he needed to do, matters to attend to. The boy had instilled real loyalty with these men, and they would not take this loss lightly. A mutinous regiment was a great threat to any monarchy, let alone one that existed within the walls of its capital city. So he needed to¡ª
He needed to...
What, exactly?
Surely there was something he was overlooking. But even as he thought this, the fog that settled over his mind grew thicker, and he left the bodyguard behind, unbidden long strides carrying him out of the building and into the afternoon sun.
Despite knowing that this would not go unanswered, that he needed to move quickly to stamp out any embers of rebellion that resulted from this debacle before they caught, he felt the exhaustion return. The same persistent feeling of tiredness that had stemmed from his last campaign, long before his son¡¯s disappearance on the road from the Everwood.
None of this was supposed to happen.
An indeterminate amount of time later, feet tiring from the march to nowhere, King Gil scoffed. It didn¡¯t make sense. The boy had visions of the future so specific he could stop a plague before it happened, citing the exact ingredients. He couldn¡¯t see everything, of course. But the gods were notoriously sloppy.
There was a small part of him that wanted to uncover which god, specifically, had failed his son, and find a way to wage a war that reached the heavens. But there was only one person to blame.
King Gil looked down at the blood on his hands.
And found it gone.
215. Fracture XX
¡°It is done,¡± Vogrin said.
¡°Quick.¡± Sera frowned. ¡°Maybe a little too quick. I know you¡¯re the favorite, but I can¡¯t help but wonder how much time it will take him to put it together.¡±
¡°It won¡¯t be long.¡± I reached down to rub the shadow panther¡¯s face and was rewarded with a deep rumbling purr. ¡°A few hours at most before he either thinks through it or decides it doesn¡¯t matter. Maybe less than that before one of Thaddeus¡¯s countless ears catch word and tell him I¡¯m alive and nowhere near Topside.¡± I pointed to the training doll and spoke in Panthanian. ¡°Hold and threaten.¡±
Like a doused torch, Kerai¡¯s demeanor flipped cold, a meanness coming into his visage before he¡¯d even turned around. When he did, he was a blur, claws clicking on dappled wood in a rapid staccato as he rushed across the room in a blur and leapt, sinking its teeth into the arm and tackling the dummy off its girder. Loud growls and intermittent shakes alternated, intended to keep the target occupied.
¡°Halt.¡±
Immediately Kerai stopped, intelligent golden eyes shining with interest. They seemed to say ¡°let me do it, let me do it.¡±
¡°Release.¡±
Kerai opened his mouth and dropped the arm, releasing it with an audible plop.
¡°Heel.¡±
Again, the obedience was instantaneous, though he seemed less thrilled with the command as he came to rest at my side. I scratched him behind the ears until he purred again. There were enough people packed into surroundings to make the spacious noble¡¯s home seem cramped. Beside me, Lord Erebus reached in his pocket and retrieved something, holding his arm out. The abyssal panther snapped the treat from his fingers immediately, watching the creature with fascination.
¡°Appreciate you training him. I¡¯ve been¡ rather busy since my return.¡± Across the room, I caught Maya¡¯s eye and gestured for her to come over.
Erebus chuckled. ¡°If I were at all interested in playing the noble game, I¡¯d use this opportunity to subtly communicate how difficult it was to tame a full grown wildcat in an attempt to curry favor. But in truth, he was easy.¡±
¡°And my respect for you grows. Also, it makes little difference to me either way so long as it¡¯s a language I¡¯m capable of speaking, but why Panthanian?¡± I asked. The panther padded over to Maya as she approached and nuzzled her leg.
¡°It¡¯s a good second language for any noble¡ªas you know, given that you speak it.¡±
¡°Not particularly well, but yes.¡±
¡°It is my husband¡¯s native tongue.¡± Erebus shrugged. ¡°One day we were arguing¡ªharmless banter, nothing serious¡ªand we noticed we had an observer very interested in every word.¡± He glanced down at the panther, who was clearly enjoying Maya¡¯s affections. ¡°Leo told him to stop gawking and go put his nose in the corner. Confused the hells out of both of us when he actually did.¡±
¡°Odd. I always thought he was unnaturally attentive to Common.¡± I turned to the panther.
¡°True.¡± Maya agreed. ¡°There were times I¡¯d rant to him on the way out of the Everwood, and he seemed to genuinely understand me.¡±
Erebus nodded. ¡°This is not uncommon for big cats. If you hold their interest and respect, they are naturals at interpreted body language and repetitive verbiage. But this level of comprehension is entirely different. We tested him extensively at great length. He understands complex combinations of words and can carry out equally difficult commands with shocking proficiency.¡±
¡°So it follows that he was previously trained, and whoever his master was spoke Panthanian.¡± I mused.
¡°That seems to be the case.¡± Erebus¡¯s brow wrinkled. ¡°Though how a Panthanian fluent, exhaustively trained animal came to dwell in the Everwood is beyond me.¡±
¡°It¡¯s a common second language among the educated. There are even a few infernal tutors in the Sanctum that will teach it¡ªthough they don¡¯t see many students.¡± Maya said, rising from a knee. ¡°If Kerai was trained for defense purposes¡ª¡±
¡°He almost certainly was.¡± Erebus agreed. ¡°There are far less risky animals to work with for nobles who want exotic pets that look intimidating.¡±
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¡°Then it makes sense to train him in something other than Common, no? You¡¯d be able to command him in a crisis with less worry that those commands were understood.¡±
Erebus rubbed his chin. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s a recurring school of thought. But if you were going to make such an investment, it seems a waste to do so in Panthanian. Something more cryptic and obscure would serve better in that regard. My guess¡ªjust judging from his extensive vocabulary¡ªis that his previous master was a native speaker. Which leaves us with a far more puzzling picture.¡± He turned to me, clearly irritated. ¡°Are you sure you do not wish for my house¡¯s assistance in this matter?¡±
I shook my head. ¡°You¡¯ve already been a boundless resource. I couldn¡¯t possibly ask for more.¡±
¡°That would not chafe so badly if House Westmore did not reside half a mile down the street, and you were not already tapping House Vasemoux for aid.¡± Erebus said.
¡°It is a matter of caution, my lord.¡± Maya chimed in, slipping into her practiced political demeanor easily. ¡°With the combined aid of the remaining regiment and House Vasemoux, we have all the resources we need for this encounter. Revealing you as an existing ally could potentially put us at a disadvantage in the future.¡±
She was leaving out, of course, that events over the last few hours had a high chance of sending my father into a rage. By far the riskiest part of this plan, and most dangerous. The king didn¡¯t respond well to being tricked. The less people I could present to him to punish, the better.
¡°Intimidation is paramount. You realize it¡¯s what this plan of yours comes down to, correct?¡± Erebus looked between us. ¡°And House Westmore does not respond to intimidation well. They will stall, and they are accustomed to stalling such matters for months, while you are limited to hours.¡±
Maya and I exchanged a look.
¡°We¡¯ve got something for that. They¡¯ll break.¡± I said.
Erebus breathed a frustrated sigh. ¡°I¡¯ll admit, I cannot see it.¡± He regarded us thoughtfully. ¡°But perhaps the mild-mannered prince has another side yet to reveal. Do remember that your actions here will be poured over by the other houses and considered in their future dealings with you.¡±
I felt Sera watching me, as I answered. ¡°I¡¯ll take that under advisement. But I have a feeling there won¡¯t be many rumors, coming out of House Westmore at least.¡±
Erebus nodded grimly. I let him draw his own conclusions, knowing the result was likely to surprise him. He wished us luck, bowed, and excused himself. I looked around, knowing full-well it might be the last time I saw this iteration of my allies. Maya appeared as confident and unbothered as always. But her stone face was a facade. It had been her idea, and she¡¯d readily agreed to play the part, but I knew how it must wear on her.
A few span to his left, Kilvius was ready. Though he was lounging on a couch, feet up on an ottoman, I could see it in the tension in his muscles. He felt coiled like a spring. The end result would benefit him more than anyone, and once he¡¯d realized that, his reservations toward me seemed to disappear.
Mari and Zin whispered to each other in the corner, frequently glancing at me, faces filled with the gaunt shadows of concerned lieutenants. It was no small thing, going up against a noble house, largely because the consequences of such a conflict could extend far beyond the initial clash. I could only hope I¡¯d inspired enough loyalty for them to stay the course.
Only Sera seemed truly unsettled. She¡¯d been quiet ever since we¡¯d hammered out the details, and was looking at me strangely, waiting for a moment to talk to me. Maya seemed to pick up on this and took her leave, calling for Kerai to follow her. I watched as she joined Mari and Zin, introducing them to the animal and derailing the conversation.
The thought occurred to me that I needed to do something nice for her, after this. She¡¯d slipped into the role of my right hand so effortlessly and smoothly that sometimes I forgot everything she was doing. Working in the background, evaluating allies, shielding me from countless threats.
¡°Cairn.¡± Sera rubbed her arm. ¡°I¡¯m not sure that I can do this.¡±
¡°That¡¯s alright.¡± I nodded slowly. ¡°I¡¯ve said it before but it bears repeating. You¡¯re your own person. You can opt out of whatever you¡¯re not comfortable with at any time.¡±
My sister scowled. ¡°No, that¡¯s not¡ªAnnoying little shit that she is, I do want to help Annette. And I¡¯m going to try. I¡¯m just not sure if I can.¡±
¡°Why?¡±
¡°Because something about it feels wrong. I know they¡¯re slavers and criminals, but still. Slaying your enemy in battle is the natural order. This by comparison feels¡¡±
¡°Evil?¡± I prompted.
¡°Yes.¡± Sera admitted.
¡°If it makes you feel any better, it¡¯s not exactly a tactic I came up with off the top of my head.¡± I mused. ¡°It was someone else¡¯s. Used to devastating effect. And she wasn¡¯t pulling her punches. It might seem extreme, but Erebus is right. At this moment they feel safe. Naturally, they¡¯re more scared of the king than they are of me. We need to correct that, quickly. Make them feel desperate from the jump. Layering shock after shock makes it difficult to think, stops anyone in leadership from scheming their way out.¡±
There was a long hesitation. ¡°Only one, right?¡±
I nodded. ¡°Zin will handle the other. You can just stand there and look intimidating. After the opening moves, no one will be thinking too hard about the magic at play.¡±
¡°How do I stand?¡±
I nearly laughed, suppressing it at the last second. This side of Sera was entirely new. I wasn¡¯t sure when she¡¯d lost her ego or how temporary it was, but if she was willing to learn, I was more than willing to teach.
¡°Stand up straight, now stoop from your shoulders.¡± I studied her. The harrowed expression she¡¯d been carrying since her rescue worked for her in the less refined posture, but she needed something more. ¡°May I?¡±
Sera nodded, grimacing as I messed up her hair, pulling her blonde bangs that typically framed the sides of her head in front of her face. With the grimace and hair, she looked unhinged, dangerous.
¡°Perfect.¡±
216. Fracture XXI
House Westmore¡¯s downfall was their hubris. They were proud of their gold and accomplishments, and had gone unchallenged for so long that they couldn¡¯t be bothered to keep a competent perimeter and patrols. Vogrin reported that they¡¯d sent much of their force away, padding the security around various warehouses and stockrooms in Topside, which played perfectly into our hands. The proximity of House Erebus worked to our advantage. We were able to approach from the back and chip away at them methodically, subduing patrols and small clusters of soldiers while avoiding direct conflict. Thirty men to their fifty and it was over in less than an hour.
And most of my regiment still wasn¡¯t using live steel.
Embarrassing, really, for an esteemed house. But these tactics were rarely used in human cities. Most northern lords were comfortable with more direct strategies, as what was lacking in magic was frequently made up for with the numbers of a superior force. So much so that they were immediately out of their element when that situation was reversed.
They only realized when it was already far too late.
Fifteen men hauled a felled tree, improvised as a battering ram. Absolutely unnecessary considering the multitude of large windows around the front and sides of the mansion, but the dramatic effect of a battering ram could not be understated. I looked back over my shoulder, squinting at the sun. It was growing lower at an alarming rate, signifying the time we had left. I¡¯d intended to do most of this inside the house. But now that I thought about it, they did have an east facing deck on the third story. The height would shield us from most prying eyes.
Cool fingers brushed the back of my hand, and I grasped them, looping Maya¡¯s hand into mine as the makeshift battering ram continued to hammer the door.
¡°You know this isn¡¯t healthy, right?¡± She murmured.
¡°It¡¯s the best way to resolve this bloodlessly. The resemblance is coincidental.¡± I shrugged.
Her hand tightened, and she shook her head. ¡°We made a promise. Don¡¯t do that with me. Lie to the others if you like. But not to me.¡±
I fought the urge to stall until the door broke down, to distance myself from her. The idea of opening up to anyone felt so difficult now. Even if it was Maya.
Every word was a struggle. ¡°Maybe if things were different, I could have come up with something else. But now, I see her everywhere. In the corner of reflections. Standing in the distance, mocking me. When I close my eyes. She¡¯s all I can think about. Might as well use that to my advantage.¡±
Her hand slid up my arm, holding it gently. ¡°If this is what you need, I¡¯m with you. Always. But it can¡¯t be like this forever.¡± She rested her head on my shoulder. ¡°It can¡¯t all be hate. There¡¯s no future in that. You need to heal.¡±
Just for Thoth to find a way to hurt me again?
The harsh sound of cracking wood drew our attention. Splinters flew from the next hit. The doors folded inward, revealing a flash of armor and drawn weapons within. The brief look revealed far fewer than I¡¯d expected.
¡°It¡¯s about that time.¡± I observed. ¡°Ready?¡±
¡°Yes.¡± Maya frowned, turning her focus towards the weakening door. Her entire demeanor changed, expression blanking, hollowing out. Almost identical to the way she looked the night I met her at the end of my first life. Intimidating as any arch-fiend.
The double doors shattered open.
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¡°Breach!¡± An officer bellowed, from the back. I activated the ten seeded sparks I¡¯d already maneuvered inside and targeted the officer and the front-line of guards first, setting metal and fire alike aflame. The guards broke ranks almost immediately, panicking, attempting to strip the inflamed apparel free before fire met flesh. I dug deep and unleashed my aura into the ambient mana, and the approaching back-line stopped mid-step, frozen in fear before my regiment washed over them like a wave of armored fists, most not even bothering to draw their weapons.
Two nobles with clear combat experience charged forward, faces mixed with fury and terror. That they hadn¡¯t frozen with the rest marked them as the sort of threat we didn¡¯t want to leave standing. I signaled to Sera and Alten.
Sera moved quickly, intercepting one and sliding a dagger into his guts. She left it there as instructed, watching mutely as he writhed before her on the ground, moaning. Zin cut the second from shoulder to hip. The man fell to the ground with a gasp. His wound bled immediately and must have been agonizing, but the actual damage done was mostly superficial.
The few remaining guards, nearly naked, quickly surrendered. They were forced to their knees alongside the handful of nobles that had simply frozen in place.
And then it was over.
A chuckle began in the back of my throat, growing into a cackle, loud and cruel. I held my face, like I was trying to keep it together. It felt less like playing a part, more like something deep within me was finally let loose on a worthy target. ¡°Is that it? Really? The last stand of House Westmore, and this is the best they can manage?¡±
I scowled at Maya. ¡°I thought this would be fun. Where are the rest?¡±
¡°Hidden away with the women and children, most likely.¡± Maya answered, monotone. ¡°A few squads are searching the house, my prince. We¡¯ll find them soon.¡±
¡°Good.¡± I spun the sword-breaker in my hand, studying the blade. ¡°We don¡¯t have much time to spare. I¡¯d hate to miss someone.¡±
A voice boomed out from the central stairway. ¡°Is this the true face of Cairn, son of Gil? Another tyrant that consumes his allies?¡± A man with gray hair and a full beard descended the stairs with one hand on the bannister. He had a proud bearing, and his expression was more furious than fearful. I¡¯d seen him a few times over the years, though he was notoriously closed off.
Balan, Patriarch of House Westmore.
¡°At your service,¡± I bowed and looked up at him with a grin. ¡°If I was my father, you would have been the first to die.¡±
¡°I see no dead men.¡± Balan scoffed as he continued his descent, stepping over small clusters of flame I suppressed. ¡°What I see is mercy.¡± He pointed to the line of kneeling men. ¡°The soldiers and mercenaries you savaged are bruised and battered, but otherwise unharmed. Not a single corpse among them. My nephews are worse off.¡± He spared a glance for the two felled nobles bleeding on the floor. ¡°But their wounds are treatable. Especially with the resources at our disposal.¡± He stood in front of me and crossed his arms. ¡°And I suspect those resources factor into this show of restraint.¡±
¡°There¡¯s not been much bloodshed, yet. That much is true.¡± I scanned the room behind me. ¡°Unlike my predecessor I dislike killing soldiers for their orders. Better to slit the throats that gave them, first.¡± I frowned. ¡°But I see how that could be misconstrued. Hmm. Not really the first impression I wanted. Should I start with him?¡± I strode across the room to the noble with the knife in his belly, hoisting him up by the neck with my left arm and pressing the edge of my dagger to his throat, staring at Balan over his shoulder, daring him to speak.
I played the part required drawing from within more than any external action. I had no intention of killing the nephew. But I needed to believe I did, more than I¡¯d ever believed anything in my life. I thought of Thoth, the pure malevolence that radiated, stemming from the confidence of knowing how badly this would end for anyone other than her.
If Balan escalates, even for a second¡ª
¡°Perhaps¡ª¡± He cut off, the first shadow of doubt flickering in his eyes as he held out a hand. ¡°Perhaps instead, we should start by discussing what exactly it is that you want.¡±
¡°No longer interested in testing my resolve?¡± I grinned wickedly.
He shook his head. ¡°Negotiations are the groundwork of empires. Clearly, you¡¯re serious. And this conversation is long overdue. I intended to seek you out in the coming months to discuss the future of Whitefall and Uskar. If anything, you¡¯ve saved me time.¡±
All things considered, he was doing well. Better than I had. His refusal to beg allowed him to maintain a degree of power, even as the House literally burned down around him.
I hesitated, letting the knife linger. Then dropped the nephew and stared at him. ¡°Fine. I can be patient. Let¡¯s negotiate.¡±
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I made a post about what this means for Re:Monarch and Royal Road fiction in general, as well as more reasons to get excited about it. If you missed that post or want a refresher, you can find it here.
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This is a dream come true for me. And while I¡¯m thrilled, I¡¯m also a nervous wreck. Going to take a quick breather, and we¡¯ll resume the typical (atypical) posting schedule this Wednesday.
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217. Fracture XXII
¡°Beautiful view, isn¡¯t it?¡± Balan asked. Rather fortuitously, he¡¯d been the one to suggest the balcony. Same as the rest of the noble houses, his considerable estate sat near the highest point of the city, providing us with a bird¡¯s-eye-view of the sprawling valley of middle commons, the denizens of Topside and its more perilous infrastructure smaller than ants. He was taking this opportunity to seize control of the negotiations, and for the moment, I let him. The only tell that he was nervous at all was the rippling of his wine, the glass held in an otherwise steadfast hand. ¡°Truly the jewel of Uskar.¡±
¡°Built on the backs of the less fortunate.¡± I quipped, instilling apathy in my voice.
It was part of what made Thoth¡¯s demeanor work. I was sure of it. Violence and tragedy excited her. Everything else was boring. It forced whoever she was dealing with to hold the conflicting positions of attempting to keep her attention whilst simultaneously steering the discussion away from that which she desired most. In most cases it was a losing battle.
But Balan was unbothered. Unlike the many softer nobles, his wealth and success had been hard earned. Despicable trade and inhumane methods aside, he had managed to do what so many bandit kings and mercenary slavers hadn¡¯t¡ªspin the accumulated blood-wealth and resources into legitimacy. My father had always spoken poorly of him but did little else. And considering how often the King killed those who annoyed him, I was beginning to understand the reason.
¡°An odd observation coming from one benefitting so richly from the inequity they decry.¡± Balan cocked his head, then smiled ruefully. ¡°But there¡¯s truth to it. In any walk of life there are victors and victims. Winners and losers. And despite more modern concepts of fairness, it is unfortunately rare that a pivotal loss by one¡¯s ancestors does not incur a generational debt. Just as your father¡¯s many victories have won you the very privilege you loathe.¡±
The small part of me that wasn¡¯t completely immersed in the role was tempted to engage with him. He was clearly armoring up for a debate, seeding points to draw from later, outlining the inherent hypocrisy of my position. At the very least, it would have been interesting to see how he rationalized his position. But such an exercise would be pointless. His beliefs and mine¡ªat a fundamental level¡ªwere completely incompatible. He enslaved people and sold them for profit. The concept of slavery never felt right to me long before I¡¯d ever met a Demi-human.
It was better to play this Thoth¡¯s way.
I leaned back on my chair and tapped the stem of my untouched glass with the edge of the sword breaker, producing an idle ting. ¡°Did we come here to talk philosophy, or negotiate?¡±
Balan breathed a long-suffering sigh. ¡°We are negotiating. You started the conversation the moment you invaded my home.¡±
¡°Hm. Are you sure? There wasn¡¯t much talking involved.¡± I mused idly, tapping the glass again, enjoying the flash of irritation across his face.
To his credit, he didn¡¯t lose composure or lash out. Instead, he sat down across from me and steepled his fingers. ¡°Absolutely. The chosen method¡ªa violent incursion, conveys intent and gravity. It also serves as a cold reminder that you have a regiment of well-trained men under your command, and those men are loyal enough to follow even when led into an unsanctioned conflict with a powerful and well-connected noble house.¡± He hesitated for a half-second, then pressed on. ¡°The fact that there were no casualties in the conflict speaks to careful coordination and considerable restraint.¡±
¡°I thought it was mercy.¡±
Balan sat very still, then shook his head.
¡°No?¡± I goaded him.
¡°Even for someone of my experience, it¡¯s easy to conflate them.¡± Balan mused. ¡°They hold many similarities. But when you wrested my nephew from the ground and held the blade to his throat, I realized my mistake. No man¡ªeven one with aspirations of lenience¡ªwould place themselves in that position if there was even the slightest chance they¡¯d be forced to back down.¡±
¡°Maybe I¡¯m a gambler.¡± I rotated the sword breaker idly.
¡°I might have wondered the same.¡± Balan admitted. ¡°But there was no bluff in your eyes. Just challenge. One you genuinely hoped was tried and proven. Like your father in his golden era, you¡¯re a soldier. And there are two types of soldiers. Those who fell enemies because they are at war, and those who kill simply because it is required. You are the latter. And you would have slit that boy¡¯s throat in a second.¡±
My smile was brittle. ¡°Since we understand each other so well, perhaps we can reach an accord.¡±
¡°That is my hope.¡± Balan drained his glass and put it down, placing his palms flat on the table. ¡°So tell me, Cairn, Son of Gil. What is it you want?¡±
¡°An excellent vintage, a warm fire, and a woman on my arm.¡± I raised my glass in faux cheer, then dropped it. Glass shattered. Balan himself was impassive, but the pale-faced attendant beside him cringed. ¡°Most days, anyway. But today¡¯s a little different. This morning, I received some troublesome news.¡±
Balan nodded. ¡°The King warned you¡¯d be displeased with our arrangement and counseled caution. But I doubt even he foresaw how volatile the conflict would be.¡±
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¡°The fact that a man as unflappable as King Gil told you to watch your ass really should have been the first sign you were getting a raw deal.¡± I waved dismissively. ¡°But no matter. Now that I¡¯m here, I may as well attend to matters that should have been dealt with long ago.¡±
He frowned. ¡°That sounds broader reaching than I expected.¡±
¡°Indeed. But the list itself is rather short.¡± I held up a hand, raising a finger for each point. ¡°Something better than this swill you served me. Naturally, my sister¡¯s location. A definitive end to the practice of indentured servitude in Uskar.¡± I leaned forward. ¡°And of course, the dissolution and destruction of House Westmore.¡±
Behind me, there was an outburst of whispers amongst my regiment. Balan¡¯s expression grew more and more perplexed until he finally barked out a laugh, harsh sound stretching as it crescendoed into a guffaw. I watched coldly, maintaining stoicism until the man came back to himself. ¡°You¡ªyou can¡¯t be serious.¡±
¡°The man thinks I¡¯m funny.¡± I cocked my head towards where Maya stood beside me, her expression empty. ¡°Am I funny, Maya?¡±
¡°Completely humorless, my lord.¡± Maya deadpanned.
Balan¡¯s dumbstruck gaze bounced between us before it settled on me. ¡°Perhaps, considering you¡¯ve been away for some time, a quick review of local history is in order. When your father suddenly¡ªmany would argue haphazardly¡ªdecreed the end of slavery, it was chaos. Farmers found themselves suddenly unable to provide their goods to the masses. Good crop wilted on the vine. And it wasn¡¯t just them. Every industry was brought to the brink of collapse. The economy bottomed out, and for a very real moment, Uskar was on the brink of crisis.¡±
¡°Until House Westmore rode in on a white horse and saved us all from facing the consequences of our actions,¡± I mocked.
¡°I am not some egocentric sycophant looking to shout my House¡¯s many accomplishments from the rooftops. What I am, is a realist.¡± Balan rested his forehead on his palm for a moment before straightening up and looking me dead in the eye. ¡°And as a realist, I can tell you with nary a doubt in my mind that the path the king set us on with that decree was a road to ruin. Just as surely as I will state plainly that our widespread adoption of indentured servitude averted that path. The means of production and supply-lines have stabilized.¡±
¡°All it took was slapping a new label on an old practice.¡± I drummed my fingers on the table.
Balan¡¯s eyes-widened. ¡°On the contrary, your majesty. We found a better way. A method that not only provides a more rational framework for those employing an indentured, but the indentured themselves. There will always be individuals in this world who require a leading hand. It is the reason commoners will always need the noble class to guide them. And in return, we receive a much needed commodity.¡±
¡°Commodity¡¡± I rolled the word around in my mouth distastefully. Lillian¡¯s visage hovered in my mind¡¯s eye before I banished it. ¡°Production¡ supply-lines. You talk about them like they¡¯re not even capable of agency and thought. Just more gold padding your purse. But I suppose that¡¯s to be expected.¡±
¡°I speak of them kindly.¡±
¡°In the same manner one speaks of a prize cow set for slaughter. No matter. To reiterate, I have no interest in talking philosophy with you.¡± I leaned forward. ¡°Now. You already have my demands. The question is, what are you going to do about them?¡±
A mess of emotions, barely suppressed, played across his face before he settled into a blank expression. ¡°The last two items for ransom¡ª¡±
¡°The end of indentured servitude and dissolution of your house?¡± I poked at him.
¡°¡ªwill take a great deal of time to oversee.¡± He finished unhappily. ¡°And given the princess¡¯s rather imminent circumstances, I suggest we table the longer discussion for a later date.¡±
¡°How convenient.¡±
¡°In the meantime.¡± Balan emphasized through grit teeth, ¡°I will provide the princess¡¯s location as a show of good faith, alongside a gift, to signify that there is no bad blood between us. Whatever I stood to gain from the engagement is clearly not worth what I¡¯ll lose.¡±
¡°Hmm.¡± I rubbed my chin, then glanced up at Maya. Maybe it was petty, but Balan didn¡¯t seem to like it much when I included her in the conversation. ¡°How do we feel about gifts?¡±
¡°Depends on the gift.¡± Maya said blankly.
¡°True.¡± I turned back to Balan. ¡°Start with the location. Then I¡¯ll evaluate this¡ offering.¡±
Two of Balan¡¯s attendants exited the balcony and disappeared into the house, flanked by members of my regiment. His remaining attendant placed a piece of parchment and an ink quill on the table before him. Balan wrote, muttering as he did so. ¡°The princess is being kept in a nondescript building on the edge of Topside that houses some of our more precious goods in proximity to the southern exit.¡±
I thought back to Kilvius¡¯s ledger. There¡¯d been about fifteen listings, a reasonable number to memorize. And if memory served, there was only one listing at that location.
¡°Gold and furs, right?¡±
Balan stopped writing directions mid-sentence and slowly looked up. ¡°What?¡±
¡°The warehouse. House Westmore uses it to store gold surplus and furs. A small fortune¡¯s worth, if the books are accurate.¡± I asked again.
¡°How did you¡¡± He trailed off, paling, mouth working in a silent stammer. In the far distance a building was consumed in violet fire, flames reaching up towards the horizon where the sun was setting. Balan was many things, but he wasn¡¯t stupid. The moment I set the spurs to him he¡¯d started looking for an escape, and failing that, a way to stall until my father arrived to ¡®save him.¡¯ Like so many entitled lords, he was used to living in a world where people bent over backwards to please him, and he had all the time in the world to come up with a solution when faced with a problem he didn¡¯t like.
Now that I wasn¡¯t telling him what he wanted to hear, he was getting greedy, assuming my father would check me for overreach. For all I knew, he might have been right. And this was a straightforward method of communicating a simple truth.
Now that I wasn¡¯t telling him what he wanted to hear, he was getting greedy. Assuming my father would check me for overreach. For all I knew, he might have been right. And this was a straightforward method of communicating a simple truth.
Stalling would cost him everything.
¡°You¡¯re insane.¡± Balan whispered. Frail as he looked, even the slightest breeze might push him over the railing.
I steepled my fingers. ¡°Now. Let¡¯s try this again.¡±
218. Fracture XXIII
There were many requirements for a Lord of Balan¡¯s stature. Deference, a certain level of competence, and some key value that only they, as both a House and individual, could bring to the table. All of those elements were important. But there was another, less lofty talent, that was absolutely vital.
Knowing when to shut the fuck up.
Unfortunately, Balan was well studied in the practice. He understood that he¡¯d overestimated his ability to manipulate matters and that his current circumstances were dire. The consequences of his first attempt to lie to me¡ªthree darkening buildings, two of which were still burning brightly as the sun set¡ªwere swift and severe enough that he had no intention of trying again.
Despite that, his silence spoke an obvious truth. In his mind, going against my father was a more damning prospect than denying me. Something about the sudden inaction was almost disappointing. I figured he¡¯d have more. An angle to work. Maybe an ill-advised attempt to drive a wedge between the clearly fractured relationship between the king and his heir. But as the now gaunt-looking man stared through me, mouth pursed between bloodless cheeks, I knew his course. A pity, as Vogrin¡¯s spark bearing golems were arranged at most of the remaining storehouses.
¡°Nothing to say?¡± I prodded, taking the distraction to steel myself for what came next. ¡°Don¡¯t even want to shake your fist a little?¡±
Balan¡¯s face twitched in disgust. ¡°What a waste. What a flagrant, pointless waste.¡±
¡°Eh. Probably should have just shaken the fist...¡±
I trailed off, as Balan¡¯s attendants returned. They were disciplined, but not so much that they didn¡¯t pick up on the way the atmosphere of the meeting had changed, one audibly gasping when she saw the fire in the distance. They¡¯d returned with a man, the one presumably bearing the gift. I frowned, studying him. The man was below average height, bald and clean shaven, hair sheared rather than lost. His clothes were decent but threadbare, and the slightly inhuman pink tinge of his skin and pointed black nails suggested infernal blood.
An odd find in House Westmore.
¡°Care to introduce our guest?¡± I asked.
The moment I spoke, the man¡¯s head snapped towards me, his eyes wide. Joy, fear, excitement, and terror all warred in his expression before he seemed to reel it all in to something more neutral.
¡°Is it really you?¡± He asked. ¡°You¡¯ve returned?¡±
When¡ªunsure of what else to do¡ªI nodded in confirmation, the man fell to his knees and prostrated himself, pressing his forehead against the ground. He spoke, hoarse voice wrenched with pain. ¡°Forgive me. I failed you, my lord. You kept your promise, and I have forsaken mine. It has been so long, so many, many, cycles, with no change and nothing to show for it. I lost faith¡¡±
Before my mind could even process the words, Maya was there. She whispered something in the man¡¯s ear and he fell quiet as her hand on his shoulder glowed green.
So many cycles.
An icy chill traveled my spine.
¡°His mind is severely fractured.¡± Maya stated grimly. ¡°It¡¯s a miracle he can even speak.¡±
¡°Well?¡± I stood, staring at Balan first, then scanning the attendants and the rest of the onlookers. ¡°Someone want to fill me in? What¡¯s the meaning of this?¡±
¡°May I¡ª¡± A quivering voice spoke from inside, and was just as quickly silenced.
¡°Shut up! Not a single gods damned word, any of you!¡± Balan glowered, snapping to attention so quickly it was almost disorienting. It appeared as if he meant to address the entire room, but he¡¯d reacted too swiftly to properly mask his panic. Whoever the speaker was, he meant something to the House Lord.
I folded my arms and turned to the door that lead inside from the balcony, shifting to cordial. ¡°You may approach the crown.¡±
A member of my regiment brought out a familiar face I hadn¡¯t seen since my venture into the pits. Dark hair, marred with sweat from the heat, and a nose that was barely there. Alten¡¯s former master.
Scyld.
He scuttled forward, bowing as he went. ¡°A pleasure as always, my prince.¡±
A vein stood out on Balan¡¯s forehead. ¡°Don¡¯t¡ª¡± He stopped mid-sentence, as a mote of violet fire raced across the table and nestled on his chest. I kept the temperature neutral, barely burning, but he could feel it.
¡°It would be wise to avoid obstructing matters further, Lord Balan.¡± I spared him a withering glance before returning my attention to the newcomer.
Scyld swallowed. ¡°As much as I would like to respect my father¡¯s wishes, he lacks context, as he has no prior dealings with you. Though our first meeting was a bit¡ adversarial and left me angry, I found you to be shrewd and reasonable. You paid a fair price for my fighter though it was clear you didn¡¯t approve of the practice.¡±
Across the table, Balan groaned.
I nodded in understanding. ¡°A favorable estimation.¡±
¡°But not undeserved. In my judgement, at least.¡±
¡°Please continue.¡±
Scyld straightened up, emboldened by the approval and crossed the balcony to the kneeling man. ¡°This individual is an indentured servant. A gift, from House Westmore to the crown.¡±
The sheer gall of it was unfathomable. I looked over my shoulder in annoyance at Balan. ¡°After being thoroughly informed of my stance on the practice of indentured servitude, your intention was to give me one?¡±
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Balan¡¯s grip on his chair tightened.
¡°If I may, my lord.¡± Scyld interrupted with a nervous chuckle. ¡°This contribution has been in the works for some time.¡±
¡°Well, that changes things. By all means. Continue.¡±
¡°Right.¡± Rivulets of sweat dripped down Scyld¡¯s face. ¡°One of our caravans found him wandering mindlessly down a trade route down the eastern reaches. As they were about to break camp for the night, they were kind enough to offer him food and shelter. As the night went on, it became clearer how unwell he was. Indecipherable mutterings that no one could understand, references to historical events that never happened as if he¡¯d been there. We assumed it was wasting sickness of the mind, but he had a strong body, so we offered him an indenture. His name is Daloch.¡±
The name resonated in the back of my mind, like an inch I couldn¡¯t scratch.
¡°Despite his condition, he proved an excellent servant. So long as we were patient with him and gave him simple tasks, he carried them out quickly and efficiently.¡±
I pinched the bridge of my nose. ¡°If the intent of this gift and the overly-long-story that accompanies it is to laud the merits of indentured servitude¡¡±
¡°Part of my father¡¯s intent. But not the whole. Because as Daloch continued his tenure, his previous master noticed certain repetitions in his rambling. He would occasionally mention existing leaders by name¡ªutterly without deference¡ªgoing on about their dealings and the ramifications of those dealings. Slowly, his former master realized his ramblings were not the simple ravings of a madman.¡± Scyld¡¯s eyes gleamed. ¡°They were predictions. Divinations that were not only accurate, but actionable.¡±
¡°So,¡± I said flatly, taking every effort to hide my growing concern. ¡°You¡¯ve brought me a soothsayer.¡±
¡°I understand how it sounds. But Daloch here¡ªwhy are you kneeling? You¡¯re not some groveling servant. Rise.¡± He hoisted the half-infernal to his feet, going so far as to bend down and brush off the other man¡¯s knees. ¡°Daloch is the genuine article.¡± Scyld nudged Daloch, like a child urging a tamed animal to perform a trick. ¡°Go on. Tell him.¡±
Daloch stared at me, conflicted. I didn¡¯t know what Maya whispered in his ear, but I could guess she¡¯d told him to remain quiet. He knew what I was.
Because we were the same.
Perhaps it would have been wiser to speed things along and ensure Daloch didn¡¯t say anything damning. But the implications of Scyld¡¯s story were vastly farther reaching than he could realize. I wanted¡ªno, needed confirmation.
¡°Go ahead.¡±
Daloch stared at nothing, his face a mask of focus and pain. ¡°She is coming.¡±
¡°Who?¡± I asked.
¡°Thoth.¡± Daloch spat the word. ¡°One-hundred-and-seventy-six days before she returns to Uskarrion shores. Sometimes less. Rarely more. She will overwhelm the Elven Consortium easily with the aid of their dark brethren, then move against the dwarves. If she claims both, all is lost.¡±
¡°How do you know?¡±
He gaped at me. ¡°Because you¡ª¡± Then suddenly cut off, swallowing. ¡°Because I was asked to. To watch. To always watch. Never intervene, never involve myself, never speak up, or cry, or scream. Never do anything that draws attention. Just¡ watch.¡± Bitter tears spilled from his eyes.
Because you asked me to.
A wave of nausea washed over me, as I realized what that meant. I struggled to process the sheer scale of what he¡¯d endured and failed to grasp even a fraction. I didn¡¯t understand it all. Not yet. But connecting the dots, the partial memory I¡¯d recovered in the wake of Lillian¡¯s death implied there¡¯d been many loopers, once. That they¡¯d all lost their minds, one-by-one, and once that happened, given the danger they posed, had to be forcibly removed. The memory suggested that Thoth had killed many of them, using an unknown method to remove them from the loop. But if there were that many? Realistically, she couldn¡¯t have handled them all. It followed that handling Daloch fell to me. And for whatever reason¡ªperhaps his madness made him less malevolent than the others, perhaps we¡¯d disagreed¡ªI let him live, to remain in the loop, with instructions to observe Thoth¡¯s movements over the cycles, suspicious of her even then.
¡°Uh,¡± Scyld interrupted. ¡°Sorry, he¡¯s not usually so¡ªum¡ªpassionate. You kind of have to read between the lines.¡±
I ignored the handwringing, and locking eyes with the man who was in many ways the best friend I¡¯d never had, said the only thing I could think to say.
¡°Thank you, Daloch.¡±
He stared down at the ground, overwhelmed. ¡°Doesn¡¯t feel real.¡±
¡°Can someone take him inside? Get him something to eat and drink?¡±
An attendant bowed and took Daloch by the hand, leading him away, and the man followed compliantly. Everything he¡¯d been through, everything he¡¯d endured. All while following the charge to stay out of sight. With his mind fraying, it wasn¡¯t hard to see how he¡¯d fallen into the hands of cretins like House Westmore countless times.
¡°So.¡± Scyld rubbed his hands together nervously. For the first time, I noticed they were badly burned and unbandaged. Probably from the incursion. ¡°Do we have a consensus?¡±
¡°We do.¡±
The slaver¡¯s eyebrows shot up. ¡°Excellent. And you will postpone further discussion of the indentured servitude issue to a later date?¡±
¡°I will.¡±
¡°Fantastic.¡± He waggled his eyebrows. ¡°Then I¡¯ll uphold our end of the bargain. Princess Annette was here. We received cryptic notice from a whisperer shortly before your arrival to relocate her immediately, as well as the instruction not to use any of our usual locations.¡±
Thaddeus.
Still observing the proceedings placidly, Balan slowly shook his head. ¡°You foolish, foolish boy.¡±
Scyld hesitated for a moment, then seemingly resolved to continue. ¡°Given the short notice, we moved her to one of our chartered ships, moored at the docks. The frigate.¡±
Immediately, I strode into the house and leaned over the bannister, locating Zin. The dark elf was among several officers overseeing the hostages. ¡°Annette¡¯s being held in a merchant class frigate at the docks.¡±
¡°Plain sight, really?¡± Zin asked, unamused. ¡°Holding the ship should be easy. Want us to go in or wait for you?¡±
I wavered, then made the decision. We had time to spare. ¡°Take a small group like you did in the mock battle. Pick up whoever you can along the way. Place scouts around entrances to the docks. If you hear my father coming, catch even the briefest glimpse of his shadow¡ªhells, if it just doesn¡¯t feel right¡ªgo in. Otherwise hold them there.¡±
¡°Yes, sir.¡± Zin nodded, and started barking orders.
Scyld was still waiting for me on the balcony, his confidence looking a little more forced than before. ¡°Is everything to your satisfaction?¡±
¡°Better than.¡± I smiled coldly. ¡°I¡¯m in a great mood, my dear sister won¡¯t be shipped across the ocean, and thanks to you, I have my very own soothsayer. Just want to make sure this isn¡¯t another diversion before we get out of your hair.¡±
¡°Of course.¡± Scyld nodded, wringing his burnt hands reflexively and wincing at the pain.
¡°Maya,¡± I waved her over. ¡°Our new ally was injured in the incursion.¡±
¡°Apologies, my prince,¡± Maya said.
I let every bit of charm, friendliness, and compassion drain away. ¡°Can we¡ do something about that?¡±
219. Fracture XXIV
Maya released the slaver¡¯s shoulder. The man¡¯s forced optimism disappeared instantaneously, light gone from his eyes before he hit the ground. His hands curled painfully as he writhed on the stone floor of the balcony, a violent seizure ravaging his nerves, once confident voice reduced to painful hitches and animalistic moans.
I watched him struggle silently. Then slowly looked towards Maya. ¡°Looks like you overdid it.¡±
¡°Unfortunate.¡± Maya said, her expression cold and emotionless. ¡°For him.¡±
In a fraction of a second, Balan was on his feet and racing forward, face twisted in grief and shock, chair overturned in his wake. ¡°What have you done!¡± He snarled, kneeling above Scyld¡¯s head and attempting to cushion his neck from further shock. ¡°You fucking monsters. The fool told you where she was. Gave everything you asked for.¡±
¡°Ah ah,¡± I stood and approached the balcony, taking in the last vestige of sunset before the light disappeared over the horizon. ¡°That¡¯s not entirely true.¡±
A thrill washed over me, uncharacteristic as it was unexpected. It took little imagination to picture how many lives House Westmore had ruined. A mass graveyard stretching from one massive peak in the distance to the other, each grave unmarked, a mess of human and nonhuman bodies fertilizing the wilderness. In part, the thrill stemmed from the justice of it. But there was another aspect. A part of me that almost reveled being on the winning side of an exchange going from bad to worse. From the beginning of my second life, Thoth, fate, even the gods themselves had dropped the floor out from underneath me more times than I could count.
Being on the other side of it felt¡
Good.
Right.
In a way that made me uncomfortable to think about.
¡°He¡¯s dead.¡± Balan leaned back from the pale, stricken body on the floor, his expression a mix of horror and hatred. ¡°Well done, noble prince. Well done. You¡¯ve made an example of the only noble in this house willing to work with you. You fucking idiot.¡±
¡°Tell me, Balan.¡± I mused, surveying the burning out warehouses one last time before I so much as glanced his way. ¡°Before your hapless heir inserted himself into our discussion, what demands did I make of House Westmore?¡±
I waited for his seething to lapse, and when it did long enough for him to process my words, his mouth dropped open.
¡°Exactly.¡± I snapped my fingers and turned to him with a congenial smile. ¡°Scyld was helpful. Quite helpful, in fact. Especially by House Westmore standards. And for his service¡¡± I knelt down and brushed his eyelids closed, observing an angry twitch from the House Lord the moment my hand made contact. ¡°He was rewarded.¡±
A bitter chuckle forced its way out of Balan¡¯s throat, his mouth frozen in a rictus of rage. ¡°And the people think the King of Whitefall is a delusional monster. You¡¯re no better, boy.¡±
¡°What scathing insight.¡± I rolled my eyes. ¡°Recognize mercy when it is given, Lord Balan. In more ways than not, your son¡¯s death was a kind one.¡±
¡°Kind?¡± Balan choked.
¡°Indeed. Life magic, when turned to purpose, kills almost instantly. He never felt his heart stop, and the tremors we witnessed took place after his soul left his body.¡±
¡°So I should thank you because it was quick?¡± Balan whispered, his voice raw.
I shook my head. ¡°You should thank me because Scyld died believing that the end couldn¡¯t be further away. That his intercession on behalf of his house succeeded. A gamble hard argued and narrowly won. I saw it in the way he looked at you, hoping his actions had earned approval long denied. For a moment in time¡ªmere minutes in the scope of eternity¡ªhe was a man fulfilled. Something many seek and few find. The only tragedy here was the fact you couldn¡¯t bring yourself to lie to him, sparing nothing but derision and insults, rather than the validation he so desperately craved. And that denial is all he will carry of you into the afterlife.¡±
Balan¡¯s fingers lingered on the fallen boy¡¯s face, his throat clicking from dryness. His shoulders shook. And for a moment, I thought the patriarch had broken. Then something changed. In a blur of speed impressive from a man his age, he shot to his feet and charged towards me.
Maya tensed, and I held out a hand to stop her just before the impact. Lord Balan tackled me, wrapping his hands around my neck, his gnarled fingers digging into my flesh and tendons and squeezing. Countless swords were drawn, and I watched through fading vision as Maya relayed my instruction to stand down.
So he does have an edge.
¡°Think they can save you before your neck breaks?¡± Lord Balan seethed, flecks of spittle spattering my cheek and face. ¡°How¡¯s it feel, you wretched brat? To have the life squeezed out of you by one of your so-called lessers.¡±
Even as my vision blackened, I reached out to the air, summoning mana and rearranging it in a voice meant to carry a single word to Balan¡¯s ears.
¡°Disappointing.¡±
I brought my boot down on his foot, then slammed my left fist into his jaw. I held back a bit so there was no risk the impact would kill him, but the result still sent him spinning to the ground, barely catching himself on his hands and knees. Blood dripped from his mouth, and he stared down at the ground in shock.
¡°As I was saying.¡± I crouched down next to him and patted his back. ¡°Scyld was lucky in many ways. One above the rest. Because wherever he is? Wherever he finds himself in the afterlife?¡± I leaned in, mouth close to Balan¡¯s ear. ¡°He isn¡¯t forced to watch what happens next.¡±
/////
My memory grows hazy around this point. I¡¯m not entirely sure why. From a purely traumatic standpoint, I¡¯ve been through the receiving end of much worse, some of which I recall in far starker detail than I¡¯d prefer. There are aspects and unimportant details that stand out, parts of the proceedings I can remember with pristine clarity, others that blend together freely in an indecipherable amalgam of rage and cruelty.
I remember the soldiers of my regiment dragging Lord Balan inside and downstairs, back to the main hall where the rest of his House was lined up and waiting on their knees. I remember those same soldiers¡ªmany of which had secondhand experience with House Westmore¡¯s trade, watching with grim satisfaction as I pulled aside the first few heirs and paraded them in front of Lord Balan before Maya¡¯s touch sent them crumbling to the floor, lifeless.
And of course, I remember how that grim satisfaction faded to a numbness and concern.
Because I did not stop, at one, or two, or three. In the process I changed things up to avoid any discernible monotony. Sometimes I would make Balan argue for why a particular child should be spared. In other cases, I would present him with a group, and make him choose his favorite. In reality, none of his choices mattered. I denied his agency just as he denied the agency of so many others.
The feeling of catharsis had long since faded. And while I¡¯d kept the demon-fire controlled, the walls and ceilings grew black from the heat.
¡°Who¡¯s left?¡± I rubbed the sweat off my brow and squinted.
¡°No one of note, my lord.¡± Maya replied stiffly.
I scanned the bodies now littering the hall and frowned. ¡°Surely there must be someone left.¡±
¡°Just¡ the younger children.¡± A member of my regiment said hesitantly, flinching when Maya glared at him. ¡°The ones we¡¯re keeping away from the smoke in the back.¡±
¡°As I said,¡± Maya growled, ¡°No one of note.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t be too hasty.¡± I said, leaning back on the hardwood stairs, idly passing my fingertips through the tongues of violet flame that had long since eaten away at the finish. ¡°Are any of them interesting in any way? To us or our generous host?¡±
Balan had collapsed. After several increasingly animated cycles of anger, grief, rage, and even some bargaining, he finally settled on despair. Now he was staring blankly towards the broken door, no doubt wishing with all he had left that someone¡ªanyone¡ªmight come to save him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Maya shake her head. I addressed the officer directly. ¡°I asked you a question, soldier.¡±
The man sighed. ¡°Most of them are too terrified to do anything other than huddle together. But¡ there¡¯s a boy that¡¯s been asking to speak with you.¡±
¡°For how long?¡± I asked, a little surprised.
¡°Hours. Since they were separated from the others, your grace.¡±
¡°Cairn. He is among the last.¡± Maya said with heavy emphasis. From the tautness of her tail and the fierceness of her face I sensed she was angry with me, furious even.
¡°Far be it from me to keep a noble waiting, regardless of age.¡± I inclined my head. ¡°Bring him out.¡±
Balan groaned, the sound that emitted from his lips more animal than human.
It took longer than I expected. Perhaps I¡¯d taken things too far, and Maya wasn¡¯t the only one chafing under the direction things were headed. In some ways, that was to be expected. Cephur had selected the members of my regiment carefully based on criteria we¡¯d discussed together, and a foundational center of that criteria was that none of them were the sort that accepted orders and the leaders that gave them blindly.
I couldn¡¯t fault them for that.
The boy that emerged was small, bookish, dark-haired and dark-eyed. He was dressed in House Westmore¡¯s ceremonial robes, the same robes his grandfather wore for high-profile negotiations. His eyes lingered on the bodies as he was escorted past them, flicking between the carnage until they finally locked on me.
¡°Greetings.¡± He bowed. His voice was low-pitched for a child¡¯s, almost monotone. After he rose he turned to Lord Balan and bowed again. ¡°Grandfather.¡±
Balan murmured something unintelligible, then fell silent again.
¡°Sorry about the mess.¡± I said.
¡°Strange as it is to say,¡± He peered around, taking in the room. ¡°With all the cackling and screaming, I actually imagined a lot worse. It sounded like they were being drawn and quartered.¡±
¡°Disappointed?¡± I spun the sword-breaker idly.
¡°No. Just surprised. My brothers and uncles, did they die well?¡±
¡°Some better than others.¡± I admitted. ¡°The associated pageantry was drawn out. But the violence itself was quick. Painless.¡±
¡°Then for that¡¡± the boy worked his jaw. ¡°I am grateful.¡±
¡°The soldiers said you wished to speak with me?¡±
The boy nodded hesitantly. ¡°At first I intended to parlay for my life, as well as the lives of a handful of others. Your views on indentured servitude and slavery are an open secret, and there are¡ªwere¡ªseveral amongst my brothers and uncles that had either grown tired of the practice, or never supported it in the first place. But that all seems¡ rather pointless now.¡±
¡°Then why are you here?¡±
He looked me dead in the face. ¡°It¡¯s my turn, isn¡¯t it?¡±
A heaviness passed between us. In his place, I¡¯d tried to bargain, frantically negotiating for my life and the life of the family I had left. But somehow, this unknown child of a slaver had already accepted his fate.
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¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±
¡°Mateo.¡±
¡°Do you wish to die?¡±
¡°No, your grace.¡±
¡°Then why are you so convinced that¡¯s how this is going to end?¡± I rotated the sword breaker in my hand. ¡°Perhaps this is all just a straightforward method of separating the wheat from the chaff.¡±
¡°If you were a fool, I might hold that hope. But if even a fraction of the stories I¡¯ve heard about you are true...¡± He slowly turned and panned the room again.
I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. ¡°Explain.¡±
¡°There are a number of less volatile methods a king might use to hamstring a noble house that has fallen out of favor. Historically, the King¡¯s preferred approach is dispersing members of a problem house amongst varying factions in the military, with orders to their superiors to ensure they are placed in the most unfavorable positions of the bloodiest battle. Efficient. Keeps the hands clean. But it takes time.¡± The boy cleaned his spectacles and replaced them on his nose. ¡°And he does not balk at resorting to something more along the lines of what happened here if time is short.¡±
¡°So, you believe this is more intentional than it appears.¡±
¡°I do, your grace.¡±
I shifted on the stairs, subconsciously straightening my posture. ¡°And what do you think of the practice of indentured servitude, Mateo?¡±
He smiled a bit. ¡°My initial instinct is to spurn the practice, vehemently. My second thought is I am probably not the first to think of such a deceit, and I assume at least a few of the fallen found that avenue lacking.¡±
¡°Correct.¡±
Mateo fell quiet. I didn¡¯t feel the need to jab or poke at him like I had the others. Their silence had been disingenuous, desperate, panicked. A frantic search for the magic words that would free them from their turmoil. Words that did not exist. By contrast, Mateo¡¯s quiet felt eerily similar to Annette¡¯s, when she was struggling to translate complex thoughts and feelings on a topic in a manner the listener would understand.
¡°I wish I could say that from the moment I was old enough to think for myself, I knew something was wrong. That even at a young age, I found the concept of one person¡ªfor whatever crime, cost, or tenure¡ªowning another person to be intrinsically vile. If I intended to lie, that is the lie I would tell.¡± He bit his lip hard. ¡°But it would be a lie. In truth, it was¡ normal. Expected. My mother and father believed it, as did most of my house, the people I was surrounded by on a daily basis. Why would I assume they were wrong?¡±
¡°A product of your surroundings.¡±
¡°More or less. For a long time, it felt like a good thing. There were always people around the house I could talk to, servants willing to whip up a late-night snack. Ex-tradesmen all happy to share their expertise when I asked. Still, I wasn¡¯t completely shielded from the unpleasantness. Lash marks and bruises fade slowly. Disappearances fade slower still. But it wasn¡¯t until they brought in tutors and teachers that I started to gain awareness.¡±
¡°Someone stood out to you?¡±
He shook his head. ¡°The opposite, really. A slave is meant to be lesser. They are often talked about as such. And at some point it hit me. They cook our food, teach us things that we are ignorant of, raise our children, clean our mess and keep our surroundings pristine. Some are dim, yes, but others are far more clever than the masters that command them.¡±
¡°Perhaps it is their blood.¡±
Up to this point he¡¯d been eloquent and controlled. But nothing about the frustrated scowl he showed was rehearsed. ¡°That was always their answer, when pressed. No matter who. The blood of a noble and the blood of a servant is not the same. They¡¯re more animal than human, stated as if it is some obvious truism that does not require evidence or proof. And one who cannot justify their actions with logic often falls back on arbitrary distinctions.¡±
¡°Well said.¡± I rose from the stairway and stretched, feeling drained from the ordeal and perpetual heat. ¡°And what do you think of the actions I took today to correct this?¡±
He fell quiet again, considering. ¡°That depends.¡±
¡°On?¡±
¡°The course traveled from here.¡± His gray eyes stared through me, unflinching. ¡°No matter what happens next, this will change the way the noble houses view you. Referencing what little gossip I¡¯ve heard, they will stop viewing you as a distant-but-idle-curiosity, and consider far more intently how much of a threat you pose.¡±
¡°If a House holds no slaves or indentured, releasing any they do in a timely manner, they should have nothing to fear.¡±
¡°They will not see it that way. You must know this. All they will see is a once functional and lucrative Noble House destroyed with no warning, at the whim of a volatile leader. Those clinging onto hope that the new king will differ from the last will lose it in short order. And as you lack the current monarch¡¯s immaculate and storied military record, they will be far quicker to speak of you with treason in their hearts than your predecessor.¡± Slowly, he knelt. ¡°But none of this is my place to say. Now less than ever.¡±
¡°What did we talk about earlier?¡± I smiled, trying to fall back on charm to lighten the heaviness in the room. It didn¡¯t work. ¡°Don¡¯t be so macabre.¡±
¡°I refuse to cling to false hope pried from the fingers of so many others before they reached their end.¡± Mateo lowered his head. ¡°My death is assured. If you left either me or the House lord alive after the events of the evening, the other houses would find that to be both cruel and foolish, rather than simply the former. If you intend to demonstrate mercy, it would be better served by allowing the women in my family to escape this harsh end. They hold no sway over the policies of House Westmore, and should not be held accountable for them. In many ways, they are not unlike the indentured you revere.¡±
¡°That¡¯s what you came here for. To convince me to spare them.¡±
¡°Yes.¡± He opened a single eye, gauging my reaction.
I didn¡¯t want to toy with him, the way I¡¯d toyed with the rest. Whether the boy was the one golden thread in a House of corruption that he appeared to be, or a better liar than the rest combined, it didn¡¯t matter. He was the only one who had not used his audience selfishly, lobbying for the mercy shown to others rather than himself.
Loyalty had to be rewarded.
There was a disturbance outside, barely audible. The squeaking of axles rolling on cobblestone marked the presence of a new arrival, and from the sound of it, many of them. I saw a flash of elaborate turquoise lace and gray through one of the windows.
With little time I leaned down and whispered in his ear. ¡°If everything was as it appeared, you¡¯d be right. But you will not die here today, Mateo. Do me a favor and play along.¡± Unable to wait for acknowledgement, I placed the sword breaker against his throat.
Lady Vasemoux stormed through the broken doorway, her expression one of fury¡ªwhich immediately turned to horror as she surveyed the dead. ¡°What¡ happened here?¡±
¡°Lady Melody.¡± I grinned at her, blade still pressed to the boy¡¯s throat. ¡°Unfortunately, the party is over, as is the feast. We¡¯re just polishing off the leftovers before we go.¡±
Balan snapped back into lucidity, scrambling on all fours and crawling towards Melody, the abject picture of desperation. ¡°Speak sense into him, my lady, I beg you. He will not see reason.¡±
Her expression was pale, and her eyes barely focused. ¡°Why?¡±
I dropped Mateo and raised my chin pompously. ¡°Because they annoyed me. They entreated my father for my sister¡¯s hand and threatened to withdraw their support if he did not cave to their demands. In the process they lied to me, attempted to bribe me with the very thing I condemned. More than that, I just don¡¯t like them.¡±
You could see the moment Melody realized, the way she forcefully banished the shock and locked in. Her sapphire eyes reflected the fire. ¡°If this were any other house, I could understand the reason though not the method. But this is House Westmore. Their food and basic necessities alone provide for over half the population.¡±
I shrugged. ¡°They have various provision hubs in other cities, but most of their imports are housed right here in Whitefall. After House Westmore heaves its dying breath, we will seize their stores and the means of production. I see no issue.¡±
¡°Do you have soldiers at the ready, prepared to carry those orders through at this very moment?¡± Melody challenged. ¡°Because even now, word of the fall of House Westmore is spreading. And if it reached my ears, it will soon reach the ears of others. There will be looting first, then rioting, with the fires and death that always follow. If you have not already put that into motion, the losses will be significant.¡±
Balan whimpered agreement.
¡°Ah. The eternal wisdom of hindsight. If only your advice was offered sooner.¡± I sighed, returning my blade to Mateo¡¯s neck.
¡°Wait!¡± Balan and Melody said at the same time. Melody glared at him, then returned her focus to me, seeming to bolster her nerve. ¡°I know you to be a good man. A reasonable man,¡± she said quietly. ¡°It¡¯s not too late to prove me right.¡±
¡°Many of House Westmore would disagree with you.¡± I clucked my tongue.
¡°Then allow me to offer a solution.¡± Melody paused to gather herself, hands clutching at her skirts. ¡°A formal agreement forging two Noble Houses into one. This would of course be on our terms, given the circumstances.¡±
I looked down to where Balan still cowered pitifully at Melody¡¯s feet, eyes wide as saucers. ¡°Please. The House Lord is far too proud to consider¡ª¡±
¡°Not at all.¡± Balan stammered. ¡°By my authority, if this stays your hand, the survivors will serve as wards. Any remaining heirs will marry into House Vasemoux to formalize the agreement and follow the House Lord¡¯s guidance.¡±
For the first time, I sensed no attempt at manipulation in Balan¡¯s words. The event had broken him so badly he was acting entirely on instinct, desperate to ensure even a fraction of his legacy remained.
¡°And your assets?¡± I challenged.
¡°All assets, infrastructure, and trade routes will be theirs to further, maintain, or destroy.¡± Balan looked up at her, suddenly sheepish. ¡°I only wish I¡¯d seen the value of your house sooner.¡±
Melody chewed her lip. ¡°My father will likely insist your House formally converts to the Church of Elphion. Is that acceptable?¡±
¡°It is.¡±
I didn¡¯t like how relieved he sounded, how compliant he was. Unceremoniously, I released Mateo and stalked towards him, grabbing his neck and placing the edge of the blade against his face, tip a hair¡¯s width from his eye. ¡°You think you¡¯ve fucking escaped me? That you can just sit back, in the shadows of another house, and bide your time until there¡¯s an opportunity for recompense?¡±
Melody shuffled backward, putting herself clear of advance.
A man can always make more children. But he only has one set of eyes. He can make do with one. And if he loses both, the maiming will serve as a more permanent reminder of what he might have lost, after the smoke clears.
Thoth¡¯s voice resonated through my mind.
¡°Please¡ don¡¯t,¡± Balan groaned.
¡°Cairn. Stop.¡± Maya¡¯s voice cut through my mind. I felt a weight on my forearm as she pressed my knife arm down, gently guiding me.
¡°Fine.¡± I hissed, dropping the sword breaker and walking back a ways before I let the rage and bile slip away. ¡°I remand Lord Balan and the future of House Westmore to House Vasemoux, contingent on a sealed contract of absorption agreed on by both parties. A number of my regiment will escort you.¡±
I caught a brief sight of Kilvius, now clad in the armor of my regiment, joining the dozen or so men I selected. As we¡¯d discussed, he¡¯d be nearby, listening to the proceedings and reporting back to me if there was a problem.
Several of the soldiers half-supported, half-carried Balan as Melody led them to the door.
¡°Lord Balan.¡± I called after him, noting the way his shoulders tensed.
The soldiers helped him turn. He waited, anxious and shaking, for me to speak.
¡°As you¡¯ve seen today, I am not a man opposed to simple solutions. And though you are obviously about as likely to lie to me as you are to breathe, it seems foolish not to ask.¡± I hardened my jaw. ¡°Are we going to have a problem?¡±
For the slightest moment, there was a spark of rebellion in Balan¡¯s eye. But it extinguished almost as quickly as it appeared as his gaze traveled over the dead and returned to me, empty and void. Defeat, as clear as it was total. ¡°No, your grace.¡±
¡°Then get out of my sight.¡±
They bowed, Melody giving me one last concerned glance before she, Balan, Kilvius and the rest of my regiment disappeared into the night.
Maya approached me, fists clenched at her sides. It wasn¡¯t like her to air out grievances in front of the regiment, but I¡¯d sensed her anger for hours, and prepared myself for an onslaught, nonetheless. But Mateo interrupted, stopping the conflict short. He was staring out the door in confusion. ¡°I don¡¯t understand. If the intention was to force a merger from the beginning, why kill so many of us?¡±
I gave Maya an apologetic look before I answered.
¡°Who says I killed anyone?¡±
There was a sense of uncomfortable relief as Maya knelt at Scyld¡¯s side. His face was pale, and his breathing was almost imperceptible. But his visage lacked the lifelessness of a man who had been dead for hours. And when Maya put her spell-lit hand on his shoulder, his eyes sprung open in shock. She murmured something about staying still.
¡°The terms with House Vasemoux bind all remaining heirs.¡± Mateo realized.
¡°All things have a price.¡± I echoed the House¡¯s words, watching as Maya made the rounds, repeating the same steps she¡¯d taken with Scyld on every other male of House Westmore. Many seemed to have trouble getting their bearings. But more importantly, now that the threat appeared to be waning, the sense of unity through terror had faded. They¡¯d survived. But the memories of their patriarch¡¯s choices that evening would not fade so easily. Exactly how much they were valued, and who amongst them was worth more or less, made clear, demonstrated for all to see. Even the most loyal amongst them would question Balan¡¯s priorities now. This was the fastest way to sever the bonds between them.
Resolving this would never be easy. Destroying House Westmore entirely sent the message I was volatile and emotional.
Simply taking their information and letting them skate by with no consequences on excuses and technicalities sent the message I was weak.
This was the best option.
Between the warehouse fires, troop movements, and damage to the estate, there was evidence of the conflict, but all the other Noble Houses had to do was count heads. Even better, merchants hated being scammed. Their reputation was already taking a sizable hit from being folded into a House of lower standing. Any survivors clever enough to piece together what actually happened would be slow to share these theories in explicit detail. And in that void of detail, rumors and gossip would spread like wildfire.
I¡¯d won.
And in the process, gained a more in-depth understanding of Thoth¡¯s methodology than mere observation could have granted. From our brief encounters, she¡¯d frequently danced between disruption and ruin, choosing one or the other seemingly at random. But it wasn¡¯t random. They were two sides of the same coin.
Soon, I¡¯d speak to Daloch about her to confirm these insights and hopefully glean more. But there was another matter I¡¯d put off for far too long already.
With a sigh, I snuffed out the fire. The purple flame scattered around the walls and railings died, leaving many surfaces marred with blackened ash.
¡°The list you mentioned.¡± I put a hand on Mateo¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I¡¯d like you to compose it after all.¡±
¡°What¡ list?¡± He asked, finally tearing his eyes away from the would-be resurrections.
¡°You mentioned presenting a list of your brothers and uncles who hold more progressive sensibilities. There will be plenty of wards, but I suspect House Vasemoux will have their work cut out for them deciding who is worthy of joining their house in a more official capacity.¡±
Mateo blinked, then bowed. ¡°It will be done.¡±
¡°Good. Send word when it¡¯s ready, and I¡¯ll make sure it reaches the right hands.¡± I turned and addressed my regiment. ¡°I need approximately half of you to stay. House Vasemoux will be sending additional transport shortly. Watch over them in the meantime, and once they are en route, escort them until they reach their new lodgings.¡±
¡°And the rest?¡± Mari asked. My banner-lieutenant seemed less concerned now that the dead had risen, but in its wake, still viewed me with a wariness that wasn¡¯t there before.
¡°With me.¡± My expression hardened. ¡°My sister has waited long enough.¡±
220. Fracture XXV
¡°It¡¯s the horses, isn¡¯t it?¡± I asked, doing my best to keep the borrowed beast in line.
¡°Hm?¡± Maya asked absentmindedly, still wearing the same scowl she¡¯d maintained since leaving the Westmore estate.
¡°Every time you¡¯re angry with me, or displeased, there are horses nearby.¡±
A small way behind us, I heard Sera groan.
¡°Perhaps.¡± Maya nodded slowly, still avoiding eye-contact. ¡°And seeing how they make up the primary form of transportation across the continent, that is highly unfortunate.¡±
So much for trying to lighten the mood. She is seriously pissed.
¡°Uh, Cairn?¡± Sera cleared her throat. I twisted in my saddle to look at her leading a group of her own contingent and the rest of our regiment following behind. Now that she had my attention, Sera forced a smile. ¡°I think Maya probably wants to know why we diverted so drastically from the original plan?¡±
¡°Now that the princess has broached the topic, I would like a further explanation.¡± Maya agreed, her voice contemplative. ¡°Because it was supposed to be one. A single male from his line of succession, used as an example demonstrating the severity of the situation. One. Person.¡±
¡°You saw his eyes. The way he attacked me. He wasn¡¯t going to break with just that.¡±
¡°Perhaps.¡± Maya concurred. She raised an eyebrow. ¡°And the ninth? The tenth? After he was on his knees, clinging to your leg like a child clings to their mother, wailing for mercy? What was the reason then?¡±
I winced. ¡°It¡ presented a chance to sow discord within his house. Weaken their ties to each other, lessen the chance of rebellion later and send a warning to the other Houses that it is in their best interests to bend the knee.¡±
¡°So it wasn¡¯t a cruel, disproportionate punishment doled out because someone you consider reprehensible dared to question your authority.¡±
¡°No.¡±
¡°Good.¡± Maya finally looked at me. ¡°I¡¯ve already had the displeasure of waking up one day and realizing I¡¯ve placed myself in the service of an egocentric who employs savagery as a reliable method of working through his own frustrations. I¡¯d rather not repeat the experience.¡±
An image of Barion flashed in my head, and I couldn¡¯t help but grimace. ¡°A little low, comparing me to him.¡±
Her expression softened. ¡°With how your visions function¡ I try not to question when a choice or course of action doesn¡¯t fully make sense from my perspective. I do everything in my power to play along and help achieve the preferred outcome. And I can do that blindly because the ¡°why¡± has always been clear to me.¡±
There were two competing truths in my mind.
The first was that Maya was right. Our incursion had gotten out of control. I got caught up playing an unfamiliar role, and when Balan challenged me, I escalated.
The second was¡ complicated. Because if, at that very moment, lightning struck me down, and the void sent me back to the moment we broke through? I¡¯m not sure I would have done anything differently. I¡¯d achieved everything I¡¯d intended to. We had my sister¡¯s location. Put a dent into the practice of indentured servitude, and reduced the once illustrious House Westmore from a burr in the crown to a cautionary tale.
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All in the course of a single day.
I could easily grasp where Maya was coming from. Her concern and caution were warranted. But for her to be so caught up on the method that she completely disregarded the result?
That was a bit harder to swallow.
¡°Understood.¡± I offered, hoping that would be the end of it. Judging from the way her brows knit together, it wasn¡¯t.
Thankfully Sera interrupted. ¡°Docks are more abandoned than usual. Even for this time of night.¡± She sat up straighter in her saddle, squinting.
The lanterns that lit the thoroughfare at night came to an abrupt end far earlier than they should have. A spark of anxiety shot through me as I strained to see, barely making out the silhouette of a ship¡¯s stern.
¡°Is it always this dark?¡± Maya asked, searching the gloom.
I chewed my lip. ¡°No. Someone put the lights out. All of them. Could have been Zin''s group, trying to cover their approach.¡±
Or my father, hiding the aftermath of an ambush.
¡°We¡¯ll need torches.¡± I called back to Mari. ¡°Tell everyone to stay at the ready. No way to know what we¡¯re walking into.¡±
¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be better to use the darkness as cover?¡± Sera asked.
¡°No way to conceal our movements with this many men in plate. By now they know we¡¯re coming. If there¡¯s a trap it¡¯s already set to spring. I¡¯d rather be able to see it.¡±
¡°Aye,¡± Mari said, drawing her axe. ¡°Not fair for the others to get all the sport, anyway. Ain¡¯t that right boys?¡±
A collective of affirmatives and murmured agreements followed. Overall, the regiment seemed to be shedding their doubt from the previous standoff. They were soldiers after all. The average soldier in my father¡¯s army had seen worse, probably done worse. I knew all too well how distressing it was to see the violence of war in a more personal and domestic setting, but now that the ¡°dead,¡± had risen, they were shaking it off quickly.
Subconsciously, I glanced towards Maya.
They understand. Why can¡¯t you?
As much as I wanted to voice it, now was not the time. We dismounted and pushed into the dockyard slowly, searching the shadows. Something large loomed overhead, revealed by the light of a torch. A massive figurehead of a bear, the sigil of House Westmore. ¡°There¡¯s our frigate.¡±
¡°Silver.¡± Someone hissed, creating a cacophony of movement as every nearby sword, axe, and spear turned in the direction of the noise.
¡°Flame.¡± I returned. Weapons were lowered as a dark elf in light armor stood up from behind a barrel, ponytail swishing behind him as he jogged over to us.
¡°Your grace.¡± Zin stopped, scanning the men behind us. ¡°Lot of long faces. Things go badly at the Slaver House?¡±
¡°Depends on who you ask.¡± I shrugged. ¡°What happened?¡±
He scowled. ¡°Didn¡¯t like the feel of the place. Already figured the Frigate was manned by a skeleton crew, so we boarded and disarmed them. Easy enough, considering how distracted they were.¡±
¡°Distracted with what?¡± Maya asked.
Zin scowled back at the ship. ¡°Before I say more, let me reiterate that we followed protocol. Separated and questioned them individually. There wasn¡¯t any time for the bastards to coordinate or get their stories straight.¡±
I braced myself, trying to suppress a growing paranoia that Zin was about to deliver some less than ideal news.
¡°Just tell me what happened.¡±
¡°To a man, every member of the crew, their dogshit mercenary detail, even the damn cook says the same thing. Princess Annette was here. Found a few of her things in one of the cabins. That much at least, I think we can be certain of.¡±
My heart sank. ¡°They moved her.¡±
Zin shook his head. ¡°If that was the case, we¡¯d at least have a trail to follow. By their accounts? Annette has disappeared.¡±
I felt him before I saw him. A large silhouette stepped out from behind a shadow of a dozen crates, long hair flowing in the night sea air. He stepped forward into the torchlight almost tentatively, his typical bluster absent. More alarming, however, was the complete absence of rage. He had every reason to be furious.
Yet, he wasn¡¯t. The look on his face was entirely unreadable.
¡°Still breathing, I see.¡± King Gil said.
221. Fracture XXVI
If there was any universal constant in Uskar, it was that the sitting king loved the sound of his own voice. My father didn¡¯t see it as ego, exactly. According to him, mockery, commentary, and intimidation all served as aspects of a whole, a battle of the mind that preceded the conflict of the body.
All this to highlight how strange it was to see him just standing there, illuminated by the ring of torchlight, saying nothing at all.
The moment of silence was shattered as Sera drew her weapon, prompting others in the regiment to ready theirs. Maya¡¯s staff snapped into her hand, held loosely and non threateningly at her side. But the tension in her shoulders was unmistakable.
My father finally looked away from me, evaluating the variety of steel leveraged in his direction with mute interest. ¡°Have to commend the discipline on display, considering how deeply some of them are shitting their britches. Miracle they haven¡¯t broken ranks and run.¡±
I risked a glance back towards my regiment. ¡°This engagement has been more than many of them signed up for. A sentiment with which I concur.¡±
The King raised an eyebrow. ¡°Yet you rose to the occasion. As did they. Your mutt and infernal banner lieutenant deserve a great deal of credit. I haven¡¯t had a fight that close to even in years.¡± His brow lowered. ¡°Though it was you¡ªor perhaps not you¡ªwho dealt the decisive blow.¡±
¡°Where¡¯s Annette?¡± I asked coldly. He clearly had questions about the encounter in Topside. Good. The answers to those questions were leverage, not to be released until after we¡¯d secured my sister.
¡°Somewhere no one will reach her until the morrow is long since passed.¡± He answered quietly. ¡°A partial victory is the best you¡¯ll achieve this day.¡±
¡°In your own bloody words,¡± Sera bristled, leaning forward in anticipation, radiating hate. ¡°A partial victory is no victory at all.¡±
¡°Perhaps.¡± Gil nodded. ¡°And if that is the reason you held your tongue so fervently during questioning, your tenacity is lauded. However, it is important in times such as these to consider the grand scope. And while your brother¡¯s actions at House Westmore might have lost him a pawn, he secured a far more vital objective. The destruction and dissolution of a problematic House that would have undercut his rule.¡±
¡°You¡¯ve spoken to Thaddeus, I take it.¡± I asked dryly, silently absorbing the implications. The most obvious being, he didn¡¯t seem particularly upset about the fate of House Westmore. ¡°Guessing his hands are full, finding a way to spin all this.¡±
¡°It¡¯s mostly cut and dry.¡± The king shrugged. ¡°That surly old fuck you humbled is long known for pushing boundaries. Occasionally at the expense of the crown. A few whispers in the right places, and the puzzle will assemble itself. House Westmore overstepped and attempted to leverage their influence to force their way into the royal bloodline. With no better option, I acquiesced. My heir, however?¡± He smiled. ¡°Could not be swayed. And in the reflection of the tragic loyalty you displayed, they will see their future as your subjects.¡±
Maya stiffened. ¡°It was your intention to unseat them from the beginning? Wouldn¡¯t it have been far easier to handle them yourself?¡±
¡°He couldn¡¯t.¡± I realized, before my father answered. ¡°Before today, House Westmore was considered untouchable. And with the Noble Houses on high alert since the slavery decree, any further action towards them¡ªespecially against a House as influential as Westmore¡ªhad the potential to spur treason at best, a full-blown civil war at worst. Neither of which we can afford. He needed a proxy.¡±
¡°That,¡± Gil agreed, still oddly withdrawn. ¡°And I wanted to be sure. Absolutely certain that the things I saw in you were not simply fantasy born from wishful thinking.¡±
¡°And?¡± I stared at him blankly.
¡°I am certain.¡±
It was dangerously close to praise. I shoved it away, trying to stay focused on the relevant. ¡°Then your intentions are fulfilled. The absorption of House Westmore into House Vasemoux secures their supply-lines and gelds their ambitions. Now, as I¡¯ve done you a service, it seems only reasonable to reply in kind.¡±
His expression oscillated between stoicism and something that was almost soft, entirely alien on his features. ¡°And I would, son. Were this a time of peace? I¡¯d hand her over to you in a second. But all princesses have a part to play in times of war. And it is not to play soldier in their brother¡¯s army. She is too valuable a chit to surrender.¡±
My lip curled in distaste. Not simply because he spoke of my sister like she was property to be traded, but because this was likely the intended lesson. Sera¡¯s interrogation wasn¡¯t mere coincidence. He was using this conflict to reinforce the fractures that separated us, as a reminder of how our value varied and the rigidness of our hierarchy, pulling from the same box of tricks he¡¯d used my entire childhood to teach the same lesson:
Blood or not, we were not friends. We were competitors. And while that sense of competition obliterated any fraternal kinship we might have felt to each other, it would eventually make us better rulers.
I didn¡¯t buy it back then, and I certainly didn¡¯t now. If anything, these last few weeks demonstrated how strong we were when working towards a common goal.
Zin, who¡¯d somehow faded into the background as soon as the king appeared, approached from the side and caught my eye. I dismounted to meet him, keeping the King in the corner of my vision.
¡°All of my sentries are still in place. No unexpected arrivals or larger movements. He¡¯s alone.¡±
Why.
It didn¡¯t convey strength. My father could have summoned the entirety of his forces if that was his intention, really rubbed in the failure. Instead, he¡¯d waited at our eventual destination, alone and bizarrely out of sorts. As insane as it felt to even consider, it was almost like he was creating a situation where violence was unlikely to boil over. That he¡¯d put all this into motion didn¡¯t matter. If we moved against him now, in the current context¡ªone where he had yet to even draw a blade¡ªit would be seen as an act of treason.
There was only one reason the King would go out of his way to avoid a fight.
Never become mired in a battle that will cost you the war.
The laughter started deep in my chest, bubbling out of me in a mess of relief and incredulity. Heads turned towards me as the laughter slowly ebbed. I wiped a tear from my eye. ¡°Your confidence knows no bounds. I¡¯ve spent the last few minutes wondering why, exactly, you would appear in this manner. At first I thought it was an ambush. Appearing isolated to bait us into a false sense of security, misdirecting our attention while your troops position, all right out of your well-worn playbook. If Zin didn¡¯t have ample time to secure the area, I¡¯d be forced to that assumption, discarding a far more likely possibility.¡±
¡°Which is?¡± Gil prompted, not rising at all to the mockery.
You don¡¯t know where she is, either. But you¡¯ve guessed the obvious. She¡¯s too smart to go far.
I took a torch and walked several paces away onto the dock, slowly rotating in place as I searched, using wind mana to amplify my voice. ¡°Well done, little sister. Illusion magic is your expertise. But slipping away unseen is difficult even with the assistance of magic, let alone from a vessel so large. It must have taken a great deal of effort to get off the ship. Even more so with the pressure you were under.¡±
No answer, no stirs of movement other than the King¡¯s scoff.
My confidence waned. But only slightly. As I rotated, a pile of rigging stood out to me, what would have been a mess of ropes and bindings strangely ordered. I let my eyes slide off of it. ¡°No matter what anyone tells you, it¡¯s okay to be afraid. You¡¯ve always known this was a possibility, but that knowledge was theoretical. You believed if you applied yourself, honed your mind until it was sharper than any sword, you might be spared from this fate. Yet unfortunately, today you were proven wrong. That would shake anyone with a heart in their chest. Even someone as calm and collected as you.¡±
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Nothing. I grimaced. ¡°Now you¡¯re torn between two possibilities. To leave or stay. It¡¯s a choice I¡¯ve faced before, and a taxing one. Your magic will carry you far. Make it far easier to slip from town to town unseen, and if you travel lightly and abscond with only what you need, it could be months before luck runs out. But as someone told me once, magic has limits.¡± I glanced at Maya, relieved at her approval. ¡°And luck can only carry you so far.¡±
I thought of my first life. How suffocated I was, ready to run with nothing but a horse and a box of valuables to my name. As bad as it was for me, it must have been worse for both of them. Far worse. Because unlike me, there was no eventual relief worth holding on for, no crown at the end of the tunnel.
¡°The decision is yours.¡± I said, staring down at the ground. ¡°If you choose to stay hidden, I¡¯ll gather the supplies and capital you¡¯ll need for such an endeavor, and stash them where you hide the rest of your treasures.¡±
Sera wiped an unseen tear from her eye and stood beside me, addressing the abandoned dock. ¡°And I¡¯ll leave you a horse. Know just the one. Small, but runs like the devils of all the hells is chasing after it.¡±
I caught Sera¡¯s eye and nodded in appreciation of her support, then returned my attention to the dock. ¡°There¡¯s no shame in it, if that¡¯s what you decide. I¡ saw the way you were treated, when we were children. Both of you. I didn¡¯t protect you then. Didn¡¯t stand up. Didn¡¯t fight. And I can scream to the gods until evening bell that I couldn¡¯t, that I didn¡¯t know how, that it wasn¡¯t my fault. But the truth is? I was weak. Weak, and cowardly, and through twisted, selfish logic, justified my inaction purely because I was suffering too.¡± I glowered at my father. ¡°But I am no longer the child I was. If you choose to stay, I will protect you. Even if it costs my life.¡±
¡°No matter what fantasies you spin, the princess knows damn well that her fate is inevitable.¡± King Gil growled.
¡°There¡¯s some truth to that.¡± I returned, pacing. ¡°History has shown that a key betrothal can be worth far more than its weight in gold. Political marriages are the way of royalty. That¡¯s an unfortunate reality for both of us. The queen I choose will most likely not be the woman I love.¡± Somehow, I managed to not look at Maya. ¡°To make such a choice emotionally could easily result in disaster. But whatever the reasoning, the final decision is mine. The least I can do is afford you the same.¡± I stared at my father flatly. ¡°And I will turn the knife on myself before I see it denied.¡±
The King smirked. ¡°Spoken like so many other men who thought themselves heroes, only to fold and bend the knee when their prattling was challenged.¡±
Casually, I drew my knife, inspecting it. ¡°Another man tried to call my bluff tonight. Not unlike you, now. It did not end well for him. Do you intend to test my resolve as well, father?¡±
I left the threat implicit and braced myself for whatever came next, ready for laughter, mockery, threats.
None came.
For a moment, King Gil rose to his full height, face-brimming with the indignant rage I¡¯d expected from the onset. Then all the fight seemed to drain out of him. With a tired look, he shook his head. And backed down.
What¡ª
The box of tidy-rigging stirred, unfurling ropes coalescing into a vaguely human form. Annette brushed herself off and approached slowly, seemingly unbothered. But there was nothing she could do to hide the redness in her eyes. She stood before me, small trembles radiating through her body. ¡°You¡ won¡¯t abandon me again?¡±
It broke my heart. I reached out and tidied her hair. ¡°Never again. If the fates take me elsewhere, you need only call for me, and I will come.¡±
Annette blinked, absorbing that as Zin guided Annette away, lifting her on the back of his horse near the center of the regiment. Several hands reached out to steady her, the gentleness and respect with which my soldiers treated her a quiet warmth in my heart.
With my sister settled, I turned my attention to the bigger threat.
Shadows covered the King¡¯s eyes obscuring his reaction. I sighed and finally approached him. ¡°A partial victory, partial no more. The day is ours. Which begs the question. Will you concede, father? Or is there yet another arrow in your quiver?¡±
He looked up at me, a single eye gleaming with reflected torchlight. ¡°The composition of your regiment betrays much, boy. As the captain recruited, I couldn¡¯t help but ponder your intent. There were better candidates. Men with more experience, storied soldiers who would have killed for a prime position in the army of a future king. Your captain ignored almost all of them, selecting instead from the dregs, the unwanted, and the disgruntled. The considerable time he spent breaking down their prior training forging them into a cohesive unit could have been better spent perfecting soldiers further along in strength and accomplishments. At the time I believed it was symbolism. Overwrought sentimentality. The fucker was getting surprising results, so despite my better instincts, I chose not to interfere.¡± He stepped forward, his boot bumping mine as he towered over me. ¡°What a fool I was. Because it was never about sentimentality or making a statement, was it?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡±
¡°You saw the future.¡± The king continued. ¡°And as you planned for disaster, you came to realize the hard truth. There was a real chance I would oppose you.¡±
I tried to back-pedal, feeling a rising panic. ¡°Up to this point, you haven¡¯t.¡±
¡°It was not a possibility you could ignore.¡± He scowled, scanning the increasingly nervous faces of my regiment. ¡°An ugly truth. And instead of hiding from it, or pretending that wasn¡¯t possible, you oversaw the assembly of a force that would remain loyal to you and you alone. Even in the face of treason.¡±
I grit my teeth. Was he really so low? Willing to punish, or even potentially dissolve and execute my regiment for nothing more than his suspicions?
Who am I kidding? Of course he is.
¡°Whatever Cairn¡¯s ambitions, there¡¯s been no seditious talk, my king.¡± Sera interjected stiffly. ¡°My hearing is sharp. And if there was talk of rebellion or treason, it would not escape my ears.¡±
¡°Well¡ he is right.¡± I confessed, and both Sera and Maya turned to look at me sharply. There was no point in hiding it, when he¡¯d already guessed so much. I swallowed and pushed on. ¡°It wasn¡¯t something I wanted. I¡¯m not insane. I would never go out of my way to stir up conflict between us to expedite the passing of the crown. It was something I planned for because I had to.¡±
¡°Barely out of the cradle, and you were already preparing for regicide.¡± Gil shook his head.
¡°To be clear, my sister speaks the truth.¡± I clarified. ¡°There is no plot. All the regiment knows of this is what you¡¯ve told them. They are model soldiers, acting within the established hierarchy. The only one who has ever held treason in his heart was me. Any punishment should be mine, and mine alone.¡±
¡°How would you do it, if your hand was forced?¡± He asked, his tone dangerous.
Poison.
Excepting Thoth¡¯s unnatural combat prowess, it was the only weapon his enemies had ever used that made a dent. Less than it should have, considering the lethality of the poisons involved, but the months of bed rest put him out of commission longer anything else ever had.
Aloud, I said, ¡°Dishonorably.¡±
The shove came fast and hard, nearly toppling me as I raced backwards, attempting to right my balance. Several members of my regiment immediately moved to interfere, several stopping mid-step as I signaled them to hold.
¡°We should finish our spar from the morning, right here and now.¡± He growled, shoving me again. This time I was ready for it and planted my feet, sliding back a ways but keeping my footing. ¡°See what your regiment thinks of their beloved leader, beaten black and blue.¡±
Thinking quickly, I tried to trap him in the proposal, limiting the damage. ¡°If that¡¯s your punishment, I accept it.¡±
¡°As you should.¡± King Gil put his hand on my breastplate again. I braced myself, preparing for another push. But it never came. He just held it there. ¡°One can only fake their death so many times before it is expected as a matter of course.¡±
¡°I know.¡±
¡°Then here¡¯s your fucking punishment. Never employ that strategy again. It is gone. Stricken from your book of tactics, banished to the dog fucking depths. Understand?¡±
He shoved me again, leaving me pinwheeling above the dock¡¯s water and glaring at me with animosity, only pulling me back after I grunted out an assent. Before I could fully understand what was happening, enormous arms enveloped me, squeezing.
Is he actually¡ hugging me?
¡°I was twelve when I began plotting to take my throne from your grandfather.¡± Gil whispered, his voice raw. ¡°And wasn¡¯t a fraction as clever. I should never have doubted you, boy. I¡¯m sorry this test came while you were at your lowest. Well-played.¡±
Gil released me and stepped backward. I couldn¡¯t think, couldn¡¯t even form a coherent thought beyond one.
He hugged me. And apologized.
Somehow, I regained enough lucidity to remember I wasn¡¯t the only one who¡¯d been wronged. ¡°I¡ understand. But there are others you still need to make amends with.¡±
¡°Yes, yes, I¡¯ll speak to the girls later. Bribe them with whatever they want.¡± The king had distanced himself somewhat, and was now staring up at the frigate with his arms-crossed, his face hidden. ¡°Look at that gaudy fucking monstrosity. The egos on those bastards.¡±
A bribe wouldn¡¯t fix everything. But in all honesty, the bar was on the ground. Even an admission that he¡¯d been wrong was more than I could have hoped for. If my sisters got something for their troubles, all the better.
Bemused but still cautious, I walked over and studied the masthead beside him. ¡°The oh-so-fiercesome Bear of Westmore.¡±
He looked down at me and nudged my shoulder. ¡°Want to burn it down?¡±
I laughed. ¡°Yeah. I kind of do.¡±
222. Fracture XXVII
The King¡¯s suggestion that we burn the ship was entirely unsurprising. He was fond of arson even before he had a living torch for an heir. The surprising part came later, long after we¡¯d left House Westmore¡¯s prized frigate burning to a charred husk still anchored in the dock.
Sera and Annette both stuck close to me as we entered the lounge my father led us too long after the rest of my regiment had retired for the evening. They were more accustomed to this version of the king than I was¡ªafter all, they¡¯d spent significantly more time around him than I had in this life. But the typical treatment they were accustomed to was hostile dismissiveness at worst. In comparison, over the course of the last day he¡¯d put them both through the grinder.
Oddly, Gil actually seemed to understand this.
He scanned the group that included myself, Annette, Sera, Maya, and Alten. His forehead creased as he paused on Maya an Alten. For a moment, I expected a grumbling complaint about outsiders and their immediate ejection. Instead he moved on, grunting as he dropped onto the lush seat by the fire and, when no one moved, fixed us all with a withering stare. ¡°The servants will be here shortly. Get comfortable.¡± Then he gestured for Annette. ¡°Come.¡±
She approached him, closing the distance in the time it took for me to process how strange it all was.
Alten and Sera sat at the small table that didn¡¯t quite match the room. I was pretty sure Alten chose the spot purely for proximity to the bowl of fresh nuts he was readily stuffing in his mouth, while Sera¡¯s reason was purely distance from the King.
Maya grabbed a spot on the large chaise next to the wall I was holding up. Though she was silent, her tail wrapped around my wrist protectively.
Everyone was tense waiting for the King to speak. Even Alten. I got the sense the compulsive, immediate eating had less to do with quelling any appetite than restoring as much of his spent energy as he could in case the night took another turn.
The King stared down at Annette, resting his head on his fist as she waited patiently, seeming to take her measure. ¡°You handled yourself well.¡±
¡°I did?¡± Annette blanched. Whatever she¡¯d expected, it hadn¡¯t been that.
¡°Did I stammer, girl?¡±
¡°Cairn played the more difficult role. All I did was hide, father.¡± Annette bowed, the picture of humility.
The King scoffed. ¡°Knowing your limits, emancipating yourself, evading recapture undetected, and maintaining a strategic retreat lacks the valor expected of the Valen line.¡±
¡°I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡±
Gil swiped at the apology in irritation. ¡°Fuck expectations. Your brother might be capable of fighting his way out of a brig guarded by slavers and mercenaries unarmed, but he¡¯s an irregularity. You were behind enemy lines, unarmed, and outnumbered. A coward would have stayed hidden. But you revealed yourself while the outcome was still undecided.¡±
Sera grunted disparagingly, and I cringed, waiting for an explosive reaction.
It didn¡¯t come. But all he did was grunt back at her mockingly, before returning his attention to Annette, still standing patiently before him, her fingers steepled. ¡°Go on. Name it.¡± He demanded.
¡°Father, I don¡¯t understand.¡±
¡°Who won, girl?¡± He leaned forward.
¡°We¡ did?¡± Annette said, cringing as she spoke.
¡°Ending the battle with a victory. And what do victors get?¡±
¡°¡Whatever they want?¡±
¡°So, you do listen. Now name it.¡±
Annette blinked several times, as caught off-guard as I was. Because the King of Whitefall did not take losses well, few as they were, and any commentary on such a failure¡ªeither his or someone else¡¯s¡ªwas delivered at the top of his lungs, while he throttled the closest neck nearby. Annette recovered quickly, deep in thought for scant seconds before she delivered her answer. ¡°A stronghold in the Eastern Plains at my command.¡±
Swinging big, little sister.
¡°There are many¡ª¡±
¡°Mirewolf Keep. Along with permission to travel to and from it whenever I wish.¡±
Silence answered as the king seemed to consider her proposal. Understandably. Mirewolf was a strange choice given the lack of limits. With its proximity to the swamps and the monsters that dwelled within them, there were safer strongholds elsewhere along the fringes of the plains, and larger, more dangerous ones towards the center of the plains that acted as hubs for the silver swords. Annette¡¯s selection afforded neither safety nor glory.
¡°Why?¡± The king asked.
¡°My reasons are multifold. First, it provides security to several key lumber mills further east, specifically the only three in the kingdom that produce a steady supply of darshall wood, one of our few precious exports.¡±
The shift was subtle, but it was there. Annette had his attention now.
Which means something disparaging is coming in three¡ two¡ one.
Gil rolled his eyes. ¡°An assignment for the small-minded lord who is already placed there. Hardly fit for royalty.¡±
¡°Perhaps,¡± Annette smiled a little. ¡°If he wasn¡¯t stealing from you.¡±
¡°What?¡± The king growled.
¡°I¡¯ve been looking into that stronghold for some time. Someone buried it in a mountain of parchment, but the expected yields and flow of gold don¡¯t match. Hasn¡¯t for nearly five years. It¡¯s all in the numbers, father. I wished to bring this to you sooner, but needed to be able to prove it first.¡±
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¡°And you can.¡±
¡°Yes.¡±
¡°Hm.¡± Gil tapped his fingers, frowning. ¡°Why else do you want it?¡±
¡°It¡¯s¡¡± Annette hesitated, then seemed to find her courage. ¡°The presence of monsters is constant, almost daily. They do not appear in large numbers, and the men we¡¯ve stationed are more than capable of repelling them, but they have been dealing with the continuous threat for years, creating a fertile environment for desertion.¡±
¡°A fact of which I am well aware. There¡¯s not a single hold, reach, or fortress that bleeds troops like Mirewolf.¡±
¡°Then it provides the perfect staging ground to practice my magic.¡± Annette¡¯s voice quivered slightly, which she covered with a cough. ¡°Even now, I am capable of creating illusory hazards and facsimiles more than capable of diverting simple threats. My power will only grow with practice. If I¡¯m able to give the men stationed there even an occasional respite, I believe the rate of desertion will decrease exponentially.¡±
¡°So this highly specific selection has nothing to do with Mirewolf¡¯s geographical proximity to the designated Elven regions.¡± He spared an unamused glance at me. ¡°Said elves being your brother¡¯s next logical step in his tiresome quest for unity and reparations?¡±
Somehow, I kept my face neutral. Since the gravesite I¡¯d felt little beyond numbness and anger. The kindness and forethought behind Annette¡¯s political machinations thawed some of the ice. Not all. But it was a start.
In your own way, you¡¯ve always tried to help me.
Before she could respond, the king made a dismissive gesture. ¡°These are my conditions. You will send your corrected reports to the bookkeepers and begin managing their affairs from a distance while the previous lord stews in the dungeon beneath the hold.¡±
Annette nodded immediately. ¡°Yes, father.¡±
¡°And once the allegations against this errant lord are confirmed, you will make damn sure he knows why a princess of Whitefall is carrying out his execution.¡±
¡°Very... what?¡± My sister froze.
There was the catch.
Maya scowled and her grip on me tightened, probably annoyed by how provisionary, ¡°Whatever you want,¡± had become. But I wasn¡¯t so sure this was about challenging Annette or obstructing her request. Because Annette was young. It was commonplace for young nobles¡ªmany younger than her¡ªto be assigned high stations as an avenue of padding their respective pedigrees, their so-called ¡°leadership¡± rarely more than perfunctory, existence merely tolerated while the men and women whose duties actually kept the place running went thanklessly unrecognized.
Annette would never be content with being a placeholder. Despite any ulterior motives, maintaining a stronghold was an important responsibility. She¡¯d take it seriously from the beginning. And while forcing an introduction by way of execution was¡ brutish, cruel, and entirely him? It would quickly assuage any early misgivings that she was nothing more than a royal tourist from the capital.
Still, I couldn¡¯t help but remember the first time I¡¯d been forced to make a similar choice. The mage in the back alley of Kholis. The nausea and unease that haunted me for weeks.
A draft of frost-bitten air from the nearby window intensified, rich in mana. I altered it, using the current to carry a message to my sister¡¯s ears.
¡°It¡¯s no small thing, what he asks. Accept for now, and we can figure out a way to keep your hands clean later.¡±
Annette seemed to process that idea, then shook her head minutely. She stared up at Gil. ¡°I can choose the method?¡±
¡°A victor does not ask. She demands.¡±
¡°I will choose the method.¡± She corrected.
The king nodded. ¡°Good. Then it¡¯s done. Well-reasoned, well-argued, and one less pain in my ass.¡±
Annette retreated, half-way back to the table before she stopped, and offered another curtsy that was much deeper. ¡°Thank you, father.¡±
But the king had already moved on, now entirely focused on Sera, still fuming, doing her level best to stare a hole through the table. ¡°Next?¡± He growled.
Sera¡¯s chuckle was dark and bitter. ¡°What I want, you¡¯ll never give me.¡±
I tensed, ready to redirect the inevitable outburst.
The king pondered that, strangely pensive before he finally spoke. ¡°You¡¯ve all heard the tales of my youth. How the mountain folk were brought to heel?¡±
Annette and I both nodded, while Sera didn¡¯t move.
He stood, stretching as he approached the window, looking out at the city beneath. ¡°The legend¡¯s grown, as they often do. Bards have a habit of leaving out important details for the benefit of the pretty lies they pedal. The core is true. The beginning, however, was not nearly as frictionless as the bards believe.¡± He watched her in the window¡¯s reflection, waiting for a response.
When Sera refused to answer, I stepped in and attempted to lighten the mood. ¡°So¡ you didn¡¯t ascend the mountain shirtless, reaching the peak in one continuous climb, only for the Mountain Folk to recognize the fire of your spirit and welcome you into the fold?¡±
Gil chuckled. ¡°Well. I did climb it. Around the half-way point, I realized how cold it was. If I stopped, I would likely never start again. So I kept going.¡± His expression lost its mirth. ¡°The lie was how they welcomed me. When I reached the summit, I was greeted with the sight of crude spears and clubs wielded by half-giants. Then I was bound and dragged down a third of the mountain to the place they actually lived, a large stone shelf jutting out from the mountain itself.¡±
I was dumbfounded. From a pragmatic standpoint, I knew my father¡¯s record couldn¡¯t possibly be as sterling as the legend. It was the only thing that made sense. Any man who¡¯d waged as many wars as King Gil couldn¡¯t possibly win every battle. But this was different. I¡¯d never heard a whisper of it, not even from Thaddeus. ¡°You were captured?¡±
¡°Aye.¡± He nodded. ¡°Chained my shackles to the ground unprotected by the elements. Took turns beating the ever-loving piss out of me. Left me there for three days. I think they expected me to die. Or at least, didn¡¯t care if it happened. Even then, I was strong, already blooded, a few battles and skirmishes under my belt. They didn¡¯t help. The mountain folk did not bear the same weaknesses as the enemies with which I was accustomed. My only recourse was to endure. At least until some enterprising idiot mistook my resilience as an opportunity for free labor. The rest plays out more or less how they tell it.¡±
Across the room, Sera was reaching a boiling point. White knuckles gripped the seat of the chair beneath her, and the wood cracked.
¡°I know you¡¯re angry. Just breathe.¡± I tried to whisper. But my entreaty was drowned out in the rumbling of Gil¡¯s voice.
¡°You learn things about yourself, when you¡¯re helpless.¡± Gil watched Sera through the reflection. ¡°Limits you never knew you had.¡±
The chair toppled as Sera surged to her feet, fists clenched, pale skin flushed as she seethed. ¡°So¡ you¡¯re saying¡ learning opportunity?!¡±
¡°Girl!¡± Gil bellowed, spinning to face her. ¡°Put those damnable ears of yours to use and listen!¡± He stalked towards her, and I nearly moved to intercede before Maya grabbed my arm and stopped me. The King gripped the table and tossed it aside, sending the contents flying beyond the bowl that Alten saved. Again, I tried to move. Again, Maya stopped me.
¡°Wait.¡± She mouthed.
¡°I am telling you, clearly, that I have stood where you stand. Boiled in the same fire you burn with. A fire that can be quenched through one manner, and one manner alone. So, I will ask again.¡± He leaned towards her, his anger fiery but controlled. ¡°What. Do. You. Want?¡±
Sera¡¯s eyes went wide for only a second, before her expression hardened and she spoke through clenched teeth. ¡°I want to hurt you.¡±
¡°A victor does not ask. She takes.¡± Gil¡¯s smile was all teeth.
223. Fracture XXVIII
The feeling of strangeness from before had accelerated into a full-blown fever dream. Every time Sera pulled an arrow from her quiver, nocked, and pulled, I braced myself, waiting for the inevitable explosion of anger and brutality.
Thump.
King Gil¡¯s head panned downward slowly as he examined the fresh arrow lodged in his bicep. He flexed experimentally, seeming to find it amusing when the shaft dislodged on its own and clattered to the wooden floorboards, wound oozing blood.
As she had the last five times, Maya approached from the side and prepared to heal him.
¡°Leave it. It won¡¯t kill me, and the pain is the point.¡± Gil waved her away and directed his attention to Sera. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be able to do that. The penetration needs work. I¡¯m completely unarmored. Either you¡¯re pulling your punches, or we need to get you a bow with a stronger draw.¡±
Sera¡¯s brows furrowed. Rather than answer, she drew another arrow from the quiver, pulled back until her arm trembled, and loosed. The sixth arrow struck his thigh, and Gil half roared, half-laughed. ¡°Better.¡±
¡°What is happening?¡± Annette leaned over the table and whispered to me, her eyes wide in confusion. ¡°I was sure he¡¯d blow up as soon as they started.¡±
¡°Diplomacy.¡± I answered. Annette was smart, but unlike me, she¡¯d grown up shielded from much of the more visceral aspects of Gil¡¯s style of rule. It hadn¡¯t helped me much in my first life, but in my second, I¡¯d come to realize that violence was, in many ways, a universal language. Beyond killing, savaging, and destroying, it could also be leveraged to communicate. Sometimes that communication was as unsubtle and jarring as a club to the face, sometimes it was toned down, almost delicate.
And there wasn¡¯t a person alive that spoke the language of violence as fluently as King Gil.
¡°In a way,¡± I winced as another arrow struck the king¡¯s shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s almost an apology.¡±
My little sister gave me a withering look. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be easier to just, you know, say he¡¯s sorry like a normal person?¡±
¡°Get the sense that isn¡¯t his style.¡± Alten quipped, staring at the empty bowl of nuts before replacing them on the table.
¡°A formal apology only goes so far.¡± I shook my head. ¡°If I had to guess, the King took Sera¡¯s questioning farther than intended. He wasn¡¯t expecting her to hold her tongue and when she did, he escalated¡ªmaybe in anger, perhaps with intent. The fact alone that she returned to the regiment knowing she might come into conflict with him again after the hell he put her through is a reality the King can¡¯t ignore.¡±
¡°So, what, father¡¯s challenging her tenacity?¡±
¡°It¡¯s not the tenacity he¡¯s worried about.¡± Alten shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s the spite. The darkest desires of a soul rarely vanish with time. If anything, it¡¯s the opposite. The longer the wounds fester, the more twisted the bearer becomes. Eventually that spite forms the perfect breeding ground for rage, and in the end, vengeance.¡±
¡°Leaving nothing but a hateful shell.¡± Thoth¡¯s face emerged in my mind, and I grimaced, banishing it.
An arrow zipped through the air, thudding into Gil¡¯s chest. I stood immediately as Maya rushed over, expression furious as she gripped Gil¡¯s shoulder, diagnostic magic washing over him in a river of green. ¡°His lung is perforated. Not only is it deflating, you were a finger-span from his heart. That is more than enough, I¡¯m putting an end to this.¡±
Sera showed no reaction. There was a coldness in her eyes I knew well, and before anyone could react, she drew the bow again. Maya stepped in front as I silently summoned mana, preparing to intervene. ¡°Move, infernal.¡±
¡°No.¡± Maya refused.
¡°Take a breath, sister.¡± I said, closing enough ground that I was better positioned to act if needed, but not so much that it would force her hand.
¡°Move!¡± Sera shouted, drawn arrowhead glinting beside her cheek.
There was a wheeze, and a large hand gently pushed Maya out of the way. ¡°Your courage is lauded. But a man does not bear his throat to another unprepared for every outcome. Step aside.¡±
¡°But¡¡± Maya hesitated, then did as the king asked, clearing the firing line and staying close enough that she could intervene at a moment¡¯s notice.
Now that her path was unobstructed, Sera wavered.
¡°If your purpose was to even the scales, that is already achieved. Killing him accomplishes nothing, sister.¡± I reminded her, trying to filter the panic out of my voice. If the King died, I¡¯d have no choice but to force a restart. And the series of events that led us here¡ªour victory, the clash with House Westmore¡ªwere difficult to recreate, reminiscent of some of the more difficult loops in the Sanctum that almost ended in disaster.
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¡°There is not yet parity.¡± Gil disagreed, his voice low and emotionless as he peered at Sera through half-lidded eyes. ¡°I did not inflict pain because I enjoy it. There were questions that needed to be answered, and the hurt was a byproduct. Ask, girl.¡±
A grimace of determination warred with grief, and Sera squinted, holding back tears as the bowstring tightened. ¡°I know you¡¯re ashamed of me. For the longest time I thought it was my magic, reminiscent of your enemies. Then Cairn sent a letter, telling of his awakening and you were delighted. After, I thought it was the¡ª¡± She closed her eyes, gathered herself and opened them again. ¡°¡the impurity of my heritage.¡±
Annette gasped. Meanwhile, Alten¡ªdemonstrating the wisdom of a man who realized he was on the precipice of hearing things he should not¡ªquietly rose from the table and left the room.
Sera snarled, ¡°Then you opened the gates, and welcomed people I believed you hated with open arms.¡±
¡°Ask.¡± He repeated.
Her lip trembled. ¡°Did¡ªdid you ever love me at all?¡±
Damn it.
This was almost untenable, now. I could already see the laughter starting in his chest. If he mistook her vulnerability for weakness? Mocked her? She¡¯d let fly before he even formed a sentence. I could catch or misdirect a lone projectile easily, but Sera would see it as a betrayal. Choosing father over her.
Gil laughed, and I saw the end approaching.
¡°From the moment you were shoved into my arms, blind and mewling, shod in nothing but soiled cloth. And I have never stopped.¡±
My mouth dropped open.
¡°How can you possibly say that?¡± Sera¡¯s face twisted, and she advanced.
The king reached up, brushing her fingers that held the bow with the back of his hand, smiling sadly. The exact expression he¡¯d worn just before he died the first time. ¡°I am sorry, girl. I was not raised with tenderness or kindness. My upbringing was difficult. And while there was a time I hated every man and woman who held authority over me, eventually, I came to realize that their cold-heartedness tempered my resolve. Prepared me for the crown.¡±
¡°No.¡± Sera bristled.
¡°You believe I care for you less for you because of blood?¡±
¡°What other explanation is there?¡±
¡°Blood plays a part, but not the way you believe. Your golden hair is close enough to the queen¡¯s. Taken alone, few would question it. But once your eyes changed color, and you began to experiment with the arcane, I knew it would lead to whispers. If I ignored them, including you in the same manner as your brother and sister, the people would hate you for it. Question the legitimacy of the Valen name. Presenting you as a bastard provides an explanation, ensures others do not see you as a threat, and prepares you for the reality of the life you live.¡±
The bow trembled. ¡°If that¡¯s the truth¡ why couldn¡¯t you just tell me? Explain the reasoning the same way you¡¯re doing now? I would have accepted it¡ªI would have accepted anything. Even if I didn¡¯t like it. Knowing would be better than wondering, all these years, if I was even wanted.¡±
¡°Because I¡¯ve seen too many coddled nobles die a swift, dishonorable death. I didn¡¯t want that for you. Any of you.¡± He cast a look and Annette and I. ¡°Your future subjects will question you, no matter how vast your wisdom, how sterling your rule. Praise creates weakness. Turns the studious into sycophants, cloying for approval. I never questioned that decision until today.¡±
Slowly, the string slackened, and the bow tumbled from Sera¡¯s grasp as she sobbed.
The king sighed and leaned his head back, resting against the cushion. Maya approached silently and tended his wounds as he continued to speak. ¡°Because today, in what I believed to be a direct but necessary attempt to evaluate my son, I killed him. Watched him depart for the halls of Valhalla as his lips paled and his blood sunk into stone. And despite that being a nasty trick,¡± he glanced at me in displeasure, ¡°I had a great deal of time to wonder. If it ends like this, what was the point? What was it all for? If the means do not achieve the ends, the means must be judged on their individual merit alone.¡± He looked at Sera with something that almost resembled empathy. ¡°I will always be a king first, and a father second. That is what it means to be a ruler. But death is swift, and plans so often unravel. Perhaps, ever so rarely, a king should coddle his child.¡±
King Gil took Sera¡¯s arm and drew her to him, sitting her on his knee and running a hand through her hair as she wept bitterly into his chest.
Once Maya¡¯s magic faded and she looked to me questioningly, I cleared my throat, not entirely sure how to feel. Some of Sera¡¯s invective was solely hers. But much of it had resonated with me, as it probably had for Annette as well. She was staring at our father and sister, wide-eyed, completely motionless. I waved a hand in front of her face and gestured for her to follow. ¡°Let¡¯s¡ give them some space.¡±
Alten, still waiting outside the door, fell in step with us. ¡°King dead?¡±
¡°Almost.¡± Maya grumbled, glancing back towards the doorway.
Annette¡¯s hand slipped into mine as we walked. ¡°Cairn.¡± She asked quietly, voicing the same question I didn¡¯t dare speak aloud. ¡°How much of that was real?¡±
Even with an entire lifetime worth of memories to draw from, my mind was spinning. Nothing like this had happened in my previous life. The regret in his voice, the guilt, and admission of past failings¡ªeven the apology¡ªall felt authentic. Then again, I could say with near-complete confidence that he¡¯d genuinely hated me towards the end of my past life. It was a question of causality. Maybe it hadn¡¯t always been that way. Elphion knows I had it coming. I spit in his face whenever I could, resisted anything he¡¯d tried to teach me, shirked every responsibility, and ultimately, ruined his legacy.
Of course he¡¯d hate me.
I wanted to believe his explanation. That the cruelty he¡¯d routinely treated us with was paved with good intentions, even if the method was misguided. But the terrors he¡¯d inflicted on both us and the world at large would not be so easily swept away.
¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I admitted.
224. Fracture XXIX
Nothing makes sense.
We¡¯d gone our separate ways quickly the previous night. Annette retired to her rooms for the evening, while Maya tended Daloch. I¡¯d come along, intent on speaking with him as soon as possible, but he was barely coherent, and after a few questions answered with gibberish, I was chased out.
I hadn¡¯t slept well, the source of my unrest the same thoughts and burgeoning questions that persisted into the early morning. Finally, I surrendered and headed out to the yard.
I swung a little too hard, sending the practice dummy¡¯s head flying into the dew-glistening grass. In a few hours, once the sun started to rise, the practice grounds would be overrun with soldiers looking to test their fellows and reinforce their training, some of whom were from my own regiment. But for now, it was a bastion of tranquility and entirely abandoned, save a single servant who observed from a high window, sipping from a simple cup¡ªprobably tea.
¡°Early riser?¡± I called out to him.
¡°Late sleeper.¡± He raised his cup. ¡°The lavender helps. Been a godsend for the graveyard shift.¡±
¡°Right.¡± A sunken face with empty eyes floated before me, taunting me even as I struggled to banish it. I¡¯d had similar experiences towards the beginning of my second life. Thoth¡¯s violent conquest and faces of the trail of dead that followed in her wake had haunted me for some time. Comparatively, it¡¯d been easier to shake. There was a part of me that knew, distressing as it all was to witness first-hand, that it hadn¡¯t really happened. Or at least, hadn¡¯t happened yet.
My mother, both my sisters, and my father, along with countless civilians and nobles slaughtered in the collateral all got a second chance.
And Lillian¡ didn¡¯t.
The rage boiled up, and before I could stop myself, I was swinging the practice sword at the dummy again, aiming at its middle, intending¡ªirrationally¡ªto cleave it in two. Of course, the blade broke, snapping at impact, sending the pointed end spinning off towards the small storage hut.
¡°Yes, take it out on the dummy and pretend you¡¯re achieving something.¡± I rolled my eyes, tossing the remaining hilt in a pile with the other two practice blades I¡¯d broken. The whole point in coming out here so early was to clear my head, consider the events of the previous day and the King¡¯s bizarre about-face. Had this been my first life I would have sought my mother¡¯s council. But from our previous conversation, I knew exactly what she¡¯d say.
¡°Fighting ghosts?¡± A gruff voice asked, as I felt the tranquility of the practice grounds slipping away from me. Judging from the weapon-length leather bundle Uncle Luther held under his shoulder, it wouldn¡¯t return.
¡°Trying. Shouldn¡¯t you be sneaking out of some noble lady¡¯s bedroom at this hour?¡± I joked, perusing a rack of practice swords, testing them one after another, finding them all wanting.
¡°More baseless accusations from my pious nephew.¡± Luther clutched his chest, scandalized.
¡°Are they?¡± I gave the sword a spin. ¡°Baseless, I mean.¡±
¡°Not really.¡± Luther shrugged. He dropped the bundle on the ground and unrolled it, revealing contents that shimmered dark bronze. ¡°Sneaking around was the way I lived for a long time. Thought I was being discreet, but eventually, some runt called me out.¡±
Oh.
¡°Oh.¡± I said aloud, feeling awkward.
¡°Gave me less shit than I deserved. Far less. But the fact alone that he was not only aware, but seemed to regard it as common knowledge, was¡ sobering.¡± Luther frowned. ¡°And when he disappeared with nothing more than a word of warning, convinced¡ªno, confident¡ªI couldn¡¯t protect him, that was a wake-up call too.¡±
¡°I¡ªI didn¡¯t mean to abandon you.¡± I tried, feeling yet another layer of guilt settle on my shoulders.
¡°No, no. You were right to run.¡± Luther shook his head. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter how young she looked. She was a force of nature. What she did to the horses alone¡ªwell. It will remain firmly lodged in my mind long after I leave this plane, same as most of the men who immediately lost their nerve and fled. Your warning probably saved my life. Without it, I would have dug in my heels to cover the retreat and died for nothing.¡±
I nodded, watching quietly as he retrieved a bronze-bladed longsword from the pack and gave it a test swing. It was a little large for someone of my stature, but it suited someone Luther¡¯s size perfectly.
¡°Back home, I found¡ªperhaps because of the attack¡ªyour insights stuck with me. So I stopped hunting skirts. Dedicated myself to my training and my nagging wife. And you know what I found?¡± Luther grinned.
¡°What?¡±
¡°They stop nagging when you actually listen.¡± Luther sheathed the longsword and withdrew a second blade from the bundle, also dark bronze, smaller than the first.
A lower voice spoke from deeper in the courtyard. ¡°The lesson is simple. There is no reason to seek pussy when the pussy was within you all along.¡±
I put a hand on my face. ¡°Good morning, father.¡±
Gil strode passed me towards Uncle Luther, stretching his shoulder. ¡°The aching in my extremities says otherwise.¡±
¡°What do you say, my king?¡± Uncle Luther stared at my father in challenge. ¡°A quick go before we put the boy through his paces?¡±
Gil shook his head. ¡°I did not come here for pussy.¡±
¡°Harsh.¡±
Questionable as it was, the cadence and lightheartedness of the exchange could only be one thing. Banter. And apparently they¡¯d been sparring? When the hell had that ever happened?
I addressed the more pressing issue. The boy-through-his-paces part. ¡°Father, you realize I have to lead my regiment today?¡±
¡°Yes.¡±
¡°And if I¡¯m grievously injured, that will likely delay our plans?¡±
¡°Yes.¡± Gil reached down into his brother¡¯s bundle of weapons and withdrew a large, dark bronze sword.
I stopped, finally placing the metal. Realistically, I should have noticed sooner, but the idea of members of the royal family so much as touching metal preferred by non-humans was difficult to imagine. ¡°Is that¡ xescalt?¡±
¡°My preferences regarding practice weapons is common knowledge. They have not changed. A wooden blade falls short in countless areas. Blunted metal is better, but it does not take much use to damage them, altering their weight minutely. And training with a poorly weighted weapon¡ªpractice or not¡ªis worse than swinging an arm about and pretending the weapon is there.¡± He held the massive sword up, looking down the blade. ¡°There is no alternative for live steel. However, as I was so recently reminded, live steel kills children. Our guest has spoken of the strength of this metal, and Thaddeus has corroborated her words. From all accounts¡ it will suffice.¡±
The mere mention of Thaddeus set my teeth on edge. At first his absence had been fine. Welcome, even. Only now, I hadn¡¯t seen him a single time since we¡¯d returned to the capital, despite several missives, multiple attempts to visit, and an entire day I¡¯d spent camped outside his door, waiting for a single glimpse of his billowing cloak. If I hadn¡¯t known about his ties to the group of mages who presumably created the loop, I would have ignored it. But the constant and intentional avoidance by someone who most definitely knew enough to piece together my abilities was disturbingly reminiscent of Ephira.
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And the mistakes I¡¯d made during the enclave loops were not mistakes I intended to repeat.
¡°How pragmatic. I¡¯d also like to speak with Thaddeus. Yet everywhere I look, Thaddeus is not.¡±
¡°He is a difficult man to find when he does not wish to be found.¡± The King nodded.
¡°True enough.¡± With how amenable the king had been as of late, I considered asking him to arrange a meeting. Then thought better of it. Thaddeus was one of the few people in Whitefall who operated completely free of oversight. Not that the king hadn¡¯t tried. He¡¯d told me once that the harder he pressed Thaddeus, the poorer the results. And those results were apparently worth enough to keep him around despite that. ¡°Any¡ ideas on how I might find him anyway?¡±
¡°How does a woodsman find the bandit tracking him through the brush?¡±
¡°He doubles back.¡± I answered automatically.
¡°Exactly.¡±
The implications of the hypothetical hit me a second later.
Bastard¡¯s either having me followed, or keeping tabs on me himself. Nothing new, but gods he¡¯s being thorough about it this time.
It went a long way to explaining why we never seemed to stumble into each other¡¯s path. I was reminded again of Ephira. The sooner I hounded the spymaster down, the better.
Uncle Luther tossed me the smaller blade, and I contorted to catch it by the hilt. Like the others, it was freshly forged with a blunted edge.
/////
The training session was strange. I¡¯d expected little. A short bout that turned into a struggle for my life once the king lost his temper. But so far, that hadn¡¯t happened. If anything, it was methodical. Luther and Gil tag-teamed, one attacking while the other lingered to the side, correcting form and bellowing instructions. I¡¯d created a solid foundation from Cephur¡¯s teaching, built on it with the aid of many infernals¡ªErdos and Bellarex being the most notable¡ªand come into my own during my exile in the sanctum. There was no question I was stronger than I was, stronger than I¡¯d ever been. But the sanctum had few long mirrors or reflective surfaces. I wasn¡¯t able to check my form for extended periods of time, and despite the exponential growth, the lapse of formal instruction created cracks in my foundation.
¡°No.¡± Gil kicked my boot, just as I was about to strike at Luther. Gil being Gil, it carried enough force to knock me clear off my feet, the sky spinning before me. I cast a small aegis beneath my plummeting back, catching myself and rolling off the platform, landing solid.
¡°Why?¡± I asked, bewildered.
¡°Your feet betray you. A monster might not notice, but a man worth his salt sure as hells will.¡±
I corrected my footing, mentally comparing it to the way I stood before. He was right. I was telegraphing, moving before I needed to for the sake of fluidity.
Another strike. Another stop.
This time he raised my sword arm. ¡°Channeling your frustrations into combat is only useful if you control it. Keep it here.¡± He tapped my chest. ¡°Not here.¡± He tapped my arm. ¡°A child could have seen that swing coming. Swap.¡±
As before, Gil attacked without warning. A broad, brutal swap capable of cleaving a man in two. I ducked beneath it easily and looked up in time to notice a glint in his eye. Like the blade was made of nothing, he halted it mid-swing¡ªdirectly over my head¡ªgripped the righted blade and slammed it down.
The only reason I managed to evade at all was because I¡¯d seen this exact maneuver before. I threw myself to the side, gripping another anchored aegis with my free-hand for leverage and landing upright, smacking the king¡¯s heel with my sword.
¡°Petty.¡± He grumbled.
¡°The acrobatics are fine during a bout, when you¡¯re unarmored and unencumbered.¡± Luther cautioned, pacing a bit behind me. ¡°But even if you can manage to achieve them in the equivalent of half-plate, it will tire you quickly.¡±
¡°Uh¡ª¡±
¡°That¡¯s not what he¡¯s doing, imbecile.¡± The flat of the King¡¯s sword smacked Luther¡¯s head.
¡°Ow¡ªand really, my king? The spinning jumps aren¡¯t acrobatics?¡±
¡°No. It looks flashier than it is.¡± The king demonstrated, placing his hand flat on the air. ¡°He is creating anchor points with air mana. With enough impetus he merely needs to support his weight for a short time, moving in a specific direction. Pair that in combination with the unnatural strength of his free arm, and I imagine he could do it almost indefinitely.¡±
¡°I didn¡¯t know.¡± Luther tapped his chin.
¡°Because he hides it.¡± Gil looked at me. ¡°Those who do not catch on will underestimate you, which I suspect is the point. But you should be careful of those who do.¡±
Right. It was most dangerous versus another spellsword. Anyone with air, water, and especially wind had potentially nasty counters for anchored movement. Void, however, could kill me outright. If I reached out for an anchor, leveraging my entire weight on a single point only to find it gone?
Disturbing to think about.
I¡¯d received a similar warning from Master Saladius, a reclusive infernal whose air element mastery was the stuff of legends. But the creatures in the deeper layers of the sanctum were both swift and brutal, and I¡¯d begun to overly rely on the method, regardless.
Gil stepped away, looking me over. ¡°You have grown accustomed to fighting enemies beneath you. A pitfall that occurs for all skilled swordsmen, eventually. This, however, has been productive. I am pleased. Assuming you agree to continue these sessions every morning, I will grant you support for your operation today in a form of your choosing.¡±
Somehow, I kept my expression neutral. I¡¯d assumed this would be a onetime thing and done my level best to wring every drop of value I could glean from it. He would slow some with age¡ªthat was inevitable for anyone¡ªbut Gil was still one of, if not the best fighter on the continent. The only reasons I hadn¡¯t asked for his guidance sooner was the expectation he¡¯d find it beneath him, and even if he didn¡¯t, the risk that he might lose his temper and force a reset. Oddly, he seemed to be under the impression I didn¡¯t want to learn from him.
¡°Can Sera attend as well?¡± I tried.
Luther¡¯s cringe mirrored how I felt, as King Gil watched me impassively.
¡°Are you asking on her behalf, or yours?¡± Gil asked.
¡°Both.¡± I stated honestly. Sera could learn much from the King that would benefit her growth as a warrior, and her growth would only strengthen my regiment so long as she served as a banner-lieutenant. I was about to explain as much when he answered.
¡°Fine.¡±
Luther had a sudden fit of coughing. Behind him, soldiers began to arrive at the training yard, many doing a double-take as they spotted the three of us. Unaware, Gil stared at me expectantly. ¡°And the support?¡±
I thought about it, the question more complicated than it appeared initially. Sera wouldn¡¯t want father¡¯s troops anywhere near the real conflict. For differing reasons, neither did I. My regiment was well-disciplined, but from what little I observed, they were still treated as outsiders by the greater army. They needed this win, and they needed it to be mostly independent from outside aid. Not to mention the natural loss of organization and efficiency when units that seldomly worked together were required to. Pair that with the tightness and poor-lighting of the sewers, friendly fire was almost inevitable.
¡°The only issue I foresee is one of manpower.¡± My brow furrowed. ¡°We don¡¯t know what, exactly, we¡¯re going to find or how difficult the battle will be. My first instinct is to bring my entire regiment to bear as directly as possible, but if we do that, the escape routes are many. We risk flushing the creature, or creatures, out into the open and making things worse.¡±
King Gil grinned savagely. ¡°So you need hands to hold the boiler closed while you cook them alive. I like it. How many points of retreat?¡±
I winced, remembering the many tiny flags marking avenues the sewer could be accessed dotted across Kilvius¡¯s map. ¡°Around thirty.¡±
¡°That¡¯s a lot of troops, boy.¡±
¡°I know. Even partial coverage¡ª¡±
¡°I did not say it was too many.¡± Gil held out a hand to stop me. ¡°Just that the favor is out of scope and requires recompense.¡±
Alright, he was willing to consider it. Better than it could have gone. I braced myself and asked. ¡°What sort of recompense?¡±
¡°Perhaps¡ a celebratory meal tonight, after your victory.¡±
I blinked. ¡°Like, a feast?¡±
He waved that idea away. ¡°Smaller. I¡¯ll handle your mother, but I¡¯d like you to ensure your sisters are in attendance. Bring the infernal. Leave the cat and dog.¡±
Simple as it was, the mental dots were so far apart it was difficult to connect them. ¡°You want to have a family dinner, with no one else in attendance.¡±
¡°Yes.¡± Gil gave the still gaping Luther a withering stare. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be able to make it?¡±
¡°Uh... certainly. Nothing pressing in my schedule.¡± Luther rubbed the back of his head.
¡°Ugh.¡±
¡°I¡¯ll take it. We have a deal.¡± I answered, after the shock had worn off. The queen being there was a minor discomfort given how we¡¯d left things, but if Gil was going to keep bargaining with offerings I already hoped for, I was going to make out like a bandit.
All we had to do was to make it through the sewers.
225. Fracture XXX
The march towards the south-end of the city was a novel experience. Generally, the average person wouldn¡¯t give two shits about the clash with House Westmore. What they should give a shit about was the massive uptick in military presence, skirmishes on the streets, and fires. Yet we were met with little enmity. Somehow, it was almost the opposite.
A priest, likely assigned to a Topside parish, considering the severe, almost monkish asceticism of his attire paired with a brooch of Onara on his collar approached Annette, a small clutch of freshly picked flowers beneath his arm. "Goddess''s greetings, Princess." His smile was generous and gap-toothed as he held them out to her.
Annette took them slowly, looking him over before giving the simple bouquet a performative sniff. "These are lovely. But I am not currently available for courtship."
Beside me, Sera choked and laughed. But my little sister''s warning¡ªwhile awkward and harsh¡ªdid not seem to diminish the priest''s enthusiasm.
"Alas, as Elphion holds a claim on my soul, we are alike in that small way." He patted her horse.
"Then these are simply tribute?" Annette asked.
The priest nodded. "You were hardly the first to fall prey to Panthanian machinations, yet one of the rare few to escape them. The rejection of their brutish norms and gilding of their authority brings hope to many."
Internally, I struggled not to roll my eyes. House Westmore had Uskarrion roots long before the slavers established a Panthanian foothold. And they made that foothold after the prior king elevated them to noble status. Crippling them and stripping them of their status was more janitorial than valiant. A long overdue tidying of our own mess. But of course, self-reflection and societal responsibility was a difficult topic, ungraspable for many, so naturally it wasn''t the angle Thaddeus would choose to spin the events of the last few days.
"Then, thank you." Annette nodded, showing great tact. There was no doubt in my mind she''d connected the same dots I had, to the point I''d half expected her to correct him. But she was far more diplomatic in this life than the former. "They''ll live on my window-sill in a crystal vase, and I''ll tend them daily."
"Very kind, your grace. However, these are Gilded Asters. I was careful to maintain their roots. If you choose to replant them in a place that is partially shaded, they thrive almost anywhere."
These are the ones that help. They thrive here more than most weeds, yet their applications are limitless. You''ll find them in any field or forest. But if you need them in greater numbers, there''s no better place to search than a graveyard.
"Ah. Then I''ll plant them in the patch of earth beneath my window, where I may look out and see them bloom." Annette withdrew a small blanket from her satchel and wrapped them.
The priest bowed, then turned to me. "There was more I would deign to discuss, but from the look of things, you are in a hurry."
On one hand, we were in a hurry. On the other, Annette was rarely sought out by the public, and despite her show of sternness was clearly delighted with the gift. If he wanted something else and was using the gift to gain an audience with a prince, I could appreciate the cleverness. As my father had just proved, there were far more distasteful methods of gaining my attention.
"The crown always has time for our spiritual counsellors. But if the matter is complex, it might be best to schedule a time so we may discuss in greater detail." I said, my delivery atypically wooden. Despite knowing full-well that the gods of this plane---with few exceptions---had left us, being in the presence of priests and other religious folk often made me uncomfortable. They wouldn''t look kindly on my "cavorting" with demons, to be certain, but it was more than that. From the beginning of my second life, I''d been forced to make difficult decisions. Choices that often led to solutions that were underhanded and occasionally cruel, albeit by necessity. Most religions demanded their supplicants live in a binary, right and wrong, good and evil.
I always tried to do the good thing. The right thing. But the more difficult the situation, the more I found myself beholden to a different binary. The thing that worked, and the thing that didn''t.
The result was a quagmire most gods would probably disapprove of.
Despite my obvious reticence, the priest shook his head. "It''s a simple matter. But an important one nonetheless."
"Then speak."
His expression grew solemn, full of empathy. "Shameful as this is to admit, it''s come to my attention that a woman was interred in the graveyard attached to my chapel without the proper rites."
The air evacuated my lungs, as the weight---always there, but often banished from the forefront of my mind, crushed down on me. Images from that day assailed me one after another, their sharpness cutting deep, only dulling as Maya placed a hand on the small of my back. Somehow I formed a sentence. "If it''s that the plot is unpaid for..."
The priest shook his head. "You misunderstand me, your grace. There are many in Topside who cannot afford a plot. Were I to circle the city like a tax collector, demanding payment to all those who laid their dead to rest in hallowed ground, there would be countless vacated graves, and I would be no richer for it." Something approaching passion flashed in his eyes. "Even if I were that sort of man, we do not charge heroes for their resting place."
"I''m sorry, heroes?" Maya repeated, giving voice to the question lodged in my throat.
"Yes, noble diplomat." The priest addressed her, casting the occasional glance at me. "If the rumors are to be believed." He waited for confirmation.
"What rumors?" I managed, weakness in my voice betraying me.
"Pardon." The priest cleared his throat, hesitating. "If there is nothing to them, I apologize. But from my understanding the woman was an apothecary''s apprentice---"
Right so far.
"---who discovered the cure for the Gray Pallor."
What?
My jaw dropped. Because that wasn''t common knowledge. I wasn''t sure anyone could know that. In my first life, Lillian had multiple ideas and theories on how to combat the plague. With her blessing, I''d lent noble credibility by passing them along to the Royal Alchemist as my own, and when a cure was finally created, he''d taken full credit. She claimed she didn''t want it. From her perspective, she''d simply provided ideas, and the Royal Alchemy division had put in the necessary experimentation, research, and footwork to create it. As long as the sickness lost its lethality, she didn''t care. But it''d always bothered me that she''d never been recognized for her contributions.
More relevant, this was right out of Thaddeus''s playbook. Circulated rumors on top of rumors, each tier growing less plausible, until the conspiracy peddlers were shouting the most ridiculous iterations from the rooftops, and the core element he needed everyone to believe seemed completely obvious and rational by comparison.
The question was, did he have enough information to reasonably make that connection?
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Maybe. He''d read the letter I sent to my father after the battle with Barion. Beyond that, he''d known I''d gone searching for an apothecary''s daughter, eventually finding her in an unmarked grave. The logical connection was there, but it was tenuous at best. Either he read between the lines...
Or he knew from the beginning.
"Did these rumors address who killed her?" I asked, trying to stay focused on the present.
The priest''s lips thinned apologetically. "They grow a bit less plausible on that point, my lord. But considering the sheer quantity of wyvern-oil treatments for the plague coming out of House Westmore during that period, and the considerable influx of gold they stood to lose should an effective and affordable cure come to light, many believe the story tells itself."
Right. Now that the non-humans were off the scapegoating block, it was full-speed ahead on the "Blame the Panthanians," initiative. Still, there was a certain poetry to the narrative, the sort that bore the spymaster''s signature. Thoth''s part in Lillian''s death would be buried, because neither Thaddeus nor my father would want the public to believe she could strike unchallenged, slipping in and out of the kingdom as she pleased. This counter-narrative recognized Lillian for her accomplishment, explained the sheer ire I''d leveled on House Westmore, and turned her into an icon. A hero.
Everything Thaddeus did was multi-faceted, accomplishing multiple goals with a single action, but unless I was completely off base, there was a part of this that almost felt like an apology.
The priest was waiting expectantly, shifting slightly, arms clasped behind him.
If I had any doubt Thaddeus intended to use Lillian to turn the public opinion towards Panthania hostile, I might have blown up his blending of truth and fabrication right there. But from what I could tell, this wasn''t that.
I nodded slowly. "I try not to speak on rumors. But, yes. Lillian Gray''s contributions are the only reason we have an effective cure. It was my intention to see her recognized and rewarded properly on my return. You know the rest."
"May Onara embrace you in this time of grief." The priest said, gently offering condolences before he continued. "There is no greater injustice than for one so young and accomplished to be stranded on the glass shores of the eternal tide."
Pain wracked me. Because while the image of Lillian denied passage was painful, the truth was worse. Onara abandoned us long ago, the dark wicker boat and ferryman that granted passage to valiant souls to Valhalla, or the Elysium halls, gone with her. Now there was nothing but darkness and the black beast.
There was nothing. No glass beach. No hope of passage to somewhere better.
She was just gone.
"Respectfully, Priest of Onara. What is your aim?" Maya interjected brusquely, already maneuvering to cut the painful interaction short.
"Yes, you all have business to attend to, I''ll keep this short." Again, he made eye-contact with me. "Apologies for my directness, but do you intend to move Lady Gray? To a graveyard overseen by Elphion, perhaps?"
"It''s been a harrying few days. There has been little time to decide." I admitted. Realistically, I should''ve already come up with something. Lillian deserved better than to be buried in an unmarked hole in the ground. But knowing what I did, it all just felt so... pointless.
"Given your confirmation, I''m aware that Lady Gray''s accomplishments have earned her an ultimate resting place amongst nobles." The priest spoke carefully, tip-toeing around obvious heresy. "But afflicted nobles could always afford the bespoke services of an alchemist, even before the cure. It was the common-folk she aided most. And as a commoner myself, there''s no doubt in my mind she held their best interests in her heart. Because of her deeds and the misfortune that one so worthy of rest was denied it beneath my watch, it would be my honor and privilege to perform the rites of Onara and the subsequent service. The church will canonize her as a Guardian at my behest, and commission an effigy to mark her resting place."
I felt a flash of anger at the idea of an ambitious priest exploiting the dead to pull more potential supplicants in, when I realized it was likely nothing nefarious. Onara''s following was smaller than Elphion''s. But with Onara being the goddess of death, her church wasn''t exactly lacking in visitation. Canonization was a rare honor, one that cost the church a great deal more than the tithes her effigy would pull-in.
And while Lillian rarely spoke of the gods, she''d always had a soft spot for Onara in particular. Probably the reason Gunther buried her there in the first place.
"I think she''d be honored." I said, the words heavy as they left my lips. "Go ahead and make the arrangements."
He bowed low and peered at me as he rose. "It will be done. The church will send word once the day is set. I''m not sure how familiar you are with our process, but during the funeral, there is a period of remembrance. Would you like to speak there?"
Of course I would. But as I imagined being there, speaking for her, something about it felt wrong. Across both lives, I''d failed Lillian. In my first life I''d seen only what I wanted to see, and despite all my plans and good intentions, pushed her into a role she''d never wanted to play. In this life, I hadn''t been there when Thoth tied her to a chair, goaded her screams for help, and laughed¡ªlaughed¡ªwhen no one came.
I should have been there. Then. When she actually needed me. Arriving half a decade too late in a world she never knew me, drawing attention away from her contributions to share my sorrows when it was my choices that brought her nothing but grief in return?
It would be wrong to even attend, let alone speak for her.
I stared at the ground, suddenly unable to look the priest in the eye. "I''m not sure."
From the long hesitation, the response wasn''t what he expected. When he finally spoke his voice was kindly, practiced, as if he''d said similar things countless times before. "From what I''ve heard, you have the gift of speech. But the gods know better than anyone that some words carry more weight than others. And while there are those among my brethren would vehemently disagree, personally, I don''t believe the dead care for our words at all."
"No?"
"Of course not." The priest huffed in annoyance. "If you were suddenly uprooted from this plane, cast into the alien and unfamiliar, then expected to find your way to a place you had no idea how to locate, would you give two shits about what they were saying about you back here?"
I managed a hollow laugh. "I suppose I''d have bigger things to worry about."
"Exactly. It''s just common sense. Should you decide to attend, we''ll have a place for you. There is no right or wrong way to honor the dead, your grace. Some find solace in eulogies, others in quiet reflection. The path you choose is yours alone, and the sincerity of your intentions will be felt by those who matter most."
"Thank you, priest. I''ll think about it."
/////
By the time we arrived at the sewer entrance, a few scouts from my regiment were already dismantling the rusting cast-iron bars that held the massive outlet grate shut. This was the widest entry point by far. The sewers themselves were winding and expansive, but so long as we were methodical, the regiment was large enough that the net we cast could cover the entire sewer within a day.
The regiment unpacked on the mountainous outcropping above, the wafting scent of putrefied refuse pervading our nostrils.
Someone caught my eye immediately. Nothing about his appearance was extraordinary, if I saw him strolling down the street in Whitefall I likely wouldn''t have given him a second glance. It was his proximity to the grate that was strange. He was mere spans from the men dismantling the grate, close enough that they should have noticed and told him to clear out.
Then again, arch-fiends probably had a lot of experience going undetected.
"Need something Ozra?" I dismounted and called over my shoulder.
He grimaced and disappeared in a flash of smoke that startled the scouts, manifesting astride the horse I''d just dismounted. "Really? No ''who is that, what the hells is he doing there, oh dear gods it''s an arch-fiend?'' I''ve been waiting for hours."
I leaned over to Annette, unimpressed. "Who is that? What the hells is he doing there?"
"Dear gods. It''s an arch-fiend." Annette returned in her usual monotone.
"Perhaps we should not mock the demonic power that so kindly aided us?" Maya called over as she slung her staff over her back.
"No matter how much we hate each other, the infernals always end up being the most reliable." Ozra pouted, before he seemed to finally grow tired of the charade.
"What have you been doing?" I asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.
"Beyond giving kings existential angst? Exploring, mainly. So much has changed from the last time I was here. The existence of buildings, of course, but especially the subterranean. You''ll be clearing the sewer today?" He asked, suddenly serious.
"That''s the plan." I checked both my sword and sword-breaker, testing the blades with my thumb, finding them both razor sharp. "Any last-minute words of advice?"
"One in particular." Ozra''s expression clouded. It suddenly struck me that this was probably the second time I''d seen the ancient demon troubled. "Don''t."
226. Fracture XXXI
"We''re going to need more than that." Maya tapped her foot. Behind her, the regiment continued to unpack their horses. Bringing the animals into a filthy environment littered with all sorts of debris likely to cause scrapes and abrasions would be a death sentence for half of them at least, so the plan was to leave them behind.
"Can''t give you more." Ozra shook his head. "Technically, what I''ve already said could be judged to be in violation. If the judge was biased. Which they always are."
"Violation of what?" I asked, growing exasperated.
Ozra mimed sealing his lips shut.
I clasped the cold amulet on my neck, summoning Vogrin. The demon appeared, his stark visage drawing several gasps as nearby members of my regiment stared, then went on about their business without comment. Yet even now, no one was paying attention to Ozra.
"He''s being coy." Vogrin said, rubbing his chin.
"Seems like a scouting opportunity." I suggested.
"Indeed." Vogrin rotated in mid-air, growing almost translucent as he approached the gate.
"Really wouldn''t do that." Ozra called out.
Vogrin halted mid-flight, hand on the gate, twisting around to glower at Ozra. "I''m contracted. Even if there''s something inside capable of killing me, my contract holder could bring me back within the hour."
"And if your sustained existence was my primary concern, you''d be correct in that assumption. In fact, I might even encourage you." Ozra stage-whispered to me. "He gets so very prickly when he dies."
I could relate. "Respectfully, Arch-fiend, is there any way you could be less circuitous?"
"Absolutely not. But if you all insist on smattering me with questions, let¡¯s take this to a more private setting.¡± Ozra snapped his fingers, and the outside world grew hazy, trails of gray smoking separating me, Maya, Annette, and Vogrin from the rest of the regiment. Again, they didn¡¯t seem to notice. An uncomfortable reminder of how powerful the arch-fiend was.
"Believe it or not, this is my lord and malefactor at his most generous. He seems to be in a magnanimous mood thanks to his vacation. These are all hints... frustrating as they are." Vogrin said tiredly. "So far we can draw the conclusion that there is a serious threat still lingering within the sewers, scouting is pointless, and permanent or temporary, my death is not the issue."
Ozra held up a finger. "A quick correction. I never said that scouting wouldn''t help."
"You¨C" Vogrin bit off an angry retort, then rubbed his chin, mulling the new information over. "Ah. Scouting is not the issue. Me being the one to carry it out is where the problem lies."
"I tend to advise against strategic actions that will achieve nothing at best."
"If there''s something in there, I will find it." Vogrin countered. Then frowned. "Yet my thoroughness is an attribute you''ve always valued. You''re aware of that. So again, my aptitude is not the problem."
Ozra scanned the group expectantly.
It hit me later than it should have. "It''s a safe assumption, based on context, that the arch-fiend is acting in good faith." When both Ozra and Vogrin scoffed, I amended. "Acting in as good of faith as a demon is capable of." That seemed to go over better, so I continued. "Considering his mood and demeanor, and the fact I don''t think he''s boorish enough to fabricate a problem where none exists, we can extrapolate that there''s a real threat, he knows exactly what it is, and while he believes you''re capable of finding it, you would---for some obscure demon reason---not be able to report it. ''Achieving nothing at best.''"
"I am anything but boorish." Ozra agreed.
"My mind went there as well." Vogrin agreed, growing visibly irritated. "But nothing connects. Soul-bound contracts favor the binder by design, that''s the point. There''s no temptation in a bad deal. Our contract supersedes almost any agreement or pact the asmodial legion holds."
Ozra nodded condescendingly. "What precise and accurate wording."
Vogrin''s mouth opened, then slammed shut, the deathly pallor of his face growing lighter. "You can''t be serious."
"There''s another contract in play." Maya said, suddenly. She''d been watching the back-and-forth quietly until now, when she stepped to the forefront. "Demonic law has few absolutes. The verbiage is intentionally written to be riddled with loopholes and escape clauses."
"Favoring the demons, I assume?" Sera asked, clearly bemused by the entire exchange.
"Yes. But as an arch-fiend of a widespread and formidable legion, and the advantages to the greater hells the asmodial''s current symbiotic position in the sanctum provides? Ozra holds enough authority and influence that even the prime evils would overlook much. It would take a clear-cut transgression that could be definitively proven. Something he would never do."
"And meddling with another legion''s soul-bound contract is inexpiable. High treason to the hells, at best. It would most definitely fall in that category." Vogrin concurred, not looking at all happy about it.
"Never is such a strong sentiment." Ozra grinned, putting his sharpened teeth on full display. ¡°It would, of course, be folly for a garden-variety arch-fiend to take such a risk. However, if the arch-fiend in question were owed favors by not one, but two of the sitting prime evils, he might find himself more willing to take the fall, as it were.¡±
"''He,''" Vogrin said, putting a great deal of enmity into the word, "would still be taking a massive risk. Even if his favors were substantive enough to counter something so egregious, we cannot cherry-pick which prime evil deigns to judge us."
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
"You can''t." Ozra agreed, letting the implication speak for itself.
I interrupted before Vogrin could bite back. "I think the more important question is, what would be worth calling in those favors?"
A silence fell over the group as all eyes turned to Ozra.
The arch-fiend gave me a sour look. "Cairn, ruiner of fun strikes again. Really¡ªdo you have any idea how many centuries it''s been since I did a soft sell?"
"As a contracted demon, I have a responsibility to advise you. There is literally nothing this group could give him that would remotely approach the value of a favor from a prime evil. You could offer him the souls of every person here, including every single member of your regiment and it would still be cosmically uneven." Vogrin whispered in my mind.
"So it''s bullshit?" I asked.
"My instinct is that, for the most part, his information is forthright. But he''s playing a game to which only he knows the rules, with pieces only he can see. There''s a remote possibility that his favors have a pending expiration, though I cannot fathom why, besides the potential onset of something unavoidable and cataclysmic on a global scale."
A chill shot down my spine, even as Maya pressed for more information. "Well? What would you ask in return?"
Ozra shrugged. "Nothing out of the ordinary. There are several souls here that interest me." He kicked off the wall, arms clasped behind his back as he looked around like a merchant inspecting wares, gaze settling on Sevran. "The infernal banner lord''s soul is magnificent, but alas, he seems like the close-minded type." He casually turned, looking Maya over. "It''s no secret I find you fascinating."
"No." I said.
Maya''s mouth tightened. "You''ve never explained why. When our paths crossed in the enclave, you never gave me a second look."
"The loyalty you so unflinchingly hold always shone through. And loyalty born from love is vastly superior to loyalty begotten from dogma. But none of that changes the reality that loyalty on its own, is rather boring." Ozra smirked. "Self-hatred, however, is far more interesting. I''ve been around a long time. Watched countless mortals that hated themselves half as much as you put a swift end to their pitiable existence, unable to bear the thought of another wretched day. But not you. The way your loyalty coerces you to channel that perfect hatred into drive?" He chuckled to himself. "That is truly something special."
"None of that guarantees I''d be an asset, just as my loyalty to another does not assure my loyalty to you."
"I think it''s safe to say she''s not interested." I interjected flatly.
"Pipe down, ruiner of fun."
"You don''t have to listen to this." I said to Maya. Just because she looked unbothered didn''t mean he wasn''t getting to her. Maya always maintained a stoic facade in stressful situations.
"I don''t. But he''s leading up to something." Maya squinted at Ozra. "You''ve been hinting at it ever since we were reunited. I''d rather hear it now than later, when I''m bleeding out and desperate."
A fetid breeze ruffled Ozra''s hair, and he closed his eyes, savoring the moment. He held out a hand that was mostly human, save the long needled nails, and held it palm up. "I''d like to inspect the necklace, if you please."
Maya slowly withdrew the amulet that housed Kastramoth, her hellhound summon.
"Not that one, infernal."
The reaction was instantaneous as Maya froze. Painstakingly slowly, she withdrew the locket that housed a shard of the enchanted mirror. "You were watching me. In the sanctum."
"Long enough to realize that at the pace you were going, you were not long for this world." Ozra opened one eye and peered at her. "Did you really believe that gaggle of idiots you saved from the wyvern were grateful enough to search the entire hoard for the one legendary artifact capable of keeping you alive?"
"Demons do not gift freely." Maya''s complexion flushed. "This is a lie. A cheap trick."
"My tricks are priceless. And I was only watching over you because someone asked me to." He cast a meaningful look at me. "The locket, please."
Maya gripped the locket tightly, grip finally slackening as she handed it over. Ozra popped open the locket and withdrew the shard, discarding the housing and holding it up to the sun. "Even in this sad, diminished state, it pains me to hold it. I always wondered. Did you know of its divine origins, before putting it to the uses you did?"
"Yes." Maya stared at the ground, her voice hollow.
Ozra stared into the shard, thoughtful. "You speak as if I''ve never seen you, expatriated from your loyalty. But I know exactly who you are once severed from it. When I imparted this, I expected the rage was a fugue you''d wake up from. Instead, I watched, spellbound, as you stripped away every weakness, amputating every inconvenience, forging yourself into---"
"A monster." Maya spat, bitterly.
Ozra shook his head slowly. "No, infernal. A masterpiece. Or the very precipice of one. A perfect fusion of brutality and efficiency, constantly iterating and evolving. And as there is no greater tragedy than an artist denied her brush..." The arch-fiend snapped his fingers, and a whirlwind of reflective mirror fragments assembled around the shard.
Maya''s eyes widened. "It was dust. Nothing left but that single shard."
"It''s been something of an undertaking. But I believe the time and effort will be worth it. Unfortunately, the divine energy held within it is long gone," Ozra''s face was a mask of focus, as he reconstituted the mirror, the spider webbing cracks disappearing slowly. The mirror¡ªonce cloudy and light¡ªgained clarity as it changed tone, growing darker by the second. On the ground nearby, the locket melted, floating dots of liquid gold floating up towards the mirror, forming a thin frame. "Thankfully, there''s a convenient substitute. Just as powerful, and far less picky about the manner it is used."
"Stop." Maya held out a hand. "This was to satisfy my curiosity. My soul was never on the table. No matter what you offer, that will not change."
"There''s that word again." Ozra chuckled. "Make no mistake. I never intended to ransom this. Nor to extort you over certain details I''m all but certain were glossed over in the retelling." Maya recoiled and stared at the ground again. "But we both know there''s something only I can give you. Something you would trade your soul for in an instant. Consider this a loan, lent without interest, due the day you decide you''re ready for that conversation." The now complete mirror floated out of Ozra''s palm and hovered in front of Maya.
Reject it. Tell him you want nothing to do with it.
I urged silently, hoping my feelings would reach her. As far as I could tell, there wasn''t a trap. But if Maya accepted it, it meant Ozra had his foot in the door. As much as I wanted to argue, it wasn''t my decision to make. It was hers.
"And if that day never comes?" Maya asked, taking the mirror and studying her own reflection.
"Then I have returned an artist her brush, and will consider it my good deed for the millennia." Ozra sighed. Then suddenly changed tact, perking up. "And of course, there''s someone truly special. A soul that brought new magic into the world, after centuries of stagnancy, one that I have heard no end of." His gaze landed on Annette.
My sword leapt into my hand, propelled by wind, as demon-fire ignited the blade. I pressed the point against his neck, and when I spoke, my voice was raw.
"Enough."
He chuckled, never looking away from my sister. "How long have the nightmares plagued you?"
227. Fracture XXXII
The interior of the privacy dome turned an eerie red hue, amplifying the wispy shadows that circulated the outside. Ozra leaned forward, his previously unremarkable visage much less human-looking now that it was bathed in crimson. The motion forced his neck against the point of my blade, drawing no blood, making only the slightest impression.
I nearly ended it right there. Fighting Ozra directly wasn''t an option. Even if he didn''t have considerable leverage over me, the sheer difference in ability and experience was substantial. But that didn''t mean I was powerless. Despite his age, resources, and an entire demonic legion''s share of accumulated power, there was still one thing I had that he didn''t. The ability to stop this entire interaction from happening in the first place. It would set me back, potentially weeks. But with my sister''s soul on the line, it was a small price to pay.
Vibrations from the inscription at my throat resonated into my sternum, as they flooded with mana.
"This is unseemly, arch-fiend," Vogrin said, voice heavy with disdain.
"I will not be judged by the likes of you," Ozra didn''t move. Didn''t so much as look at him.
"Not only is he a contracted soul, he is one that invited you into his home. You risk turning him into yet another cautionary tale," Maya added, moving in a creeping flank to Ozra''s left.
I paused, taking a deep breath to steady myself, prepared to plunge into the dark. Then a possibility formed in the back of my mind, one cobbled together with information from Vogrin''s theory and prior dealings with the arch-fiend. I shoved down the rage to a distant simmer and forced myself to think strategically. "Interesting. Of the many descriptives that could apply to you, Ozra, desperate has never been one of them. Yet here we are."
"What?" Ozra balked, his malevolent cheer dying instantly.
"You style yourself after the greater evils, in both aesthetic and demeanor. Abyssal powers that lay in wait for supplicants to approach them, hearing their pleas and entreaties from a seat of perfect, unflinching authority. Not a bandit razing travelers on the open road." Something tugged on the sleeve of my sword arm, small fingers plying at the fabric.
Vogrin had it backward. There''s no cataclysm. Or if there is, it''s not what he''s worried about.
I continued. "I''ve seen a lot of plans fall to pieces. More than my share. In my experience, it goes one of two ways. Panic is the most common path. But if you''re experienced in watching the gods shit skyward all over your machinations? The better option is to get mean. Quicken the pace, double-down, salvage whatever you can before the ploy is blown. Naturally that requires a drastic alteration in behavior. Interesting again, when you mentioned your list of favored souls, that the only souls you included are people currently present. Whitefall is overrun with talented warriors, and though they are smaller in number than the others, gifted mages. An unidentified void mage potentially capable of turning large-scale battles in their favor should be of significant interest, yet, they bear no mention."
Ozra reacted. The tiniest twitch of his lips, pulling sideways. A grimace? A smile? I couldn''t be sure. "Always finding increasingly elegant ways to grasp at straws. Perpetually on the fringes of a mystery you can never fully grasp. The sheer cuckoldry of your perception must be quite frustrating."
"Alright then. Here''s what I''ve perceived," I snapped, feeling the tirade coming and doing nothing to stop it. "The unfortunate reality that you seemingly can''t warn us is probably true. I¡¯ve spent a lot of time with Vogrin, enough to become familiar with his mannerisms and¡ªperhaps foolishly¡ªconsider him a friend. Wisdom of that aside, he seemed utterly taken off guard by your actions here, so this wasn''t pre-planned. You returned Maya''s mirror under the guise of favoritism and charity, and while the former holds truth, the latter is anything but. This isn''t about bartering for hints, or indirectly providing aid. You said yourself there was nothing you could offer Maya to secure her soul. Not yet. But you returned the one item that would keep her alive in almost any circumstance. Even if everyone else around her is obliterated, if she''s fast enough¡ªwhich I believe she is¡ªshe will persevere. However long it takes, she will piece herself back together and come staggering back out of that hole, shaken, in mourning. Vulnerable. Where you''ll be waiting to resume negotiations."
"Is this true?" Maya asked, visibly nauseous at the picture I was painting. Off to the side, Vogrin was watching me mutely, so intently that I half expected to hear his voice in my head. But the voice never came.
Ozra scoffed, looking utterly unimpressed. "You think I''d trade your soul for his?"
"Not at all," I smiled thinly. "Regardless of the individual worth of a soul, keeping what you have as leverage while adding more is always preferable to a straightforward trade. Collecting a set of bonded souls has to be, at the very least, a novelty. Two souls that you''re already interested in that just happen to be bonded? All the sweeter. She''s already put her soul on the line for me once. You''ll offer to station her beside me, let us fight together in the hells. And brilliant as she is, grief is a tricky thing." I paused, not bothering to hide the sneer.
"But that''s the long game. Annette''s the immediate mark. A newly awakened mage capable of directly wielding a highly sought after magic previously achievable only through artifacts. A prestigious and respectable addition to your collection, but unfortunately, lacking in defense. Because the magic is so new, there''s nothing you can give her to insure her survival, so you need to lock it down now. My sister doesn''t know you, and the only demon she''s spent time with is Vogrin. So there''s at least a part of the soft sell to Maya that was performative, propping you up as reasonable, almost magnanimous. Making it all the more effective when you begin to bargain with my sister and the knives come out." I paused, letting the words hang. "Is that... perceptive enough for you?"
Ozra paused, chewing the words, "I am almost annoyed enough to kill you."
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
"Go ahead. See what happens."
Annette tugged again.
"What?" I snapped, unable to stop myself.
My sister blinked, fists cloying her touring skirt. "Um... I... I..." After a moment, she gathered herself and her expression hardened. "I would like to speak to the demon, brother."
I felt a flash of guilt. Her formal speech, and the way she''d rallied first, was all more reminiscent of how she spoke to Gil than to me. With effort, I lowered my sword and softened my tone. "It''s dangerous, Annie. Dangerous in ways I can''t protect you from."
Annette bowed her head. "Acknowledging that, as well as all the warnings spoken to the arch-fiend at least partially intended for me, I insist. You cannot fight every battle for me. This is a battle of abstract strategy and words, the sort I am perfectly equipped to win."
"It is not so simple as cunning or cleverness," Maya interjected, shaking her head slowly. "They cannot be bested in that regard. Talk to a demon for long enough and their victory is inevitable. The only course is to be fastidious, swift, and leave no opening."
"Furthermore, Ozra is not Vogrin," I warned her, glancing at my summon. "No disrespect intended. Ozra outranks Vogrin by magnitudes in both age and status. If you use your discussions with Vogrin as a reliable point of reference, he will find a way to exploit it."
Annette''s brow furrowed, as she looked Ozra up and down. "Noted. Still, the line in the sand remains the same. As long as I do not voluntarily remand my soul, he cannot take it by force, yes?"
"Coercion, threats, and manipulation are all common weapons in a demon''s arsenal. Realistically, he will leverage them all with varying degrees of subtlety. But he cannot take it by force," Maya nodded grimly.
"Then it''s a battle of attrition in which information is the goal, and willpower is the resource," Annette crossed her arms and rested her chin on a fist. She peered at Ozra. "Before we begin, I''d like to send two runners back to the castle to retrieve some of my notes and texts."
Ozra, who''d watched the entire exchange mutely, suddenly stirred to life. "Oh, are you speaking to me? I figured you''d all just carry on talking about me, while I''m standing right here."
"Yes. I am addressing you," Annette clarified.
"It was sarcasm¡ª" Ozra cut off with an exasperated sigh. "Nevermind. It makes no difference, bring the entire library if you wish."
Annette took her time. I''d seen her do this before, use her tendency towards thoughtfulness and carefully thinking through her words to create a lapse in the conversation. Ozra, naturally, didn''t bite, but the fact that he didn''t still gave her useful information. "Next, I would like to elect an intercessor to serve as an auxiliary, with full powers of one-sided censorship and redaction."
Ozra''s eyebrows shot up. "How nostalgic. Yaerthficht¡ªIntercessor in your tongue¡ªis an old term, my dear. Outdated. They''re almost universally referred to as solicitors these days." He''d barely finished speaking before Annette shook her head.
"Barring an error from my translator, which is doubtful, the primary difference between an intercessor and solicitor is far more significant," Annette countered, extending fingers for each point, as she always did when reciting from memory. "A solicitor can advise, negotiate on the behalf of another, and forge or revise unsigned contracts. But they lack the authority to strike comments from the infernal register, including, but not limited to, accidental consent."
Elphion. She''s been preparing for this. Or something like it, at least. I''d heard secondhand from Vogrin that Annette''s lessons weren''t limited exclusively to magic, and she''d had a lot of questions about demons. I''d even heard that she''d brought in an infernal scholar for supplementals. But I had no idea she''d taken it this far.
Ozra grimaced. "Allow me to clarify. There are no intercessors. Not anymore. Their very existence is a black mark on our history, a remnant of a time we extended the infernals a degree of protection to encourage further cultural exchange. A flexibility they ruthlessly exploited for years until it was dismantled through bloodshed."
Maya scoffed, making a dismissive gesture. "A more accurate interpretation would be that they tightened the parameters by which demons could attain a soul in order to lure in more infernals, and grew angry when less of us opted to intentionally sign away eternity."
"Everyone loves to put a preferential spin on ancient history."
"On that we agree," Maya shot back.
"Yet, you''ll make an exception," Annette continued, her scrutiny sharp as a blade. "If my brother''s right, and attaining my soul is your current priority, you''ll allow me an intercessor. If he''s wrong, then the negotiations stop here. I am well spoken but not perfectly precise, and completely inexperienced in these matters. It would be foolish to engage with you on even ground."
"You realize by electing a second, you grant me the right to summon my own?" Ozra asked, growing testy.
"Any further demon brought to bear would be dwarfed by the threat you already pose. It makes no difference to me."
"That''s... true enough," Ozra said, seeming to belatedly take the observation as a compliment. "You''ll be taking the infernal as your councillor, yes?"
"Intercessor," Maya and Annette corrected in unison. "And yes," Annette added, glancing at Maya. "If she agrees."
"My mother would be a better choice, but I''ll do everything I can to fill that role," Maya said, approaching Annette and standing beside her, arms crossed behind her back.
Unable to stand aside any longer, I took Annette by the shoulders and escorted her to the edge of the privacy dome. "Are you sure you want to do this? You''ve created an advantage, yes, but a grievance as well. Ozra won''t go easy after that. For example, I wouldn''t be surprised if his second is something heinous or grotesque, a creature too terrifying to even look at."
Annette considered the possibility. "If it''s too much, I''ll put an end to it. But I doubt there''s anything he can do to scare me."
"That sounds more like something Sera would say."
"It''s not bravado," Annette smiled thinly, and just for a moment, the mask of stoicism fell away. "It¡¯s the opposite. For as long as I can remember, I''ve been terrified. Some days it''s so bad I''m scared to even leave my rooms."
My chest panged in empathy, as I remembered how she''d barricaded herself away in my previous life. "Why?"
She shook her head. "I... don''t know. There''s nothing in the texts to explain it, no arcane malady or sickness of the mind that perfectly fits, though some cut closer than others. It''s not that I don''t believe he''s capable of scaring me. Obviously, he could. I just can''t imagine anything he could conjure being worse than the shadows that already torment me. Please, please don''t deny me this. If there''s a chance I can learn anything from this exchange, it''s worth the risk."
"But never your soul."
"Line in the sand," Annette agreed. Her expression was resolute. Cold. This was important to her. More important than I could fathom.
Silently, I turned her around, put a hand between her shoulder blades, and pushed. "Gut him."
228. Fracture XXXIII
There was a flickering blur as our surroundings changed. One moment, I could see the familiar figures of my regiment through the oscillating black wreath of the privacy dome, slow tension building as they awaited the command to breach the sewers. Then the dome and the world beyond it fell away, replaced with another that was entirely different.
Long rows of dark-stained oak bookshelves and the occasional glass display buttressed a wide center space of marble tile, tall ceiling interrupted by a generous center skylight framing soft beams of illumination emanated by unfamiliar moons in the dark firmament beyond. Braziered torches stood like diminutive pillars, their combined heat raising the temperature in the room just beyond comfortable, shining dimly on silver inlays that sprawled a jagged geometric pattern too broad to parse.
Ozra, having returned to his typical appearance¡ªI hesitate to call it true, though if it is not, I have yet to see his true face¡ªof a tall, domineering man with harsh, angular features, strode towards the center, arms clasped behind his back, tails of his gray coat trailing behind him. The arch-fiend tilted his head back and proclaimed, "I, Ozra, Arch-fiend of the Asmodial Legion, call upon Loria, Diadem of the Fetid Wastes, to serve as my second."
A fountain of stinking red spurted upwards, filling the air with the scent of copper and rot before its curtains parted to reveal a woman''s slim silhouette, thickening waves of crimson cascading down her form and solidifying into a dark-red garment, the long fringes that descended to just below her knees asymmetrical and uneven, reminiscent of dangling intestines. A tall pile of viscous matter accumulated atop her smooth head, macabre color fading as it became fibrous, forming an elegant lady''s wig. She curtsied low, looking up towards the arch-fiend with an impish grin. "It is my pleasure to serve."
"We recognize the equivalency of this appointment, and accept its authenticity," Maya said dryly, glaring daggers at the new arrival, the faintest hint of mockery in her voice as she matched Ozra''s overly formal tone. Like them, her wardrobe had also changed, light armor replaced with traditional infernal robes.
Only Annette, Vogrin, and I remained unaltered, intentionally out of place.
Loria started at the sound of Maya''s voice, eyes darting back and forth from us, to Ozra, to the room itself. "Ah. Will I be serving as your second in a... traditional capacity this day?" She frowned slightly, as if puzzled.
"Yes, my gem. You will serve as scribe, and proctor, to ensure the intercessor''s grasp does not exceed her reach," Ozra''s lip pulled back unpleasantly as he glanced at Maya over his shoulder.
"Traditional indeed. But it has been some time since I''ve held a quill." The woman crossed her arms and murmured quietly, fingers plying nervously at her collarbone. "There is a possibility I''ll fall behind." Her lips parted, and she was about to say more before Ozra silenced her with a touch, running a thumb down her jaw.
"Then you shall call a halt, and resume only once the pen has caught pace with your mind," Ozra said, uncharacteristically gentle.
As Ozra carried on with his assistant, beside me, my little sister was staring at the interaction. Hard. After a moment, she tugged my sleeve and whispered, "Why did the arch-fiend place so much importance on being able to choose his own second only to select a courtesan for the role?" She tilted her head. "A nepotistic appointment? Doubtful, as there can''t be much acclaim to be earned in a negotiation intended to be kept secret. Placing importance on trust over competency, or..." Her scowl deepened. "A subtle slight, perhaps. Yes. A petty method to express his annoyance with our insistence on a retired framework, whinging about making things equal, only to elect some harlot, communicating exactly how unthreatening he finds us."
I debated internally, unsure of how much to say. It would be simple enough to poke a hole in the ruse, tell her what I knew. After all, unbeknownst to anyone present, I''d met the woman before while she was acting in ''service'' of Ozra, and their dynamic was entirely different. But once the negotiations began, I wouldn''t be able to interfere directly. It was better to teach her how to engage them, than provide the answer directly.
I cleared my throat and leaned down. "Before I answer, mind that you''re not deceived by the illusion of distance. It is likely they can hear every word we speak in this room, observe every gesture, every flicker of expression. And the infernal registry will guarantee everything that transpires¡ªbig or small¡ªis eternally put to record."
"What... they don''t even need a scribe? Her presence here serves no practical purpose whatsoever?" Annette asked, her annoyance almost palpable.
"Recite Wi''rell''s aspects of the hypostatic mind for me, if you would?"
Annette blew air between her lips, annoyance flagging as she recited by memory. "The rational mind, the inner-mind, and the mind that questions all. Drawing equally from the tripartite, as Wi''rell counselled."
"For our purposes, filter your perceptions through the Mind That Questions All. Self evaluate without bias. The moment that woman appeared, you hated her. Why?"
"Hate is a strong word," my sister argued.
"So is harlot," I noted dryly.
"It wasn''t the moment she appeared," Annette pushed back, subconsciously straightening her attire. "In a macabre way, the entrance itself was... impressive. As was the arcane tailoring of her form. It resembled illusion magic, but it cannot be the same, as they would not hold an interest in me if they already possessed a close analog. To that point, she held my interest." Annette ground her teeth. "Only to lose it the second she opened her mouth."
"Good, so far."
"I suppose the source of my ire is because I am immersed in an environment full of utterly incompetent nobles who attain important, sometimes critical positions they are in no way qualified for through bribes, political maneuvering, and... other means. And there was a part of me that assumed, ancient as they are, the demons would be more meritocratic."
"Reasonable..." I waited, and when Annette declined to continue, prompted her again. "You haven''t answered the original question."
"What? Was my answer not sufficient?" Annette stared at me blankly as if I''d said something very stupid.
"''The mind that questions all, flays both the world it inhabits and the mind itself in search of the truth that lies beyond,¡¯¡± I recited the passage. Wi''rell had always been a little too dry for me, but the passage on the tripartite mind occurred near the beginning, and I''d read it aloud to her in my previous life enough times that it apparently stuck. "Why do you, Annette, as an individual, hate her?"
Annette struggled as she took that in, fists clenching and unclenching, as vulnerability and disgust warred with each other. "My prejudice is not at all unfounded. It is logical. The demonic legions are not so small that it would be difficult to find a second with a quicker quill or sharper mind, or one that serves a more practical purpose."
I nodded. "Yet, whether it is intended as insult or oversight, Ozra''s second being nothing more than a pretty face works to your advantage, does it not?"
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"It... actually does..." Annette blinked several times in quick succession. "Hmm. It''s not rational for me to be upset about it. In fact, I should be thrilled... and I''m not."
"Why?"
"Is it..." Annette swallowed, and glanced back at where Ozra and Maya were now negotiating terms in ancient demonic. "Is it wise to discuss this, given the fact that they will likely overhear?"
"If I''m right," I hedged, "They already know."
My little sister stared down at her skirt and repeated the quote. "The mind that questions all, flays all. I hear the way the maids talk about me, and my tutors. They wag their tongues the moment I depart a room, wagging, wagging, always wagging."
"I''m sorry."
"Not looking for sorry. Trying to do as you ask." Her speech grew more erratic, as it always did when she was distressed. "There''s... been much commentary, on everything from my odd demeanor, to my eclectic obsessions, to my potential contributions to the kingdom. Above all, one particular comment has always stuck with me. ''You can put a pig in a dress, but it will always be a pig.''"
I scoffed. "Consider them exiled, the moment you share their name."
"Exiling them would make me feel better. For a day. But it does not change the fact that they are right." Annette''s eyes grew hollow as she barreled forward, not giving me an opening to interrupt. "I have no talent for singing or any musical instrument. No one stands at attention when I enter the room like you or Sera, it''s rare enough that they notice me at all. I appear cold and awkward if I''m required to make a speech. Half my suitors or political visitors cry within a half-hour of our initial conversation, and the other half has never bothered making arrangements to call on me again. I''ve never stopped sharpening my mind, my greatest asset, believing, stupidly, that it would eventually equal out, and I''d be recognized for my value beyond breeding or blood. It never works. If anything, the more I learn, the more competent I am, the more others keep me at arm''s length." She cast a glance behind her towards Loria, who awkwardly smiled and waved over her parchment on the desk, and immediately looked away. "Meanwhile, someone who possesses little beyond charisma and wiles alone, stands at the side of an arch-fiend. Because she provides a pleasant sheathe for his sword."
"First of all," I nearly raised my voice, taking a moment to lower it. "You''re young. Too young to be worrying about what ''wiles'' you should or shouldn''t have. And I''m pretty sure Wi''rell discusses the tactical benefits of not conforming to expectations in detail, but before you shut me out, I''ll move on. What I''ve found in situations like this, diplomacy involving unfamiliar parties, is it¡¯s best to view it¡ªand I do mean everything¡ªas a production."
"Like... a play?" Annette quirked her head.
"Exactly. Some might play a part that closely aligns with their personal views and experiences, while others take a role opposite of their nature. And like the theater, there are actors both talented and terrible. But the one, singular guarantee is that everyone is acting. Everyone. That''s true in life, and truer still in diplomacy."
"Are you acting now, brother?" Annette challenged suddenly, a little antagonistic over how personal our mental exercise had gotten.
What would I even be like, if I wasn''t? Reflexively, I saw a vision of myself collapsed at the foot of Lillian''s grave in my mind''s eye amongst a smaller cemetery of emptied bottles, denying food or water, weakly fighting off any attempts to rouse or move me, by people I could no longer focus on the voices of acutely enough to identify. Everything growing dimmer and dimmer until it all... just...
Stopped.
Which of course, would be pointless, as after a tumble in the dark and possible lecture, it would inevitably start again.
I cleared my throat. "As close to my genuine feelings and beliefs as possible. Especially with family. But, as I said. Everyone is acting." For this to work, I needed to disarm her bias before her dislike was solidified, lest the latter fuel the former. "Drawing on the inner mind, for a moment, can you perhaps find something about a person like Ozra''s second you could empathize with?"
"What''s the point of this?"
"Humor me."
Annette scoffed, and when I didn''t waver, thought hard. "Her... sense of style is impeccable."
I rolled my eyes. "Alright, and?"
"The world is frightening enough, even though, for the most part, I understand it. If I didn''t, if I was... slower, hadn''t read as much and didn''t have every tutor in the palace at my disposal, more innate difficulty connecting the dots... it would be a lot scarier. And if appearance and magnetism were my only weapons... I''d have little choice but to wield them," Annette admitted, begrudgingly.
"Given the power and authority we wield simply by happenstance of birth, we cannot afford to judge others simply because they differ from us, because they hold different talents, or because they chose a different walk in life. Or because they were born of a different region or share different physical characteristics than us. Maybe it isn''t fair. In some cases, like the critical appointments you mentioned, things should change. But they should change because it is the just decision, and incompetence where competence is required will cause others to suffer. Not because you cannot stand the sight of them."
Her eyes burned with sapphire flame. "The parallel you''re drawing between my beliefs and father''s is as inaccurate as it is unappreciated. A false equivalency at best."
"Maybe. To the king''s credit, he seems to have, potentially, left his antiquated perspective behind. But consider this. With all the wars he fought, the countless men ordered to their deaths to uphold his ideals? Do you think he believed them any less fiercely than you believe yours?"
"You''ve gotten better at arguing," Annette said, after a long moment, her voice almost glum. "A lot better."
"We''re not quite done yet," I smiled thinly. "Bringing it¨C"
"¨CWhat could possibly come next?" Annette hissed. "Shall I invite the demon to a lady''s night? Bond over how fundamentally broken we both are?"
"Trust me, you''ll want to hear this part. Bringing it back to the rational mind for a moment, taking all the emotional context we gathered from the inner-mind, the caution and awareness we gathered from the mind that questions. Why might an ancient demon who, given the confident grasp on her magic is likely much older than most elves, act the part of a social climbing mortal at all?" I tapped my fingers on my arm, waiting for her reaction.
Annette''s jaw dropped. "The second''s been playing a role from the moment she manifested. Acting a part that the arch-fiend wrote for her, a disruptive factor intended to throw me off. In all likelihood, she''s not at all what she appears to be."
I nodded, feeling a surge of pride. "I suspect your second theory¡ªthe intended slight¡ªis what you were meant to believe. And when she interjects, or calls for a pause..."
"I''d ignore her out of hand. Assume the pauses were nothing more than idiocy instead of an intentional tactic, which would work almost immediately to their advantage." Annette pressed her chin into her fist, furious at herself for the oversight. "How did you see it when I missed it completely?"
"Experience helps," I consoled her, and then paused. Assuming Ozra could hear every word we were saying right now, this presented a unique opportunity to fire back. Sow the same sort of discourse in his camp he''d attempted to seed in ours. Because I had many, many, vivid memories of Loria. And as most of them ended in death, neither Ozra nor his second would have the faintest clue where my description was coming from. "And, to be transparent, I''m cheating a bit. Loria has many duties to the asmodial legion, but from my observations, her standout favorite is torture. Like any sadist worth their salt, she goes for the nails and teeth first, in that order, as they''re straightforward and conveniently organized. But if I had to guess, her true love lies in a slow, lingering asphyxiation. Her preferred tool is a dark leather strap, which she tightens slowly, over the course of hours. More than three, but rarely exceeding twelve, the poor bastard''s windpipe tightening to a pinhole, yet never closing completely. She is not to be taken lightly."
"That''s horrible. If... I''m understanding you correctly... why would Ozra select her for this role in light of this shared history?" Annette asked, staring at me with barely restrained sympathy.
I smiled savagely, feeling some of the ebbing mania from the attack on the estate return. "You misunderstand. I''ve observed her. But she never saw me coming, and she never saw me leave. The asmodial concept of security is... somewhat antiquated."
Out of the corner of my vision I saw Loria twitch. Ozra trailed off mid-sentence in his negotiation with Maya, picking up a second later, the lull barely detectable. But it was there. More importantly, my sister had gone cold. It was clear in her frigid eyes that she''d reassembled the pieces I''d placed before her and come to the correct conclusion. She¡¯d be more reserved, now, more cautious, now that she¡¯d seen, directly demonstrated, how subtle the demons machinations could be. We''d declined Ozra''s opening gambit and countered with one of our own.
The rest was up to her.
229. Fracture XXXIV
"If we''re done whispering to each other like confabulating children, shall we begin what we came here to do?" Ozra approached the central table that held the Koss board, gesturing towards it with casual aplomb, any indication that he was at all unsettled by the pre-negotiation maneuvering perfectly concealed.
Annette steeled herself and followed, coming to a stop across from the arch-fiend. She held there, making no effort to reach for the chair, expression muted and cold.
A minute passed. Then another. And another.
Finally, Ozra spoke, side of his mouth pulling up in a half smile. "For a people with roots so recently mired in savagery, you Uskarrions spare such pretense for pageantry."
"Have you negotiated with so many of us, my lord?" Annette asked, cocking her head to the side.
"A long time ago, before they bore the name. Simpler times. But it may surprise you to learn your brother did much the same." The arch-fiend spared me a sidelong glance. "Evaluated the room, the setting. Refused to sit as it would position his head below mine, reflecting a disparity in power that, while accurate, did not appeal to his vanity." His eyes slid back to her. "It did not help him any more than it will help you."
"I beg to differ." From behind, I saw Annette''s thumb press into her hand, massaging her palm in idle circles. "A demonic summon, the support of a powerful and organized demonic legion as well as various boons and resources he eventually leveraged to solidify relations with a second, potentially more powerful ally. From all appearances, Prince Cairn secured exactly what he sought."
"At great price. A price many might argue to be foolish."
"I do not care for the arguments of the many. Just as my reticence to sit has nothing to do with dynamics of power."
"Oh?" Ozra raised an eyebrow.
Annette extended her arm towards the chair. "These are clearly formal proceedings. Which raises a question of etiquette. Were we in my kingdom, I would sit first and wait for you to join me." She looked around the expansive room, her impassive voice echoing off the tile. "However, this appears to be the hells, or at the very least analogous. In which case, our roles would be reversed."
"It is a place between," Ozra answered, seemingly pleased by Annette''s explanation.
"Then we will take our places concurrently." Annette pulled out her chair, waiting for Ozra to do the same. The moment they both settled down, she fired off the obvious question. "Why is there a Koss board?"
Ozra picked up the white queen piece, rotating it idly in his fingertips. "Because from what I''ve heard, I''m in the presence of a master. Naturally, I wanted to test my mettle," He grinned, sharpened incisors on full display. "And, forgive the clich¨¦, but I find this sort of mental spar far more interesting when there''s a wager in play."
"Terms?" Annette asked.
"If you win, I''ll do whatever you like. Answer any questions rattling around in that sweet little mind of yours, including the identity of the person who holds the contract with the demonic entity in the sewers," Ozra answered sweetly.
"And if she loses?" Maya asked from beside the table, arms crossed, positioning herself so she could see both the Arch-fiend and his second without having to glance between them.
"An admission of victory would be enough." The side of Ozra''s mouth quirked as he replaced the queen piece on the board, long-nailed finger tapping against its crown. "And the allowance to pat her forehead in a disparaging manner."
"Why?" Annette asked, not quite masking the growl in her throat.
"Because I derive a great deal of enjoyment reminding small, insignificant beings exactly how small and insignificant they are."
My little sister bristled. For a moment, I thought she might bite. Then Maya leaned down and whispered in her ear. It was impossible to make out from where I stood, but I watched as Annette''s irritation slowly faded away to nothing. As Maya backed away, Annette steepled her fingers and spoke. "My intercessor has advised me to abstain on the account that physical contact may allow you to better evaluate my potential worth. As Vogrin himself used a similar method to glean insights into my soul, I have to agree¡ª"
"¡ªStrike the spoken agreement from the record," Maya cut in vehemently.
Quill slashed parchment, as Loria¡ªstill lounging in the oversized chair behind the desk¡ªflicked her wrist, floating pen making the annotation before it returned to its original place, levitating at the most recent line of text. Once that was done, she rested her chin on her fist and returned to glowering at me, clearly bored with the proceedings.
"I cannot take this wager," Annette clarified, keeping the statement simple.
"Very well." Ozra rolled his eyes.
"However..." Annette started, scanning the pieces. If nothing else they were elaborate, the red transparent crimson, as if carved from ruby, the white opaque and reflective like ivory. "This is an enticing set."
"Isn''t it?" Ozra kicked back, recalling a memory. "Won it off a hellhound thane a few centuries back. No idea where he found it¡ªNever been much for crafting or artistry, the hellhounds, so he must have taken it off a corpse at some point. Yet, despite searching, I''ve never seen the like."
"What was the wager then?" Annette asked. "With the hellhound?"
"The set, obviously." Ozra made a dismissive gesture, nostalgic smile turning cruel. "Beyond that, the simple expectation he don a collar and heel at my side as I attended my business throughout that era. A bit of harmless fun, really. Fed him quite well, bathed him. Even taught the old dog some valuable new tricks."
"Guessing he enjoyed the arrangement less than you did?"
"Oh, yes." The arch-fiend sighed, rubbing his forehead. "One night I was scratching his belly, the next, it was all ''blood-feud'' this, and ''the night of fire and teeth,'' that."
Beside the table, Maya''s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. "The Night of Fire and Teeth happened because of a stupid bet?"
"Loria, please note the intercessor''s unwarranted interjection and strike her comments from the record." Ozra inspected his nails idly as Loria''s quill made another audible scratch against the parchment.
Immediately, Maya''s mouth snapped shut, as she realized she''d been baited. Judging from her reaction, I had to guess there was a clause that allowed the ejection of an intercessor who kept speaking out of turn. It wasn''t worrying, exactly¡ªMaya was too clever to be tricked into making the same mistake twice¡ªbut it seemed Ozra''s underlying strategy of destabilizing everyone in our camp and keeping control of the situation, until someone inevitably made a mistake, remained the same.
In theory, we should be doing the same. The question was how? Maya and Annette were entrenched with keeping Ozra at bay. That left Vogrin. He''d talk to me, of course. But we were in his domain now, and no matter how real the bond we''d formed felt, his loyalty lay with the asmodials first, with me second.
I needed to think about it.
"I also have a treasured set." Annette''s thin fingers traced the base of the board, her brow furrowed. "Though it is not nearly as rare, or beautiful¡ªsimply carved from marble like every other set in the castle¡ªit is treasured."
"Your first?" Ozra asked, not looking particularly interested.
Annette straightened the pieces minutely, leaning down to check that they all held the same distance. "Sometimes just holding the pieces in my palm gives me solace. But on the nights sleep abandons me, I sit next to the open window and study it, playing game after game in my mind. I know every defect by heart. The small chip left behind by an errant chisel, all three uneven squares scattered around the board. Something about seeing those small imperfections in a game of order, never fails to grant me peace. It would be painful to lose it."
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The longer my sister spoke, the more the arch-fiend leaned in, perhaps sensing what was to come. "Shall we narrow the scope of the bet then? My treasure for yours?"
Again, Maya cut in before Annette could speak with a chiding voice "Please clarify the exact terms of the wager."
Several pieces jostled, a few toppling as the arch-fiend pushed back from the board in frustration. "Princess Annette. Would you be willing to retire all elements of the previous wager and instead, wager my Koss set for yours?"
"The terms of the wager are acceptable." Annette paused. "Yet we have not discussed the terms of the game. Naturally, we''ll use the modern rule set as I have never learned another. More critically, are we playing for material or conquest?"
"To conquest, of course." Ozra shrugged, eyeing the board. "As I had the advantage of choosing the game, the choice between white and red is yours."
Wordlessly, Annette rotated the board so the white pieces were on her side. "The wager is set, and the terms are agreed upon. Let us begin."
The first moves came almost instantly. Annette maneuvered her foot-soldiers up the center in an aggressive approach, the pieces clicking as their bases struck the board in a staccato of rhythmic tapping, Ozra responding in kind. The speed was surprising. My sister was generally quick to think, slow to act. And like most demons, Ozra was basically immortal. I''d expected a more thoughtful pace¡ªinstead it was blisteringly fast, almost violent, as pieces were exchanged, every capture followed by another.
"About my brother''s deal." Somehow, Annette''s expression grew more frigid. "Would you offer the same to a peasant, or farmer? The institutional support of the asmodial legion for a soul?"
Ozra scoffed, capturing a Feudal Lord with a knight and placing it to the side with the rest, the feudal lord snatched up by Annette''s priest immediately after it touched the square. "Of course not. Desire is universal. Dreams, alternatively, are as varied as the appearances and personalities of the mortals that envision them. Where a noble might dream of commanding a vast army, a farmer daydreams of verdant fields that remain fertile and resistant to blight throughout his lifetime and the lifetime of his children. Both temptations require a great degree of power to grant. Yet I would not offer the farmer an army, just as I would not offer the noble a field."
"We are heirs of a kingdom established through conquest. Every wingspan of territory was paid for in the blood of men who willingly went to their deaths to lay the foundation of a future they would never see. We are in the business of trading souls. And I suspect that reality was not lost on my brother. For many, such a trade would indeed be foolish. They haven''t the vaguest notion as to where or when they will meet their end, for all they know, they are trading their reincarnation for paltry few weeks of short-lived perfection before meeting an untimely end. With all the dangers this world presents, the risk is simply too high. Prince Cairn, alternatively, has visions that warn of mortal danger, including the foretelling of Ragnarok. He will live far longer than many in his stead, and when he does meet his end, it will likely be as the world is meeting its own." Annette''s mouth twisted into a sneer. "Tell me, my lord. What good is reincarnation to a mortal if the world itself is gone?"
"You are vastly underselling the arduous nature of the hells, and the span of eternity itself." Ozra returned, hand hovering over one piece, before he changed his mind and moved another.
"By the same token, you choose to assign desperation and emotion to a decision in which I glean only the cruelest pragmatism. Cairn wishes to see this world continue. If he fails to align the various powers in this land and repel the arch-mage, it will not. In that case his soul is effectively useless to him. What better outcome could one hope for than trading something that is effectively worthless to attain something that is¡ªin their specific circumstances¡ªinfinitely more valuable?" Annette drummed her fingers on the table thoughtfully. "Even if he were so craven, the gods are not kind. As you have more experience in this area than I, allow me to pose a question. Where do you think the gods would assign the soul of a mortal who had the potential to save the life of every living person on this plane, and refused to do so purely out of selfishness?"
"It is... impossible to say." Ozra answered, haltingly. "The gods have been rather distant as of late. Some question if they even remain at all."
"Perhaps." Annette continued to push the forward offensive. "But fables and legends do not speak kindly in regards to the pantheon''s treatment of heroes who refuse the divine call, or worse, squander the gifts they''ve been given to miserly ends. A coward in such a story would likely be condemned to hell, rendering his selfishness poetically ironic. But as fables and legends have little bearing on reality, I can only ponder hypotheticals. Just as I''m left to wonder, who truly overpaid?"
A tense moment passed between them before Ozra broke it with an overly dramatic sigh. "From the looks of it, we are destined for an impasse." As he''d surmised, there were few pieces left on the board, likely too few to pin the king and achieve victory.
"Discendente," Annette murmured, completely transfixed, barely paying attention to her opponent.
"Don''t be childish. There''s hardly five moves left. Let alone an avenue for victory." The arch-fiend protested, double-checking his side of the board before his gaze landed on one of her pieces near the back. "Promote that foot-soldier to whatever you like. None of your captured pieces are capable of completing the coup. Nothing short of a queen would make a difference."
"How long has it been since you played with a mortal, my lord?" Annette asked, suppressing a smile.
"I dabble, when time permits."
"At least two centuries. Am I wrong?"
Ozra squinted uncertainly. "That is... extremely precise. I''m rather curious how you worked it out."
"My first clue was the lack of spare pieces. Not enough to be certain, of course. Perhaps you held them separately, intending to produce them out of thin air as a parlor trick. I varied my strategy for further confirmation, mixing new and old. Against the old lines¡ªparticularly Luecippus'', Rizon''s, and Iolla''s¡ªyou responded perfectly, instinctually playing the best possible moves. You answered the newer lines perfectly as well, but there was the briefest hesitation, as if you hadn''t seen them before." Annette pulled the silk tie out of her hair, allowing her brown curls to spill down her back as she relaxed. "The rules have changed little over the last millennia, when they were first modernized. Only minor adjustments and clarifications... with a one major exception. A few centuries ago, you would have been right. A foot soldier could only be promoted to a captured piece. There could only ever be three priests, four knights, and of course, a sole queen." Annette''s eyes twinkled with glee. "A certain Panthanian ruler with the proclivity for collecting wives took issue with this. His logic, while rooted in vanity, was ultimately sound. If one could achieve the arduous task of marching a foot soldier across the entire board, they should be able to promote the lesser piece to whatever they like. And while most scholars of the game did not share the ruler''s resistance to monogamy, they appreciated the potentially boundless new strategies this small adjustment brought to the game itself. Panthanian Koss grew in popularity, rivaling Koss itself until the adjustment was universally adapted."
Slowly, Ozra''s gaze panned down to the board, reevaluating his position as he processed the new information. Disappointment dawned as he sat back, scooping up his king from the tile and clenching it in his fist. "Loria?"
"Conversing with the natatorium now." Loria''s head tilted, as she listened to something only she could hear. "They''re confirming. The princess is correct."
"And it''s as universal as she claims?"
"Yes."
The arch fiend rolled the king between his fingers. "You called discendente at four moves to conquest, rather than the requisite five."
"I was not yet certain of my victory," Annette admitted.
"Even if you were, the foot soldier was already too close to intersect. It wouldn''t have mattered. Take the victory, and the board." Ozra extended the king piece out towards Annette, then stopped, closing his hand before she could reach for it, something lighting in his eyes. "Unless... yes. The potential for multiple queens is not a small adjustment. It alters the trajectory of the endgame significantly. I am cunning, but cunning only goes so far when applied to a game one has never played. A rematch could be anyone''s game."
"But what will we wager?" Annette asked. Her voice, while still guarded, was warmer now. The match had changed the dynamic between them, perhaps imparting a sense of mutual respect.
"There are at least a few artifacts lying around that might draw your fancy, any of which I''d happily put on the line to get that board back," Ozra panned the room, "Plenty of books mortals have never laid hands on that would certainly be of interest to a young academic. Barring that, Rizon himself is gallivanting around in the lower reaches of the second circle, somewhere. I could summon him, but he¡¯s... well... he probably wouldn''t be what you''d expect."
"So the rumors about him..."
"Oh yes. Arguably worse. Terrible company. To be frank, even his screaming is unpleasant."
"A tragedy. As tempting as all those possibilities are, we could return to the first wager." Annette mused, watching his reaction closely. To my utter shock, instead of immediately buying in, Ozra instead seemed immediately uncomfortable with the proposition. "I''ll even throw in the board."
"Princess¡ª" Maya began to interject, but Annette threw up a hand and silenced her.
"The intercessor is correct," Ozra quickly agreed. "There''s no need to revisit stakes we''ve already agreed to discard."
"Because for the first time in as long as you can remember, the odds do not favor you?" My sister challenged, staring down the arch-fiend.
The scratching pen suddenly halted, leaving burgeoning silence as Ozra rose to his full height, full of barely restrained anger and an imposing stare. "Such pride, born from a triumph of technicality. Very well. State your wager for the record then. If that is what you wish."
"It wasn''t four."
"What?"
"There weren''t four moves left until discendente. There were five." Annette reached out, hem of her sleeve sliding along the table until her fingers pressed against the side of the Koss board. Wood gave way with an audible click as she pressed her thumb against the surface.
A compartment snapped open.
230. Fracture XXXV
The room darkened, candles and torches struggling against the nearly imperceptible billow of black smoke. Ozra''s face was inscrutable. Ancient, even. Utterly devoid of the casual sort of friendliness that had possessed him mere moments ago. It occurred to me, even as I sensed the growing tension and took a step forward, that this was much closer to the way he''d appeared when I''d first approached him, in the hells.
As I''d suspected, the previous cheery, almost warm affectation was little more than a persona he''d adopted, tailoring himself to someone he expected to be more susceptible to affability and charm.
From the way Maya bristled, and she pressed in closer beside my sister, she''d noticed, too.
Between them, a small compartment extended out of the board, muddy burgundy silk housing an additional queen and several other spare pieces. The significance of this only registered belatedly, when I reviewed what Ozra had claimed. Before the uniform shift to the panthanian rule set, there''d be no need for additional pieces, nor the compartment to house them.
"Did you know from the start?" Ozra asked, his voice dead, entirely impassive. But there was a blade hidden within it.
If this all went sideways and the arch-fiend lashed out, Maya was quick on her feet. She''d yank Annette out of the way of any immediate danger. But I needed to be ready to put myself in between them if it came to that. I''d told myself that Ozra wouldn''t do anything to jeopardize our existing deal, but I''d never seen him lose. In my limited experience, the older a divine or demonic being was, the worse they handled being bested. And if Annette misread the room? Mocked him?
It could go bad fast.
My little sister shook her head, completely focused on reversing the pieces turn by turn, reviewing the game. "When you gave me the choice between white and red, I turned the board. There was something loose. A jostle, or click. Nothing telling, but I was advised to question everything. So I noted it and moved on. Then I noticed how archaic your play-style was, and the narrative formed, along with more questions."
Annette reversed a series of aggressive captures, the side of her mouth quirking upward. "I quite enjoyed this exchange. The sudden upsurge of violence and offensive action after endless positioning. It surprised me. I took you as a defensive player to this point. Was it only because you were playing red?"
Ozra frowned a little, crossed to her side of the board, not even seeming to notice as Maya and I tensed at his proximity. "I prefer not to press an attack until mid-game. Once I''ve gotten a better feel for my opponent''s weaknesses." He flicked a white cavalry piece''s head hard enough to make it wobble, but not topple completely. "Even if they are constantly taunting me with a hanging piece, over and over again."
"Oh, it wasn''t hanging," Annette corrected, reversing the board to an earlier position, demonstrating how if Ozra took the cavalry piece, the capturing piece would be claimed in a complex series of moves, resulting in a neutral outcome.
"Ah-hah." He leaned up triumphantly, staring at the possible outcome, slightly puzzled. "Nasty. So it was bait. But even if I''d taken it, it wouldn''t have helped you much."
"That''s the nature of Illox''s gambit," Annette agreed, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, seeming to either not notice or care how close he was. "A method of testing your opponent''s willingness to weaken their overall board position for the appearance of an early capture. You avoided it so studiously I figured you were aware of the tactic, maybe even played with him. He died..." She paused to think. "Five hundred years ago? So it was possible."
Ozra snorted. "He''s not one of ours. Somehow I missed that one."
"He wasn''t well known. Still. Avoiding it out of instinct alone is something else entirely." Annette whistled, then paused, hesitantly. "May I... continue to review the game? I''ve never played its like, and I wish to commit it to memory."
Ozra seemed ready to dismiss that immediately, but something on the board caught his interest. "Do as you please."
My sister continued working her way through the game, making comments here and there. When I''d watched her do this with students, the children of nobles who came to the castle to learn the game at their parent''s behest, she tended to be direct, almost brutal at times, bored with reviewing the same sort of mistakes over and over. With Ozra, however, she was earnest. Excited to review what they had created together. She marveled at his intellect and praised his cunning.
Slowly, Ozra softened.
After reversing all the way to the beginning, she rearranged the pieces and took a few off the board, placing them back to a position that occurred shortly after endgame. "I showed you my throat, here, opening myself up to attack. If you''d capitalized on the opportunity, you would have won. But you did not. Why?"
"Because this," Ozra slid a priest into the center of Annette''s formation, forking several pieces. "Would have been considered a foolish move during the era of Koss where foot soldiers could not be promoted."
"Of course." Annette realized, sucking in a breath. "I thought you were going easy on me, because the bet was low-stakes."
"I would not taunt a master with a dull blade," Ozra rolled his eyes.
"Still, the commitment to simply ignore it was... extraordinary. Truly."
Behind them, still pen-in-hand at the desk, Loria looked less than pleased with the courteous turn of events. Her seemingly mindless visage had slipped, revealing the cunning beneath, and her pen had stilled. It could have been an act like before, but I doubted it. And unless I missed my guess, she was about to do whatever she could to return Ozra''s attention to the greater matter at hand.
Feeling that the immediate danger had passed, I stepped away from the table and strode towards her, hands clasped behind my back. The demon had already begun to stand and awkwardly paused, torn between interfering with what was derailing the negotiation and addressing her earlier curiosity. Eventually she relented, rising to her feet but staying motionless as I approached.
"Can I help you, Prince of Whitefall?" She asked, eyebrow raising as I walked beyond the desk and leaned against it on her side, casually crossing my legs.
I smiled, letting practiced charm and charisma take over. "Call me Cairn. Our forces are aligned, no need to stand on formality. Don''t you agree, Loria?" I rolled the R, letting the A play across my tongue the same way a person might if they were pronouncing her name in demonic.
She studied me, unimpressed. "What is it you want?"
"Insight." I leaned towards her, blatantly taking her in before my eyes flicked to the desk. "But I''ll settle for a quick study of the transcript."
"Ah. Well. Ordinarily, the answer would be no. But it''s not as if there''s any headway being made." Loria cast an annoyed glance towards the stalled negotiation, growing increasingly irate until she picked up the sheaf of papers and thumped them onto my lap.
"Careful."
"Apologies. Sometimes I forget the fragility of humans."
"No, you don''t." The statement was flat, devoid of accusation, inviting interest. And I felt her eyes on me as I licked my thumb and paged through the transcript at a glacial rate. Like any demon with years under her belt, she was patient. But she was also proud. And if she intended to rise and interfere with the negotiation, she''d need to stand up and go around me, showing deference by default.
So I sat there, like a fly in her ointment, until she spoke, curiosity breaking through behind her disinterested expression. "What sort of insights are you looking for?"
I licked my thumb again and continued to leaf through pages, absorbing none of the text despite the show of deep study. "The mind of a sadist is a prescient topic, as of late. I''ve known many who rely on pain as a punitive tool. A trite method to inflict passivity on those likely to stray while serving as a warning to others who hold rebellion in their hearts. I''ve used that utility myself, on more than one occasion."
"Have you really?" The demoness asked, her voice a mocking purr.
"I''m not proud of it. But, yes." I carried on, ignoring the onslaught of horrible memories her tone dredged from the depths of my mind. "What''s a mystery to me¡ªand likely many¡ªare those who dole out pain that serves no purpose. Pain that may even work contrary to their own goals."
It''d taken great losses, setbacks I was still reeling from, but Thoth''s weaknesses were beginning to show. She had a greater plan. That much was certain. Stabilizing the ley lines, building a great alliance to upend the cataclysm that threatened Ragnarok. But the longer I considered it, the more obvious it became that the way she tormented me served no purpose. If I eventually presented some sort of existential threat¡ªunlikely, considering the waste of space I¡¯d amounted to in my first life¡ªshe''d had ample opportunity to kill me. Instead, she''d effectively warned me by showing up at the carriage, and set in motion a chain of events that created more resistance, not less.
The killing of Lillian only served to reinforce that impression.
It felt petty. Sloppy. Not unlike a vice.
Loria rested her chin on her palm, mulling the question coyly. "You''ve known many such monsters?"
"Not many, no. Only two, including present company. So you understand why I''m so keen to seek enlightenment on the matter."
"And this has nothing to do with distracting me from interfering with that pointless farce?" She raised an eyebrow, inclining her head towards the negotiation table.
I smiled, caught out, a little chagrinned. "An efficient course of action accomplishes multiple goals in tandem."
"As I thought." Loria''s chair squeaked as the legs of her secretarial chair scraped against the wooden floor and she rose, preparing to call out to Ozra.
I needed to interrupt, keep her focus on me.
"Why do you prefer the strap?" I asked suddenly, feeling a small surge of victory as the words died in her throat and she slowly turned back to me.
"What''s wrong with a good piece of leather?" Loria challenged, almost as if she expected criticism.
"It''s difficult to put into words." I thought about it, dug deep. "You obviously excel at what you do. Your efforts secured a high station in your legion. Ozra trusts you, and he isn''t slow to allocate resources. It''s common knowledge that demons hold a bounty of exquisite weapons and magical artifacts in their hoards, so it''s not as if your options are limited. So I can only posit that it is your preference, and subsequently wonder... why?"
While I''d spoken, Loria grew increasingly perplexed, gaze drawn to my jaw and throat. "Tilt your head, Princeling."
I did as she asked, forcing the small smile to remain on my lips even as her icy fingers prodded at my neck, like a physician testing for growth. Eventually, she seemed to ascertain some truth and dropped her arm.
"Not one of mine. I''ve never touched you," she finally announced, puzzled at the conclusion.
I suppressed a shudder. "You placed that mockery of a crown on my head."
After a moment, she shook her head. "That is not the same. As far as I''m aware, this is our first meeting. Despite that, you seem to know me very well. Methods, preferences. Fear."
"Really? I think I''m holding up well," I joked.
"When I gave a command, you did not ask why. Regardless of what I am, you complied easily, gracefully. And you did not flinch. The response of a spectator would naturally be to pull away. Instead, you reacted with the exact response I instill in those I touch." Loria studied me, her expression turning dark. "It would be distressing to many in my Legion, if it was discovered the memories of a high-ranking demon were altered through treachery."
Beads of sweat formed on my forehead. "It''s nothing so untoward."
"Look at me when I''m speaking to you."
The way I snapped to attention was involuntary, as physiological as breathing. Loria''s eyes widened in recognition, a smile pulling at the edges of her mouth. "Perhaps it wasn''t me. But you are no mere observer. You''ve been powerless, tormented and reformed by the careful ministrations of another. A master of their craft. And that is why you seek answers."
"Perhaps." I hedged.
Loria gave the negotiation table one last long look before she shrugged. "Very well, Princeling. It''s not as if they''re accomplishing anything, and I so rarely have a chance to converse on this topic." She fixed me with an even look. "You''re correct that in terms of methods, I prefer simplicity. This is nothing I haven''t heard from the multitude of demons with similar interests. Adoration of artifacts that flay skin from bones, exultation of wands that putrefy organs. Few of them have any interest in mastering these tools, simply flitting from one to another, deriving simple pleasure and demonic energy from uninspired torment."
"But not you." I gave her a coy smile. "An artist amongst amateurs."
Loria snorted. "You even flatter in the manner I prefer. But, yes." She snapped her fingers, and a length of thick leather dangled across her palm. I distracted myself from the immediate sense of panic by observing the strap itself, presenting her with nothing more than a distant sense of curiosity. It was textured, I remembered that much. But I''d missed many details in the terror. Including a set of fading demonic runes that ran the outside of its convex curve.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Property.
The ends had been sliced off, one far more worn than the other, as if it''d been bent inward, time and time again.
"It''s a chattel collar," I realized.
"All ancient history, now, but I wasn''t born into the asmodial legion," Loria nodded, reminiscing. "I''m a transplant. A bounty of war adopted into their ranks. And unsurprisingly, the assimilation process is neither quick, nor kind." She clenched the collar tightly. "For years, I felt this leather against my throat. Was directed and punished by it. And as much as I hated it, at some point I grew to appreciate the simplicity."
There was a growing sense of disappointment. "So it''s as straightforward as displacing the pain you experienced onto others as a method of reclaiming control."
"Not so fast, Princeling," Loria chided, amused. "There was something to that, in the early days. But if that was all there was to it, I would have grown tired of the practice centuries ago. No." She chuckled, mired in an almost saccharine nostalgia. "Say we were regular acquaintances who stumbled into each other at the market, and I asked how you were faring. How would you answer?"
I ignored the ridiculousness of the idea of idly running into a demon on the streets of Whitefall and played along. "Well enough."
"Yet your position at the castle is tenuous at best. Your relationship with your mother has deteriorated considerably, your sisters''s struggle to find their place in the Kingdom based in no small part due to the upheaval you caused, your father''s volatility is a constant source of anxiety, and the death of someone dear to you was recently uncovered." Loria hammered the points home, calm and precise. The asmodials as a whole had been paying far closer attention than I''d realized. "Yet, your answer was ''well enough.'' Does this not make you a liar?"
"It makes me considerate," I answered, resisting the urge to grind my teeth. "The example specified regular acquaintances. If you were a close friend, I might choose to confide in you."
"Choose?" She raised an eyebrow. "So even if we were dear to each other, you might not tell me at all?"
"It depends."
"On?"
I blew out air. "Countless variables. Do I regularly seek your counsel? Will unburdening my troubles accomplish anything, or will it only inspire worry? Have I already decided on a course of action or am I conflicted?"
"The fact remains. Even if I was dear to you and asked after your circumstances genuinely. There is a possibility you would lie."
"Yes," I said, tired of belaboring the point.
Loria laughed. The sound was oddly joyful, considering what she was. ¡°It is merely an observation, not a judgment. In this small area demons and mortals are the same. We all lie as easily as we breathe. Something approaching truth is only offered if an ever-growing list of conditions and dependencies are met. And even when we speak that truth after it''s filtered through pride and biased perceptions, it rarely resembles the real thing.¡±
I shook my head. "If that''s the criteria, I''m not sure it''s possible for anyone to be truthful."
"For the longest time, I believed the same." Her scarlet eyes glimmered as she gripped the strap tightly in her fist. "But it''s always there, Princeling. Deep beneath the surface. Buried. Pain, like the strap, is little more than a tool. It lets you strip away their hope, dignity, dreams. Their lies. Cut away layer after layer. Eventually given enough time and patience, you''ll uncover what you seek. That is the miracle of pain. It allows a glimpse of pure truth. And once you learn to recognize it, it is more exhilarating and fulfilling than any treasure attainable in my realm, or yours."
It took a monumental amount of effort to divorce myself from the horror of the sentiment and apply what Loria was describing to Thoth in abstract.
Once I had, I found there were parts that fit. Disturbingly well. Thoth only tried to kill me in the Sanctum because I''d bruised her pride and started creating more problems than she could justify. Every encounter before that was filled with chest beating and half-measures. It was like she was trying to draw something out of me, or someone.
The person I''d become when we were looping together, before she''d removed me from it.
It didn''t matter that the person from that time was gone. That there was no hope of actually becoming them. If the plot to eliminate the arch-fiend at sea failed, perhaps there was something to that I could use to reinvigorate Thoth''s interest, and make her less likely to kill me outright. Use the vice against her.
When I had time, I needed to delve into my soul again and try to uncover another memory. I already had a better sense from the last in terms of who I was back then. With more context, it''d be easier to play the part.
And if I played it well enough, there was a real chance that''d give me an opening.
"Thank you for the lesson," I said, so preoccupied with potential future strategies that I only belatedly noticed the way the demon seemed unsettled, a sense of growing annoyance in her expression. "What is it?"
"I just find it disappointing. Purely from a professional standpoint." Loria crossed her legs, working her jaw in frustration. "That whoever unmade you simply walked away and left you in pieces. There''s obviously potential. From our encounter today, anyone can glean that you do not shrink from shadows, even on the darkest night. Not out of ignorance, like so many fools. Simply because you have seen everything the darkness offers and chose to accept it, rather than despair."
"They were otherwise occupied," I managed a smile.
"Then the task of remaking yourself falls to you." Loria sighed deeply. "A heavy burden. But one that offers limitless potential." She chewed her lip, showing a flash of a pointed incisor. "I could, perhaps, assist you in this¡ª"
"¡ªNot for all the treasure and information in the world," I said immediately.
"So quick." Loria barked a laugh, sudden break in eloquence forming a harsh contrast. "If I was not so confident in my legion''s ability to root out magical treachery, I might be led to wonder if you were, somehow, one of mine."
"I can accept that darkness is a part of life. That terrible things happen to all people, good or bad. And that there are fates worse than death. I''ll engage with it when necessary. When my hand is forced. But I am not the fool who goes searching for suffering, simply because it exists."
"Then I wish you well in your future endeavors. And now, I will tend mine." Loria snapped the ledger shut, rising to her feet and shuffling around the opposite side of the desk from me, intent on approaching Ozra.
Whatever was happening at the negotiation table, Maya wasn''t interjecting much. It was going well. I needed to buy a little more time, even if it was a risk.
"Though I cannot accept your assistance in the previous matter," I started, making a point of not pursuing her, my gaze fixed to the wall. "Do you really find her actions so distasteful? Leaving me unmade."
"Yes," Loria snapped, patience finally growing thin.
"More than your colleagues with their skin-flaying artifacts?"
"It is exactly because she does not need to go to such ridiculous lengths and plies her trade with exceptional talent that I find it ''distasteful.''" Loria overflowed with vehemence, demonic hatred on full display. "Heinous is more appropriate. Like watching a stone worker chisel a masterpiece, only to leave it overturned in the muddy scrapyard once finished. It is not only disdain for the statue. But for the art itself."
I removed a speck of dust from beneath one of my nails. "So, it would not be unthinkable to say someone like you might assist in the downfall of such a person."
Loria stilled, opportunism lighting behind her eyes. "Are you trying to cut a deal with me, human?"
"No deals." I stood from the desk and approached her, resisting the urge to look towards the negotiation table. "No promises, and no guarantees. With everything going on behind the scenes, there''s a genuine possibility I''ll never encounter her again. But if I do find myself face-to-face with the arch-mage... well... I''d love to do so with the benefits of your unique insights."
It was always a risk, lying to a demon. They were perceptive. Cunning. I''d avoided it as much as possible until now. But what helped¡ªor at least, I hoped it would¡ªwas the fact that this was not entirely a lie. While it was originally Loria''s torture that had redefined my relationship with physical pain and eventually purged my fear of it, Thoth''s grand-stage cruelty had carved through my psyche in an entirely different way. What Loria perceived as the work of one master was, in reality, the work of two. That was why she found the results of what was done to me so compelling.
The flare of excitement from the reveal that my tormentor was the arch-mage slowly disappeared, and Loria shook her head. "I cannot take direct action beyond my legion''s directive. Not without a deal in place."
I sneered, letting my anger leak through. "Don''t misunderstand. I''m not asking for direct interference. Thoth will not meet her end at the hands of anyone other than me. I don''t want you to hurt her or even speak to her directly. But if you were able to observe her with your unique perspective. Provide insights that would help me break her... well. That would serve both our purposes, would it not?"
Loria smiled widely, her fangs on full display. "You want to unmake her the same way she unmade you."
"I''ll settle for death. But if the opportunity for justice presents itself?" I paused, feeling as if I was on the edge of something without fully understanding what it was, before finally dismissing the notion as pointless. "Dying is a paltry recompense for the strife she has caused, the people she''s hurt. Needlessly."
"That does not sound like justice, human." Loria studied me for a long moment, then shrugged. She flicked her wrist at the waist, and a small whirling object flitted through the air. I caught it between my fingers just before it passed me by. It was a dark piece of thick parchment, inscribed with scarlet geometric shapes immediately recognizable as a demonic sigil. "But there''s a reason there isn''t a word for the concept in our language. The motivation matters little to me. Burn that when you are near her and I will elucidate any cracks in her armor. If only for the pleasure of seeing her fall."
"We''ve... come to an accord," Maya announced.
/////
I shuffled back to my side as Loria rejoined Ozra. Ironically, it was only the supporting members of the negotiation that were less than pleased with the current exchange, while Ozra and Annette seemed to be having the time of their lives.
"¡ªWouldn''t that be wasted material?" Annette mused, examining the positions on the Koss board slowly.
"Seems that way, doesn''t it?" Ozra grinned. "But if your opponent plays the rest of the game out following the Ardonacci variation¡ª"
"¡ªwhich would be the natural choice, given the out-of-place cavalry¡ª"
He played the sequence in a whirlwind, maneuvering pieces from both sides, ending in three aggressive captures for the red pieces that took the initial loss. "Then you recoup that material, and more, here, here, and here."
Annette, my typically stoic little sister, clapped emphatically, her eyes alight with enthusiasm. "And spring a beautiful, elegant trap. Marvelous."
I walked behind them, sparing a quick glance for the ever-changing board as I slid in beside Maya. "They''ve been like this the whole time?"
"No. They''ve been alternating between chess and negotiations." Maya replied, seemingly more annoyed than I''d ever seen her. "And the princess has made some concessions I don''t agree with."
"Like?"
"Nothing that poses an immediate problem now. Whether they do later, is yet to be seen. Were you flirting with a demon?" Maya asked indifferently, the source of her irritation suddenly apparent.
"Uh¡ª" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Loria raise her palm and rotate it side to side. "When one is negotiating, it is only proper to speak the language of the party being approached. In this case, allure and¡ª"
"¡ªSeduction." Maya finished, refusing to make eye-contact. "Don''t bother explaining the usefulness of charm to a trained diplomat. I''m well aware of the benefits."
My cheeks burned. "We were just talking."
"No. You were doing what you always do when you''re trying to make yourself enticing."
I scoffed. "That being?"
She made a vague gesture. "When you place yourself slightly in their space, cross your arms, and smolder. It''s very effective."
"Alright. Fine." My eyes narrowed. "And what do you mean, you''re well aware of the benefits?"
"I''m pleasing to the eye. You think your father simply invited me into his war tent on the merits of my story and position? No. Naturally, I charmed him." Maya said matter-of-factly.
"Great." I wrinkled my nose, banishing all the unpleasant thoughts that conjured. "We''ve established that we possess the same tools and are equally capable of using them. Therefore, no one is at fault and there''s no reason for us to be upset with each other."
"Indeed," she said flatly.
"There''s only one thing we disagree on."
"That being?" Maya looked towards me for the first time, her light eyes a silent challenge.
I crossed my arms. "You''re so much more than simply pleasing to the eye."
"Oh." Her violet cheeks tinged dark blue, and she looked away. The silence that followed was so long, I thought that was the end of it until she finally spoke again. "My mind has been clouded as of late."
"Can I help?"
She hesitated. "That... line of inquiry we began the other night?"
My mind went to our discussion in our rooms. The baring of souls over the wine we shared. How honest and vulnerable she was, and while there was a definite temptation to take things further, her openness had ultimately stayed my hand. Because, above all else, I didn''t want to hurt her.
"Does it upset you?" I asked, apprehensively.
"No. The opposite. But it is at least partially to blame for this fog that plagues me, because we did not finish it." She turned to me meaningfully. "So, as soon as possible. I''d like to see it through."
Oh.
I smiled a bit. "There''s a lot to unpack. We''d need to set aside an appropriate amount of time. Make sure no detail is missed."
"At least a day," Maya agreed, breathing out.
"Barring disaster, tomorrow, perhaps?"
She jolted slightly, showing the slightest hint of nerves. "That is... rather sudden."
"You did say ''as soon as possible.'' After we deal with the imminent threat, I was already planning to steal you away. Show some overdue appreciation before the next inevitable problem crops up. If that''s how you''d like to spend that time, I''m happy to oblige. But if it''s better to wait¡ª"
"No!" Maya exclaimed a little too loudly, clenched a fist, and released it. "No." She repeated quietly. "I want to finish our... conversation... so badly it aches. Sometimes it''s all I can think about. My dreams are tormenting. Little things irritate me that typically would not even register. All of which create obstacles that make it more difficult to properly play my role. But as much as it kills me to say, we should not make plans for tomorrow. The chance we''ll need to deal with some aftermath from today is simply too likely."
I suppressed the twinge of disappointment. She was right, of course. The wild spontaneity I''d lived by in my first life was mostly gone, harshly reined in, even when it tempted me most. But something about Maya brought out that side of me, when little else did.
Maya steepled her hands, studying her fingertips. "Maybe... the day after, we can travel somewhere less than a day''s ride from the capital and return by nightfall?"
"Kholis perhaps?" I suggested immediately, taking to the idea.
She started. "It doesn''t hold too many bad memories?"
"Some." I admitted, recalling the harrowing loop that ended with the death of the rangers, and the close encounter with Thoth. But most of that occurred outside the city limits. The interior I remembered much more kindly. Introducing her to salted treats from the market. Our first dance, frantic and unromantic as it was. "But it''s quiet, and they''re accustomed to visitors from the city. Plus, they like you. You rescued their current Duke from the clutches of an evil revenant. It should be friendlier than most human settlements nearby."
"You''ll have to tell the Duke," Maya observed.
"If I do that, he''ll want to come along."
"And he''ll be furious if he discovers we revisited his home without him." She chuckled. "You forget, I took care of Lucius long before you stumbled into Barion''s cabin. As a boy, he was both intuitive and discreet, and from what I''ve heard, he hasn''t changed. He''ll grant us our time."
I blew air into my cheeks, then shook my head. "Between the travel and the escort, that doesn''t work for me."
"Oh." Maya said, immediately disappointed.
"I mean the two of you have a close bond. It''d be unreasonable to demand that the Duke host us and blow him off for the duration. You''ll need to catch up, and that could take hours. No. We''ll need at least two additional days to ensure we appease the duke, and thoroughly cover the topic of discussion."
Maya put a hand to her mouth, covering a smile. "There''s wisdom in that. I''ll need to make some preparations for a longer absence, but they shouldn''t take long. So. Three days in Kholis, then."
I nodded.
Across the negotiation table, an increasingly displeased Loria leaned over to whisper something in Ozra''s ear, finally interrupting the overlong Koss session.
Ozra shrugged, offering Annette a chagrined smile as he turned back to her. "As delightful as this has been, we''ve drifted off-topic. Shall we review the terms of our arrangement before you sign, so my associate and yours can stop glaring daggers into the backs of our heads?"
"I''m ready," Annette agreed.
With little fanfare, Ozra clapped his hands, fishing a monocle from his chest pocket as the contract appeared beneath a fading cloud of smoke, along with a pen and quill. I scanned the terms.
And my stomach dropped.
231. Fracture XXXVI
Beyond the immediate object of horror, the contract itself was strange. Less cold-blooded and stringent than mine by an order of magnitude, filled with little additions and considerations that prioritized Annette''s wellness and care. All of which would have been at the very least suspicious, if the section that kept drawing my eye back, over and over, didn''t spell out the intention clear as day.
Pursuant to verbal deliberations, Princess Annette, of House Valen, cedes exclusive courtship rights to the Fiendish Consortium. The princess will attend no outside suitors nor uphold formal or informal courtship with any person or persons outside the consortium.
"You... let this go through?" I breathed, a black rage billowing up from within me as the pang of betrayal grew too great to ignore. Confronting Loria, facing down a woman who had¡ªunknowingly¡ªdone catastrophic damage to my psyche, was supposed to buy Annette and Maya enough time to work Ozra and prevent something like this from happening.
"It was not¡ª" Annette began, before Maya cut her off.
"¡ªNo." Maya shook her head, looking between Ozra and Annette in quiet frustration. "In fact, I spent a great deal of time pushing back against it, but the princess would not yield. So my time was spent ensuring the terms favored her."
"I¡ª" Annette''s mouth closed, opened again. "I thought we were in accord."
"Then you were not listening to my many, many warnings." Maya snapped at her flatly. "Nor my attempts to pivot the focus of the proceedings."
"Enough." The growing surge of frustration that always accompanied the realization I''d need to trigger a reset flooded in, clouding my thoughts. It was right there, written in Ozra and Loria''s gloating faces. They''d won this bout.
But they would not win the next.
Until the moment the contract was signed, there was still room to maneuver. I funneled mana into the inscription pathways in my chest that would stop my heart, staring directly into Ozra''s smug expression. He probably thought he''d played this well, capitalizing on my distraction with Loria to force through a deal I''d never approve of.
How I so desperately wished to see that smug smile falter as I dropped dead to the floor, reality bending back on itself as all of his clever maneuvering was undone.
Another item on the contract stood out to me, as I continued to work up the nerve. I scoffed at it. "Koss games every fortnight? With him? Really. Did you take nothing I said to heart?"
"If you both would be so inclined, we''ll need a moment to discuss this among ourselves," Maya said matter-of-factly, directing her comment to the demons. Ozra and Loria took their leave, casually conferring in low voices in the corner near the secretarial desk as I continued to pore over the contract, growing more and more dismayed with the contents.
"I did not cede my soul," Annette countered, but her typically cold delivery lacked confidence.
"That''s hardly a victory when, instead, you''ve given him access." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "With no endpoint, making matters worse. From now until the day you meet your end, you''ve given him time to get to know you, build rapport, to slowly whittle down your resolve and wait for circumstances to align until the fateful evening trading a soul suddenly sounds reasonable. Equitable, even."
Annette looked away. "That evening will never come. The fact remains that a good opponent is hard to find. I''ve learned more about strategy and tactics in the last half hour than I have over years. Lessons that apply to far more than a game of wits¡ª"
"¡ªYou have countless tutors¡ª"
"¡ªWe stand to gain far more than we lose!" Annette stood, knocking over her chair, fists clenched in fury. "There is danger, yes. Risk. But there is always something at stake in matters of power. A reality you seem more than comfortable embracing when it is your life being wagered, and only averse to when the same logic is applied by those you care for." Her voice crescendoed, eyes glimmering with fury and something else. "Why are you alone allowed to suffer for the sake of peace? Why does it have to be you and only you?"
Because that is my purpose. The reason for this gift. To shield the innocent. And I''ve failed that duty enough, as of late.
I spoke, as evenly as I could. "What could possibly be worth putting your soul at risk? Beyond that, your more immediate wellbeing?" I extended a hand towards Maya and let it drop. "Not long after we met, Maya formed a generational contract with a demon. At the time I was confused by the many parameters and seemingly paranoid fail-safes she enacted, going to great lengths to ensure that demon could never escape its contract. When I asked, she said something I found strange, given the recent overcoming of differences: ''All demons are evil, without exception.'' Yet to this day, I have not seen a single shred of evidence that she is wrong. If anything, she undersold the depths of their depravity."
"As unhappy as I am with this turn of events," Maya hedged, "it''s probably the best we could hope for. Perhaps better. It invites restriction without compunction. Annette cannot marry outside the fiendish consortium, but she is not compelled to marry within it or take any action beyond occasionally entertaining suitors, something she already does."
"Suitors far older and craftier than those already foisted upon her," I argued.
Ozra''s voice carried across the room with an undercurrent of mirth. "Intercessor, if you''d draw the Prince''s attention to page twelve, subsection three¡ª"
"¡ªI''ve neither requested your help nor require it, arch-fiend," Maya snapped back, waiting until Ozra and Loria returned to their quiet musings before she lifted the contract from the table and leafed through the first dozen pages, pointing out a paragraph near the end.
Any potential suitor must fulfill the following pre-requisites.
2A. Hail from a legion of good standing within the consortium.
2B. Hold the current role of Renascent Prince within that legion
2C. Have undergone renascence within the timeframe of a maximum of three years preceding, and three years after, the princess''s year of birth.
"The hells is a renascent prince?" I muttered, reading it over, hoping it would make more sense the second time and gleaning little more.
"It''s not surprising you''ve never heard of them. Despite being an integral aspect of demonic hierarchy, they rarely draw attention to the practice as, in a way, it paints them as fundamentally imperfect, an impression they are quick to avoid." Maya looked away, guilt tainting her expression. "I need to clarify that the generalization of all demons as evil is also imperfect. It would have been more accurate to say that they will all, eventually, become evil."
"I''m not following," I admitted.
"As you know, demons do not die a true death. When they die, either voluntarily, or through violence, their core¡ªwhich, while different from a soul, acts in a similar capacity¡ªis retained and repurposed. These cores are auctioned en masse to various legions to the purpose of bolstering and bringing new blood into their population. This cycle is called renascence. The memories and allegiances of a renascent demon are intentionally wiped while their power remains. And like any being, nature and environment are considerable factors in upbringing." As Maya spoke, Annette idly cast small illusions upon the koss board, tiny individuals surrounded by a ring of fire. "Some succumb quickly to the practices of those around them, others resist. In this small way it is not so different from any society tainted by evil. Like any child, they grow and develop, adopt or resist the lessons they are taught. Within the first century of development this results in a surprising breadth of individuality." Her eyes grew hard. "But time is an inevitable poison. The longer they live, the more their nature erodes that individuality and their innate cruelty becomes more apparent until they are no different from the next. That is also the reason most demons are not allowed to assume positions of power until they have proved their worth over the course of a century, sometimes longer."Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
"Most," I realized, glancing down at the contract. "So why are the demonic princes an exception?"
"A fair question." Maya nodded. "Unlike souls, cores do not diminish over time. They grow stronger and more resilient from accumulated power gathered over a demon''s lifespan. And this potential for power is the one aspect they do not lose. So while the rank-and-file cores are auctioned like cattle, the core of an arch-fiend, or any demon with primordial or prime evil essence net a far higher price.¡±
"But they do not face the decay of age," I said, growing frustrated with the semantics. "You''ve told me before that there''s many who are thousands of years old. So why even follow through with this farce? Why artificially mimic the process of reincarnation at all, if it''s within their power to simply revitalize a core with experiences and loyalties intact?"
"That''s a topic of great debate among scholars, and there''s no end of discussion on the topic. Keeping the balance of power in flux, churning conflict. But the most commonly held belief is that the unavoidable skew towards cruelty is a double-edged sword."
One of the tiny figures from Annette''s illusions contorted, growing taller and more muscular until it dwarfed the others. It cackled in a silent laugh, then chased its siblings, swinging a considerable club.
"Infighting is to be expected within the fiendish consortium. Power struggles between legions are inevitable. Wars over territory, relics of power, all considered within the scope of ordinary affairs. What''s not tolerated is overreach. Attempts to instate a greater tyrannical order over all of demon-kind. That''s the purpose of the consortium. Deadlock. Every thousand years, there''s a handful of attempts to instate hierarchy. Typically stemming from arch-fiends who have grown too grand for their station. Without fail, every one has fallen to the united front that rises to cut them down, their legions brought to heel. Their recovered cores undergo forced renascence, a process that can take centuries until their original personality and malignancy is purged. Only then will they be returned to the fold and auctioned to the highest bidder. These valuable cores form the foundation for future leadership, without compromising power."
"Always princes. Never kings," I murmured.
"Exactly," Maya answered.
The portrait began to take form, even as I resisted it. It made more sense now why Maya hadn''t immediately raised some sort of alarm. In a way, Annette''s suitors would be of similar age, absent¡ªat least, temporarily¡ªthe sort of cruelty I''d come to expect from demons. They''d be motivated to seek her favor, with hopes of learning the secrets of the magic she held and passing that knowledge on to their legion. And with the way the pact was structured, while it limited her options, it placed my sister in a position of control.
Still.
"You do realize what you''d be giving up?" I turned to Annette, trying to mask the pain in my voice. "Even if you turn them all down, you''ll be surrendering any possibility of a normal courtship. Building a family of your own."
"Where you see tragedy, I find only benefit." Annette stared down at her boots. "When Ozra explained it, there was a part of me that grew giddy. Their power structure is so different from ours. They care nothing for lineage or bloodline. My magic can be taught, though apparently, doing so will take most of a lifetime. In the circumstances I actually find someone to share the rest of my life with, the focus will be passing on my gifts, not serving as livestock, producing offspring after offspring until I''m old enough that my vitality is spent and my purpose is served, all the while watching someone else lead more poorly than I could." Her lip curled in disgust.
A question struck me. Something that I''d never asked her, because the answer seemed inherently obvious. But perhaps, it wasn''t. "Do you... not want children, Annette?"
She shuddered. "I''ve always found the concept of a life growing within me disquieting. Mother told me, once, I would eventually outgrow that reticence. But as the years have passed and I''ve learned more of the particulars, it''s become more horrifying, not less. Beyond the physical unpleasantness and mortal danger, something within me... sickens at the thought. And while I cannot define where it stems from, or why, I can say, definitively, that I don''t want it. And likely never will." She cast a look at the contract, still in Maya''s hands. "Even if I marry within the consortium, there''s no expectation to produce an heir. Simply to learn, advance my abilities, and teach them to others. Barring this opportunity, perhaps, if I was a commoner, I could one day find a partner who felt similarly to me. But I am not a commoner. And there is simply no hope of finding such an arrangement in a royal match. They will all seek to advance their bloodline. Without exception. This is the best option. The best I''ve ever had."
I breathed out slowly. It was difficult to grasp because our experiences had been so different. Unlike Annette, from a young age, I''d often fantasized about building a happy family. Likely because it''d been denied to me, I''d elevated the idea, listening to my mother''s storybook tales that often enshrined a core romance between hero and maiden, latching onto the idea of being a better father than the one I had. But the longer I thought about it, the more Annette''s behavior over my previous life clicked into place. Throughout her teenage years, she''d been notoriously brutal to her suitors, even the rare few I''d considered decent. To the point it''d caused a diplomatic incident more than once. Which looking back, was odd, seeing how politically savvy she was in every other regard.
The Queen had it wrong. It wasn''t some childish reservation Annette would grow out of. It was part of who she was. And just because it didn''t conform to my expectations, or our parents'', or anyone else''s, didn''t make it any less valid.
I put my hand on her head as she cringed, waiting for my response. "The expectations placed on us were different from the beginning. I can''t know your mind, or your desires. And I''ll be honest, it''s difficult to relate. But if you''re confident this is what you want, and you''re not doing it simply for the benefit an alliance with another legion would yield or because you want answers, well, that''s good enough for me. I''ll make sure no one stands in your way."
My sister smiled a little. "And the debt grows larger. I promise I''ll pay it back someday."
"None of that. You''re the one taking the risk here." I forced myself to return the smile, leaving it fixed as I addressed Maya. "There''ve been steps taken to ensure the suitors behave themselves?"
"Oh, yes." Maya leafed through the contract, brow furrowing. "We spent a great deal of time on that. She can expel them at will, and they will be automatically and decisively ejected if they attempt to sidestep any term." She squinted, reviewing the list one last time before coming away satisfied. "It''s thorough."
I took the contract from her and read through the entire thing again, more open-minded than I''d been the first time. As Maya attested, it was thorough in its protections of Annette, and consistent in maintaining her agency. It was also petty in a manner I found amusing, insisting that any potential suitor achieve high marks from a human tutor in etiquette, complete with a required reading list comprising no less than twenty books, at least a few of which I knew to be tomes.
Otherwise, the fact that Ozra intentionally excluded any princes from the Asmodial legion from the list of potential suitors gave me pause. It worked to our purposes, of course; the possibility of another demonic legion at our beck and call was a considerable force multiplier. It could be merely self-serving, concern over boosting favorable demonic princes within his own legion to heightened power and popularity to the point they might eventually challenge him for his position as arch-fiend. But his confidence, and the way he''d set himself up as an intermediary between Annette, as well as the monthly Koss meeting where he would, undoubtedly, try to influence her opinion, all gave the sense of a much bigger game being played here. I had no doubts the suitors along with the legions they hailed from would be handpicked by Ozra personally, and if Annette made a selection, that prince''s legion would owe the arch-fiend far more than mere tribute.
If this arch-fiend was going to continue meddling in my affairs, I needed to at least gain a sense of his.
For my sister''s sake, as well as my own.
The signing was a somber affair. Neither our side nor theirs seemed to want to risk saying anything that would prompt yet another revision. As my sister dipped quill in ink, my sense of nervousness and unease only grew. I hadn''t let the mana go. It wasn''t too late to end this here, try again another day.
This is the best option. The best I''ve ever had.
My brief hesitation was all it took for Annette to sign her name in impeccable penmanship at the bottom of the contract. Ozra took it from her gently, handing it off to Loria, who rolled it up and sealed it with wax, then snapped her fingers. The contract vanished in a cloud of smoke.
"Well argued my dear. And well negotiated." Ozra grinned, giving off the impression of a man who had eaten more than his fill. "Now, we both have some initial steps to take, do we not?"
"Yes." Annette agreed, steeling herself. "You''re going to examine my soul."
"And if possible, grant a degree of understanding over where that pesky fear comes from." Ozra''s smile ebbed. "Typically, I would let a mortal walk face first into something along these lines without warning. Better reactions that way. But as we appear to have found something of a kindred spirit in each other, I''ll grant you this." He leaned forward, his expression serious. "Whatever the truth, it will not be pleasant. Few things in my realm or yours can cause the sort of extensive damage to a soul that Vogrin reported. None of them are kind. And there''s a certain... disturbance that comes with learning how one met their end in a previous life."
"It doesn''t matter." Annette leaned forward to match him, her mouth tight, struggling with momentary indecision. "If my mettle breaks, you''ll pass on whatever information you can about the demon in the sewer to my brother?"
"As outlined in the contract." Ozra agreed, all flattery and admiration. "Whatever he believes, I''m as invested in his survival as yours."
"Then do it." Annette commanded.
And braced, as Ozra''s fingertips brushed her forehead.
232. Fracture XXXVII
The sconces slowly died, a circular curtain of shadow falling around us. Only the table and its inhabitants remained visible, the light blue glow that illuminated them seemingly sourceless and ethereal, save scant ripples traveling the light like reflections off a pool. Annette''s eyes were closed, and while she initially appeared stoic, her fists were clenched beneath the table. Ozra''s hand remained fixed on her forehead, his face a mask of excitement and greed, not unlike a surveyor seeking the final valuation of some long-fabled treasure he''d finally secured.
But as the minutes passed, that excitement faded. His mouth pulled down in a frown, puzzlement playing across his lips, as if he couldn''t quite process what he was seeing.
Then the puzzlement turned to rage.
"Who fucking did this?" He barked, startling Annette out of her trance, though he did not move his hand.
Vogrin materialized from the shadows, coming forward at his side. "The same question that has dominated my free hours as of late. I hoped you''d have better luck than me."
"If this is memory alteration, it''s flawless." Ozra''s voice was completely impassive, an odd contrast to his enraged expression. "You''d think an individual capable of such inventive savagery would find something more meaningful to do with it than tormenting a child."
Ozra taking issue with cruelty to mortal children immediately struck me as odd. The Azmodial legion, acting on Ozra''s direct orders, slaughtered men, women, and children indiscriminately. I''d had that reality drilled into me over and over during the attacks on the Enclave. In any other situation I''d assume it was performative, and that Ozra was merely playing a part that made him appear more sympathetic to Annette. But the anger smoldering beneath the surface was very real. The only real possibility left was that he somehow considered what my sister had endured different from his own brand of depravity.
"There''s the suppression to consider." Vogrin scratched his chin. "It''s clear enough to state definitively. Princess Annette''s mana development has been directly stunted through repeated applications of void. Both independently happening to the same person seems astronomically unlikely, but I hesitate to draw a direct connection."
"Why?" Maya barked. "Stop talking in riddles and share your insights, per our agreement."
"Because there''s an obvious difference in skill," Ozra answered, the fact that he hadn''t risen to the provocation evident of how unsettled he was. "From the traces that remain, whoever they were, the void practitioner was of decent skill. Covered their tracks well, applied an effective suppression while avoiding the usual pitfalls, and took measures to ensure the suppression did not damage the soul. A rather exceptional application, though not flawless. Well within the capabilities of a dedicated mortal." His face twisted. "However, if memory alteration occurred¡ªand barring something else at play¡ªthe application is masterful. Perfect, in a way that magic rarely is."
Vogrin nodded along. "I agree that the manipulation could not have been managed by a human practitioner. During her tutelage, I kept watch over the princess''s mind." He shot an apologetic look towards me. "When there is meddling in something as volatile as memory¡ªa venture that almost always involves an artifact¡ªthere are inevitable cracks that appear, eventually. Wrinkles in the patchwork undetectable on initial survey but show themselves with time. Yet, despite monitoring her extensively, there are no signs."
"Troubling." Ozra gently removed his hand from Annette''s head. "What''s Xaraxos doing these days?"
"Still trolling the lower realms. We''d know if he returned."
"...And Lycaon?" Ozra asked, merely voicing the question seemed enough to put his teeth on edge.
"Imprisoned and bound. Not so much as a blip over the last millennia."
"You confirmed this directly?"
"It was the first place I went." Vogrin confirmed. "Tested his chains and the magic that bound him. Both, while ancient, are solid. Our predecessors fulfilled their obligations thoroughly. No evidence of tampering or decay."
It occurred to me that I''d heard of Lycaon. Sparsely, as the name was entirely absent from any of the histories and demonic accounts I''d read, yet I''d heard it before. Kastramoth¡ªMaya''s summon that hailed from the Bloodhound legion¡ªoften slept poorly, barking and snarling. On waking, the churlish demon never seemed interested in offering any actual insight to what plagued him. But rarely, when the day was long and morning was still far from sight, when his mind straddled the divide between wake and sleep, his deep voice somehow frightened and small, he would murmur that Lycaon was nipping at his heels.
It took a few repetitions to realize this wasn''t literal. I''d since heard it from other demons since, always invoked in the context of describing something abstract they found frightening. The same way mortals referred to the hells.
"Who is Lycaon?" I asked.
"A relic of no relevance or import." Ozra replied smoothly, a little too quick and dismissive to be convincing.
"Yes." Vogrin agreed. "A stretch in reasoning that ended in a fruitless query."
"Yet he registered." Maya glanced between Ozra and Vogrin. "Stuck in both your minds with enough import that Vogrin voluntarily left this realm and a valuable charge unguarded to verify his imprisonment." She crossed her arms. "I''d like to hear the answer as well."
"What happened to me?" Annette blurted out, startling all of us. She''d been quiet until now, but her patience had finally worn thin, and her blue eyes radiated with a mania that was unlike her.
Ozra winced. "My reticence is not from spite, little princess. It is uncertainty as to the purpose¡ª"
"For now, I don''t care what the purpose was." Annette swiped at her cheeks, her bottom lip trembling. "Or the grand implications, or who was responsible. That matters, and there will be all the time in the world for elaboration and theoreticals later. But you saw it. I felt it uncoil in my mind, like a spring. Something always there that I could only scratch at the protrusion of, never uncovering more, despite knowing full well it lurked beneath the surface."
"The memories in question are fragments. Fragments from past lives that do not align with reality. What they depict cannot be possible. Which is why I''m hesitant to share something so volatile without seeking further context." Ozra said, completely even. It seemed that there was some veracity to his claim of fondness towards Annette. Because I recognized what he was doing. Shielding her from a hard truth by muddying the waters.
I put a hand on her chair. "If what he''s saying is accurate, and knowing the truth will only bring you pain and more questions, are you sure you want to know?"
"I do." Annette confirmed. "Even if it hurts me. I need to see it. To understand."
There was an air of finality to it, and no one argued. Ozra grimaced, looking pinned in and unready to let it go. "It would be less distressing to simply relay the events in as much detail as I am able."
Annette shook her head. "Let me see it, arch-fiend."
"As you wish."
The corner of the den peeled back as if stripped from reality, a torn-out page that left nothing but a white void. I instinctively reached out, towards where Annette''s chair had been, finding her shaking shoulder instead as my eyes still failed to find her. Unsure of what else to do, I wrapped my arms around her, holding her as the void took shape, the fading in surroundings intimately familiar.
"It always begins this way." Ozra narrated, still perplexed beneath his perpetual calmness.
Annette''s rooms, filled with odd trinkets and untouched toys. Her Koss board sat by the windowsill as it always did, in the middle of a game she''d likely started playing out long before the chaos started. Every piece of furniture she owned besides it was piled in front of the door, stacked on top of each other in a sort of makeshift barricade. Annette¡ªa more mature, older version of her that matched her appearance from the end of my first life¡ªwas sweating and disheveled as she tied sheets together in a panic, doing her level best not to look at the fire-razed city below, or the near constant smoke leaking in from the direction of the barricade, constantly seeping in beneath the crack in the door.
"I''m older." Annette observed, and it took a second to connect it was the real Annette talking, rather than the memory. "But these are my rooms. My possessions. More to the point, I''m still me. Isn''t this supposed to be a past life?"
"And therein lies the confusion." Ozra agreed, disembodied voice carrying over the din of distant battle. "Some of it, anyway. Reincarnation coincides within the progression of time. Some find their vessels almost immediately after death. Others remain in the afterlife for centuries before they return. But no matter when they return, it is always after. Yet it appears that every life you''ve lived, as far back as I can see¡ªwhich is considerable¡ªis an echo of this one.¡±
"If I can offer a word of advice," Vogrin hedged, voice somewhere to the side. "Try to depersonalize anything you see. View this with the same lens you''d view the subject of an experiment."
"Very well," Annette agreed, just as the Annette tying sheets together was startled by a knock at the door, and cocked her head. It was an odd occurrence, with the chaos and ongoing battle around the castle, that someone would bother to knock politely.
The handle turned and the door collided with the barricade. Annette shrieked, stumbling away from the door until her back hit the wall.
In a peculiar turn of events, the would-be invader immediately closed the door in response. Annette waited with bated breath, her chest heaving. Moments later, the knock sounded again, this time accompanied by a woman''s voice. "Princess? Are you in there?"
"Announce yourself." Annette demanded, trembling, searching for anything nearby she could use as a weapon.
"Apologies milady. The name''s Iraia of Sunhaven. You don''t know me, but I served your mother in the queen''s guard."
Immediately, Annette moved towards the barricade and started to disassemble it before she paused, uncertain. "Pardon my manners, but I have no recollection of a guardswoman by that name and lack familiarity with Sunhaven. In what capacity did you serve?"
The person outside barked a laugh. "That''s alright. Time''s short, but a little caution never hurt anyone. Uh. I was one of the first pulled for that detail. Nothin'' special about me, but there weren''t as many women in the King''s service as there are today, so the options were limited. She was pretty sick in those early days, shortly after you were born. Ended up nannying more than guarding, if I''m being honest. You were a sweet kid. Never cried, after the colic faded. Little after your first birthday they rotated me out with the men. Always... uh... tried to look out for you, after she passed."
Annette nearly relented, but something held her back. She squinted at the barricaded door. "That explains why I don''t remember you, but... why were you demoted? It was a demotion yes?"
From my observations, it was a reasonable question. The Queen''s guard were about a hundred strong, and primarily made up of two contingents. One that served Elaria directly and stayed in close vicinity, and another that safeguarded her surroundings and vicinity. Between the two, the inner-guard was the more desirable posting by far. They rarely saw combat, and my mother had a reputation for treating both her guards and servants as extended family. They shared her food, listened to her stories and regaled her with their own in return, and enjoyed the comforts of her lavish quarters, all in return for the typically uneventful but no less vital duty of keeping her safe.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
I remembered, at her funeral, nearly all of them were weeping as if they''d lost a friend. Perhaps they had.
It wasn''t that Elaria treated the outer guard worse, more that she rarely interacted with them. They were most active when she was asleep, keeping watch over long hours, and any watchman will tell you the job is a thankless and often insufferably boring affair.
"Well." The woman beyond the door paused and coughed. "Nothin'' really. I partook in the sort of things every sword-and-shield around here partake in. Dice. Cards. Difference being, I was bad at it. Terrible, really. And both the black shields and the queen''s guard don''t look too kindly on the sort of debt I was piling up. Vulnerabilities and all. Can''t hold it against them, probably would have made the same decision if I was in charge. It''s uh... getting really hot out here."
Annette took a moment to process that, ultimately dismissing it as irrelevant. "Still, you were with her¡ªwith us. For nearly a year. Tell me something only a person from my mother''s inner circle would know."
"Sure. Sure. It was a long time ago, need to think." There was a long silence. "Ah. Well, I''m sorta betting the farm here if she never told you about it. Could have faded, too, but it''s the best I got. When you were a baby, you had a birthmark on your left knee. Pretty irregular, more like two of ''em squished together. And when you stretched that little leg out, it always made your mother laugh, because it looked like a heart¡ª"
"Just a moment." Cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment, Annette set to disassembling the barricade, setting the furniture aside in an orderly manner until there was enough space to open the door.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up, a dark chill traveling my spine as Thoth entered. She looked entirely different. Almost human. Short raven hair framed her face, replacing the white. When she smiled, her teeth were blunt rather than sharp. And her ears were rounded rather than pointed.
The golden snake iris that haunted my dreams was gone, but the color remained, somewhere between yellow and gold. Her movements were still too smooth, too graceful. And the aura of danger was ever-present.
Unfortunately, Annette was either incapable of identifying it or was simply too harried to notice. ''Iraia'' didn''t give her much time to think, rushing forward to give her a tight squeeze that was just the right amount of improper, before she released Annette and took a step back. "Gods. I''m so glad you''re safe."
"I don''t feel very safe." Annette admitted wryly, off-balance from the unexpected physical contact.
"Right." Iraia gripped her shoulders, all authority and determination. "Right. We need to get you clear of the castle. The fire around the east wing is keeping the miscreants away, which is a mixed blessing. They''re keeping their distance, which gives us a window, but the flames are out of control. Gather what you need and we''ll figure out the rest."
"Who''s attacking us?" Annette stammered. "I could have sworn I saw an elven scouting party before I locked myself in, but that''s impossible, right?"
"Entirely possible, sorry to say. And it''s not just them. The knife-ears, the knee-highs, everything that isn''t human and capable of swinging a sharpened stick is already out there laying waste."
"The rest of my family? Princess Sera and the King. Are they safe?"
"Can''t speak for them. There''s been a lot of bloodshed, so it''s impossible to say for sure." Iraia shook her head, maintaining a gentle grip on Annette. "But ya gotta keep faith. They have their own people taking care of them, same as I''m taking care of you."
"But¡ª"
"Listen to me." Iraia shook Annette gently. "You have questions. Everyone does. You were always inquisitive. Even before you could speak, your eyes asked for ye. But this isn''t the time. You don''t remember me. Can''t hold that against ye, I remember nothin'' from that age either. But I didn''t spend years watching over you only to let some stinking horn-eater slip a knife between your ribs the first time they find the sack to try it. I''ll get you out. But to do that, I need you to trust me, and do exactly what I say. Can you do that, Annie?"
It was the nickname that did it. Only two people called her that, and by that point, one of them had already died.
Annette didn''t answer directly. But her noble facade slipped, revealing the child beneath. The child who desperately wanted someone¡ªanyone¡ªto take care of her. "Just... tell me what to do."
"Good." Iraia clapped her shoulder and gestured behind. "I''ve got a plan. A route that should get us around most of the violence. Grab your things, and we''ll make a run for it."
Lacking her previous hesitation, Annette seized the small bag she''d already packed. "Done. What now?"
Iraia raised an eyebrow. "Decisive. Always liked that about you. Keep your hand on my back and stay with me." She opened the door and lowered her shoulders.
A billowing wave of heat rushed in the moment the door was opened, staggering them both, a wall of flames licking the doorframe. Iraia barely managed to force the door shut, unleashing a torrent of profanity.
"We''re trapped?" Annette asked quietly.
"Looks that way." The guard scanned the room until she finally spotted the hodgepodge rope. "Unless there''s more sheets stashed somewhere."
"That''s all I have."
"Dammit. Elphion take me." Iraia paced like a caged animal, chewing her lip, the very picture of a person unraveling as their plans fell to ruin. "There''s plumbing in the noble rooms. Any chance you have a bucket? Or literally anything larger than a goblet that will hold water?"
Again, Annette slowly shook her head. "I''m not sure it would make a difference if I did. What''s happening out there is more inferno than fire."
Iraia tugged at her hair in frustration, pacing again, giving Annette ample time to think. To plan.
"It''s desperate," Annette said thoughtfully, "But it''s probably the best option we have." She looked up at Iraia. "We need to douse the blankets. The wet blankets will protect us from the worst of the fire but we should probably douse ourselves as well."
"Will that... work?" Iraia asked, confused by the notion.
"Not perfectly." Annette scanned her duvet, trying to approximate how much protection it would offer before the water evaporated and the fabric caught flame. "We''ll likely sustain some injury, but I''ve read multiple accounts of people using similar methods to get out of burning buildings mostly unscathed. Once we''re clear, we''ll ditch them and take that route of yours."
"At this point I''ll try anything." Iraia sprung into action, yanking the duvet off the bed with both hands and half-folding it, remainder dragging as she wrestled it into the bathroom and turned the handle on the sink.
Annette followed behind, moving further in. "That won''t be quick enough. I''ll start the tub."
"Good thinking."
By habit, she turned the "hot" handle first, then thought better of it and used a combination of both, ensuring the temperature was lukewarm. As the water filled, liquid rising ever higher on the ivory walls, Annette''s expression grew more troubled. As if something was bothering her and she couldn''t fully understand what.
"Haven''t seen many guardsmen in leathers." My sister observed.
"I''m a scout these days. Finally moved up in the world a little." Iraia answered. "Not that it matters now."
"If that experience aided you in moving through the castle unseen, I''d say it matters quite a lot." Annette replied, turning to give the woman a quick smile.
"Perhaps." Iraia said, crossing over to Annette''s side, gripping the sides of the raised tub with both hands as she leaned over to look. "These things always take too long to fill."
"Do you have any injuries we need to treat before we leave?" Annette asked, monitoring the woman out of her peripheral.
"Hmm? No. As you said, I''m unharmed."
"What about your hand?" Annette asked, point blank.
I reviewed the events and realized what Annette had keyed in on. To this point, Iraia had played the part almost flawlessly. As far as I could tell, the only mistake she''d made¡ªa misstep Annette had noticed against all odds¡ªwas when she closed the door. Residences within the palace had doors with metal handles. Iron cast in gold, a combination that ranged from frigid to scathing depending on the temperature. And with the castle in flames... it should have burned the hell out of her, and didn''t.
"Now that I think about it." Slowly, discarding her desperate, well-meaning disposition, Thoth slid her glove off. Angry white and red flesh clung to the opening of the gauntlet like a cobweb, her palm scalded and bloody. "Bad enough to put ointment on?"
"I¡ª"
Thoth''s damaged hand shot forward, her long fingers clamping over Annette''s throat tightly. She chuckled, her voice laden with disappointment. "Oh Annette. Such a sad existence. Always so clever, yet never quite clever enough."
My sister tried to say something, emitting guttural noises as her feet sought the floor.
"Trying to say something?" Thoth cocked her head.
Somehow, Annette managed to nod.
Thoth considered it, demonstrating yet again, the sort of slow plodding cruelty I''d come to know her for. "Tell you what. You''re a smart girl. Pretend like we''ve lived out this exact moment countless times. Take stock of all the things you might say to make me change my mind. Quickly, before what little air you have loses purpose." She waited, until Annette tapped frantically at her arm, nodding. "I''m not done. Now take all those things you just thought of and throw them the fuck away. If you can come up with an original appeal, some angle you''ve never tried¡ªminding if we''ve done this countless times, you''ve tried many¡ªI''ll consider... letting you go. Fair?"
Annette nodded again, face growing scarlet from the lack of air, legs beginning to buckle. Finally, Thoth released her, and my little sister stumbled back against the tub. My sister coughed and struggled to suck in air through her damaged windpipe.
"Enough stalling. Speak." Thoth demanded.
"There''s a nascent... monster... beneath Whitefall." Annette struggled to form the words. "Though I do not know its origin, I know its purpose. How it''s being used, who''s responsible, and why. If your intention is conquest, it will cause problems unless dealt with properly."
"Oh." Thoth nodded along, vaguely interested. "Fascinating. Are you also aware of who suffers most thanks to this monster?"
"Yes," Annette winced, horror overtaking her expression as she realized Thoth was already fully aware of whatever secrets she held.
"I get the sense you''ve kept this information to yourself. An odd decision, given the number of innocents who fall prey to it, day over day. Were you ever going to do anything helpful with this information, or was the plan just to keep it to yourself as just another card?"
"Of course I was." Annette snapped. "But this is bigger than me, and there are ears, everywhere. I needed to wait until a¡ª"
The words died, as Thoth''s hand closed around my sister''s throat again. For a moment, she looked genuinely remorseful. "That was unnecessary, letting you go on for so long. Apologies. Just get a little caught up in the routine sometimes. Unfortunately, you have tried that before. Oh well."
With the same sort of ambivalence one tosses a silver into a prayer well, Thoth pushed Annette back, and shoved her head beneath the water. Her tattered hand dyed the water a dull red as my sister struggled, scratching at her, gripping the sides, desperate to free herself.
But Thoth was immovable.
As much as I prayed for it to be over quickly, it wasn''t. The sloppiness of it¡ªallowing my sister''s head to breach the water, allowing a second''s breath before it was shoved back down again¡ªwas all methodically intentional. Still held tightly in my arms, I heard the real Annette whimper. "Is it... okay not to look now?"
"You''ve been more than strong enough." I shielded her eyes with my hand.
But I didn''t look away. Every second she struggled, I watched. The sound of the sloshing water echoed, etched somewhere deep within me. The way she laughed at my sister''s terror.
The arch-fiend had been speaking for some time, actual words not reaching until sometime later. "...there are many variations. Certain details change¡ªthis is the only instance with any mention of a monster beneath Whitefall, for example."
"That''s why you chose it?" Maya asked, her voice shaken.
"In part." Ozra hesitated. "There were other considerations. The approach can be entirely different. But it always ends with the princess drowning."
Somehow, I knew. As the vision faded, I moved my hands to my sister''s ears, blocking her hearing with the gentle resonance of wind. "This instance was tamer than the others."
It had been a particularly cold night in the capital city.
"It... was," Ozra agreed, surprised. "Not the observation I expected, but yes. How did you draw that conclusion?"
"No real insight. Just, basic pattern recognition. Thoth''s nothing if not consistent." I turned in the direction of his voice, keeping my demeanor casual. "Say, Ozra. There''s a lot of variation, but it always ends with Annette drowning, right?"
"That''s... mostly correct. It isn''t iron clad. If things don''t go to plan, the arch-mage isn''t above improvising or abandoning the ideal outcome entirely. But the method is important to her, that much is certain."
Stoke the fire until it''s so hot you can barely stand it.
"Is it always Thoth who drowns her?" I asked.
A second later, Maya gasped.
"Why does it matter?" Ozra asked, tone cagey enough that it practically answered for him.
"Neither you nor Vogrin seem to believe the memory manipulation theory is possible. If so, through an avenue none of us understand, we might be viewing glimpses of a potential future. It goes without saying that having more information is better than less. So, humor me." I glanced down, though sight was still taken from me. "She can''t hear you."
Ozra breathed a tired sigh. "The Arch-fiend most often handles the violence herself, though the circumstances vary greatly. She engages in the sort of push-pull you witnessed, sometimes allowing the princess to wholeheartedly believe she is about to be saved. Less commonly, she lets her underlings handle it." There was a long pause. "On occasion, she will trick someone outside her purview into doing it for her."
That was all I needed to hear. Because, looking back, I''d already witnessed it firsthand.
Burn away the grief until there''s nothing left.
233. Fracture XXXVIII
A flash of light and the scent of brimstone brought us back to the negotiation room. Somehow, the already gothic colors seemed more muted than before, almost desaturated. Maya''s lingering gaze never left me, confirming that she''d pieced together the same revelation I had.
And she wasn''t the only one with unspoken questions.
Ozra, Loria, and Vogrin all seemed unsettled by the revelation. It was obvious why¡ªtheir discomfort entirely too similar to mine when I''d first discovered the cycle of life and rebirth had been hijacked, warped into something far different from what I''d believed. Ozra, specifically, seemed overly suspicious, watching all three of us intently, waiting for some sort of explanation or tell.
Slowly, my little sister''s sobbing subsided, the perpetual cringe faded, and she grew rigid in my arms. The only remaining indication she''d lost her nerve, as she removed my arms and stepped forward, was the glistening tear-streaks on her face.
"I understand that something damaging was done to me, either through trickery or some other means. And now, thanks to your generosity, I understand the method¡ª" Her voice caught, and she held a fist to her mouth, holding it there and gathering her wits before she dropped it. "What I cannot comprehend, whether the perpetrator is Thoth herself using some travesty of magic, or someone else using her likeness to inflict terror on me, is why. Why would anyone do such a thing? Why to me specifically? I have no enemies. Both my brother and sister stand out more and have greater value to the kingdom. I''m insignificant in the grand scheme of things compared to them. I''m¡ª" She choked a little, then recovered. "I''m no one."
Vogrin crossed his arms and turned towards Ozra, waiting for the arch-fiend''s permission. Reluctantly, Ozra slowly nodded. Vogrin cleared his throat and levitated forward, standing directly in front of Annette but addressing all three of us. "What I''m about to tell you is not common knowledge, even among demons. It is a relic of a more brutal, primitive time. There are aspects of it that are shameful. Some¡ªthe more fanciful and inventive among us¡ªbelieve the discovery and the transgressions that followed are the reason the fae realms were sundered, struck down through direct intervention from the gods."
"Eventually repurposed into the hells." Maya''s jaw dropped, her voice shaken with awe. "I thought that was nothing more than a fairy tale. A story infernal parents used to help children overcome their fear of demons."
"A misconception the conglomerate of disinformation has worked quite hard over the centuries to sustain." Vogrin grimaced, pausing to glance at each of us, imparting the emphasis. "We would not be speaking of this if the situation did not call for it. It has been so thoroughly obfuscated that even if you were to take leave from this meeting and rush back to the enclave and recount every detail to them directly, you would be laughed out of their chambers. Still, we would appreciate it if you did not."
"That depends. If it''s truly ancient history with no bearing on the present, there''s no need to wag tongues. But I refuse to play the part of an infernal turncoat and hide demonic transgressions from my people."
"I''d reconsider that." Vogrin challenged, head tilting towards Annette. "For her sake."
"Vogrin¡ª" Ozra placed a hand on his forehead, as if warding off a headache. "They''re already aware, infernal. No secret survives the rigors of time. It either dies with a single person or spreads, with nothing in between."
"Who knows?" Maya challenged.
"A few individuals who hold power in the Enclave. Some in obvious places, others less." Ozra waved dismissively, hiding a smirk. "The truth is disclosed to a handful of such individuals, every generation, to ensure the balance of power remains in check."
"And why would a people who so voraciously obsess over secrecy in even the smallest matters do such a thing?"
"Did you hear that, Vogrin? She called us people."
Vogrin grunted something that only passingly resembled amusement. Maya didn''t so much as blink.
Still tickled by his own joke, Ozra continued. "If we don''t, history has a tendency to repeat itself. Infernals are curious by nature. Curious in all things, but especially in avenues of magic and matters of the soul. That''s why it''s important there are those in power capable of curtailing or redirecting certain areas of advancement and research." He paused, giving Maya a coy look. "If any doubt remains, I''d advise seeking Ralakos''s guidance on the matter. In person, of course."
The namedrop had the desired effect. Planted a seed of doubt that defused reticence. Maya frowned, reluctantly accepting the suggestion. "Fine. I''ll keep anything discussed here to myself for now. But I will seek confirmation later."
"See that you do." Ozra replied, unbothered.
Vogrin took a long breath and began, addressing Annette. "We believe what has been done to you is a form of purposeful denouement. It should not be possible. But given what you are, and the state of your soul, it is the only explanation that makes sense."
Annette''s forehead wrinkled as her brows drew together. "Denouement refers to... the end of something, does it not?"
"There is some nuance lost in translation, but broadly, yes." Vogrin agreed. "We''ve briefly touched on the nature of souls in your tutoring. Do you remember what makes them different from every other source of power?"
"Nature inherently expends its energy." Annette recited. "A tree will grow quickly at first and slow with age before it dies. An old man has a fraction of the energy of a child. Even the ley lines beneath our feet will eventually grow dim and fade, the mana they provide becoming fallow and resistant before it disappears entirely. The only exception is a soul."
"Correct." Vogrin smiled, pleased. "A freshly created soul is unremarkable. Practically worthless. Their only noteworthy quality at the early stage is durability. It requires many reincarnations before the first blemishes and scars form, and more still before the disfigurement deepens into fissures and schisms capable of retaining fragments of the divine mana required for reincarnation. After the soul reaches this state, only then will the current incarnation be capable of wielding a single element."
"That much is known," I realized, flashing back to a conversation I''d had with Ralakos what felt like lifetimes ago. "Or at least suspected."
"The underlying thought is mostly the same." Vogrin pursed his lips, searching the tattered side pocket of his satchel until he fished out a ring, which he placed on his middle finger. "A theory that has persisted for eons, bearing countless names. Viewed purely as a philosophical concept it holds little issue. But when it''s taken to logical conclusion, well, that is when the sort of problems that undo creation begin to form."
Vogrin squeezed his fist that bore the artifact at his side, then made a circular gesture in front of him. Shadows took shape in the form of humans¡ªonly differentiating themselves as they became more cohesive and colorful. Their skin was gray, hair white and pigmentless, similar to the eyes, which reminded me of an infernal''s. The illusion depicted a thoroughfare in a large, ethereal settlement washed in gold, silver, and light, the architecture so drastically different from ours that it was difficult to draw obvious connections.
"There are not many reliable accounts regarding the Fae. What we can be certain of is that they were already advanced in matters of magic and science when most mortals in adjacent realms were still wearing loincloths, chasing prey with sharpened sticks. We know they were likely soulless. And like any being capable of intelligent thought, they coveted what they did not have."
The image flickered and changed, showing one of the Fae approaching green, fearful-looking creatures that could have been precursors to goblins. The fae had altered its appearance to better match the goblins, though the hair, skin tone, and eyes remained the same.
"To our ancestors'' credit, their first efforts were reasonable. The offers were pragmatic, fair, securing benefits for both sides. ''Lend me your soul and I''ll feed your clan for a decade. Grant it indefinitely, and you''ll know comforts that head you rest on a cave floor cannot possibly imagine.''"
Maya cut in angrily. "They didn''t even have the capacity to understand what they were giving up. The concept of reincarnation didn''t exist yet."
"Their problem. Not the Fae''s. Arguably, the prehistoric world they were ''stolen'' from offered little in comparison. Monsters present today, even those that reside in the deepest reaches of the sanctum, cannot hold so much as a dying candle to the true terrors that plagued the wilds. Mortals died quickly and in great numbers. The wheel of reincarnation took their souls from a brutal plane, and according to the gods'' arbitrary rules, spit them back out to die again. Comparatively, those who were elevated to the fae realm lived in bliss. They were given clothing, domiciles, entire domains where they were allowed to live out their lives and raise families, treasured and pampered like prize livestock that would never be slaughtered. In return, the Fae harnessed the divine mana housed in their souls, granting them what they could previously only simulate through painstaking effort and little return. The arcane."
"How noble." Maya rolled her eyes. "Where did it all go wrong?"
"Literacy." Vogrin grated. "There was always a chance of conflict before. But as the mortals'' grasp on the spoken word became more nuanced, and they developed written language, for the first time, information circulated. Stories of monsters in the guise of mortals who¡ªif you allowed them¡ªwould spirit away children and loved ones by force. Violence was commonplace and superstition ran rampant. Elevations became more arduous to secure. From what little we know, there were two schools of thought. The first argued for a slow of growth, limiting use of divine mana to what was maintainable with what The Fae already possessed until they worked out a solution to the new obstacles."
"And the second was to dispense with the niceties and start taking them by force." I finished.
"It was more contested than you''re probably willing to believe, but yes. That was the end result." Vogrin shrugged. "Their argument was that the result was the same. At that point the mortal realm was still a more hellish place to live than the Fae realm ever had been. Some of the great monsters were gone, but minor wars over territory and theism filled the gap just as quickly. Supposedly, even mortals taken against their will acclimated to the new environment quickly, most happy to concede their souls after a matter of days."
"And those who weren''t?" Maya asked.
Vogrin averted his gaze and continued. "With new strategies arrive new leaders to herald them. And in this shifting of tides, Lycaon rose to power."
"Earlier, Ozra implied you visited Lycaon... do the Azmodials have an honest-to-god fae held captive?" I asked, having trouble even imagining it.
"There are no fae left." Vogrin clarified. "Any who survived the sundering became demons. Punishment for their avarice. Not that it matters¡ªif the legends are to be believed, Lycaon''s preferred form was reportedly hellish from the beginning. If he had been released rather than blinded and forever imprisoned, he likely would have been the one Fae comfortable with the changes."
The demon snapped his fingers, and a translucent wolf took shape, hulking and muscular, bound by thousands of interlocking chains that sheened with crimson, bulging around too-large shoulders and overgrown, unkempt fur. Countless fingers of all shapes and sizes gripped his neck tightly like a wreath of worms, forming a collar.
I clamped a hand over my mouth, stifling my surprise, disguising it as confusion. Vogrin''s conjured image gave a false impression of size. Made him appear not much larger than a dire wolf.
But the true Lycaon was massive. As tall as a manor and nearly as wide, with a deep rumbling voice to match. In our many encounters I''d wondered of his nature. He''d never spoken to me in demonic, but something about his cadence implied the connection. He''d never done anything tangible enough to confirm it outright, but he''d never told me his name, either.
Perhaps this was why.
Maya circled the projection, observing the creature thoughtfully. "If current circumstances were less pressing, nothing would make me happier than learning the full history. The chance to speak with a creature this ancient¡ªwell, that''s something I would consider making a deal for. A minor one." She clarified, immediately correcting herself when both Vogrin and Ozra looked more than ready to take her up on it. "But fascinating as it is, I have yet to see how the Fae''s turn to kidnapping and abduction applies to Princess Annette."
I had to admire her progress. Her cunning. Beyond the most recent years, Maya shared my memories and experiences. Had everything she needed to make the connection. Granted, her recall was imperfect, so there was a chance she missed it. But she dangled the idea of a deal in front of them. And Maya was only willing to deal with demons if the benefits were both immediate and tangible.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
So. She''d come to the same conclusion I had.
Ozra strode in front of Vogrin, taking a long pull of red wine from a crystal goblet I hadn''t seen him pour. "It''s not the abductions that mattered. To us now or the gods then. If the Fae simply carried on seizing mortals at random and never advanced beyond the base practice, they would likely still exist today, in some capacity. It''s what happened after. What Lycaon learned and how that knowledge was applied."
"The ritual denouement." Annette mused, frowning. She was still shaken but handling it better than she had been, defaulting to her usual pragmatism. "It''s taking some adjustment, imagining demons heeding the limitations of any taboo. In most societies dealing with a demon is forbidden for exactly that reason. My knowledge of your kind consists of mostly folklore and what Vogrin has taught me, but my understanding is that you can demand practically anything for your services, that price being as insignificant as a ball of yarn, up to the ultimate cost of a soul."
"With one grand exception, thanks to our mongrel friend." Ozra offered a half-hearted cheers to the image. "So allow me to present something of a riddle. Lycaon discovered that the souls forcefully abducted from the mortal plane carried considerably more divine energy than the souls of those that willingly remanded themselves. Would anyone like to take a guess as to why?"
"Cynicism." I realized. "As offers go, it sounds good on the surface. Escape from your dangerous surroundings and dire circumstances to live out a prolonged life in peace, surrounded by wonder. A na?ve person would jump on that sort of offer far faster than someone who''d been betrayed or cheated."
Ozra unfurled his index finger from his goblet and pointed at me, the crimson liquid sloshing within the vessel. "Exactly. Someone who''s experienced more, or been plagued by misfortune is more likely to question any windfall that appears too good to be true, and mortals carry¡ªor as the elves might claim¡ªcultivate at least a fragment of that predisposition from one life to the next."
"Say there was a fascinating soul." Annette suggested, completely cold now. "Rare and exceedingly powerful. But it belonged to a man who outright refused to conspire with demons." She pressed on, encouraged as Ozra made a circular motion prompting her to continue. "Word of such a soul¡ªand the difficulty of securing it¡ªcirculated throughout the fiendish consortium, making the man''s soul a coveted prize, one he refused to relinquish until his dying breath."
"Some would argue the man won, remaining set on the ''righteous path'' until the end."
Annette shook her head. "But is it the end? Is it really? Or would the man, upon his reincarnation and rebirth, find a demon perched on the edge of his crib?"
"Well done. You''ve uncovered the great limitation." Ozra gave her a brief smile. "The Fae, beneath Lycaon''s leadership, perfected many methods to do just that. Trace the path of a soul through the afterlife in preparation for when it returned. Based on the gods'' retaliation to later developments, and the fact that there is not even a whisper of the methods the Fae used to do so that remains, it''s safe to assume that this practice was, at the very least, frowned upon." His smile died, and hatred crept into the arch-fiend''s voice. "But that was hardly the depths of it." Methodically, Ozra swirled his wine, letting the silence hang as he gazed into the crimson, more troubled than I''d ever seen him.
Vogrin coughed, then picked up where Ozra left off. "As the Fae followed the path of the aggressor, Lycaon questioned the state of things. And like before, the question was born of convenience and pragmatism. Pursuing the same soul across multiple lifetimes, ensuring hardship and misery followed them until the soul was finally ready for harvest was a proven method. But it took centuries to accomplish."
"Never mind that you''re already superseding the natural order in a manner that invites divine inquest." Ozra swiped at the air vindictively. "Never mind that your wealth and power already dwarfs the lessers you once envied. Don''t transcend your disadvantages and resist the childish urge to thumb your nose at the creators who slighted you at every opportunity. Instead, find a way to do it all faster, and fuck it up for everyone that follows you." He sighed. "Apologies. Nothing is more infuriating than wasted potential."
"I''m beginning to see the shape, and a part of me is afraid to voice it... but how did he do it?" Annette asked.
Ozra drained his glass and set it aside on the table. "Truthfully, no one knows beyond Lycaon himself. The specifics of the practice lost to us in the rare case of divine interference I actually agree with."
"Why?" Maya asked, arms crossed, radiating suspicion. "I''ll even go so far as to admit there have been, in rare circumstances, demons sympathetic to mortal plights. But you are not among them."
"I suppose..." Ozra''s eyes slid away from her. "I see wisdom in the balance. When a soul is destroyed, a fresh one does not simply spring up from the divine annals to replace it. The very existence of a newly created soul has not been documented in over a century. If Lycaon had his way, every viable soul would be expended, and there would be no mortals left. We would be more powerful, yes, but what good is power that serves no purpose? Reigning as the baron of dead lands with nothing more to conquer holds little appeal. So yes, I care little for mortals, nor their troubles. But I do not want them gone."
He pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly pained. "Lycaon did not share my sentiment, and The Fae suffered for it. And while we cannot know for certain how he did what he did, we can make educated guesses based on other incidents. There are three taboos, well established to invite the wrath of the gods." Ozra held up a finger. "The first is obvious. Forcibly preventing the souls of the deceased from reentering the wheel of reincarnation." He held up a second finger. "The intentional design and construction of an abomination. An artificial creature that exists beyond the bounds of mana." Slowly, he unfurled a third finger. "Lastly, of greatest import. Tampering with chronal magic."
"Like time travel?" Annette asked, but I barely heard her.
Ozra nodded. "And most with interest in the histories believe that Lycaon, in an act of insurmountable hubris, ran the trifecta."
Any doubt that Lycaon was who I suspected, vanished.
"Everything beyond this point is conjecture, but if you add all three together, suddenly it makes sense why the gods were so angry. Capture a mortal. Take measures to prevent them from returning to the wheel. Condemn them to an existence so tormented and dire that they wish for death. Use chronal magic to accelerate the process, and, when they are nothing but an empty shell, turn back the clock and do it all over again. The mind forgets. But the soul is not so fortunate."
It hit me hard. For so long, I''d wondered how the metamorphosis society had managed to actually create a functioning loop. From what little I''d glimpsed, they seemed disorganized, constantly entrenched in disagreements and set back by failure. There''d always been a problem, something that didn''t work. A missing piece.
A piece they''d found in the hells.
Similarly shaken, Annette was trembling. "And you believe that''s what happened to me?"
"Yes."
"I was tormented¡ªkilled, over and over¡ªto bring something valuable out of my soul."
"There are still pieces beyond understanding. But, we believe that to be the case." Vogrin agreed.
"What happens to me now?" Annette asked. Quiet. Frightened.
I wanted to soothe her fears. Comfort her. But somehow, Ozra beat me to it. He went down on a knee in front of her and took her hand. "Nothing. You simply decide how you''d like to live and do so."
"Biding time until absolution claims me." Annette''s shoulders shook.
"Absolutely not." Ozra smiled. "No matter what Vogrin implies, it''s impossible to perfectly predict when a soul will expire. Yours may endure another incarnation." He clapped his other hand over theirs, his expression equal parts sympathetic and calculated. "Even if this is the last time you find yourself on this plane, think of what that truly means. Unbeholden by the gods, free of any strictures of religion. Your choices are truly yours, and yours alone."
"Do..." Annette hiccuped and buckled down, trying to force her way through it. "Do you wish to alter any aspects of our deal? I hold less value than before, I must. To the suitors as well."
"My dear." Ozra chuckled. "There is little more cherished on a freezing night than a dwindling fire. The most precious things in life are fleeting. And a soul at its apex is precious indeed. I can say with confidence, that any suitor will feel the same. They will be more attentive to the present, given there''s no possibility of tempting you to join them in the hells."
"And our monthly meetings. If there''s no chance of attaining my soul, do you still wish¡ª"
"If you try to walk those back, I shall be cross." Ozra interrupted, scowling in a manner that was neither entirely serious, nor a joke.
"Very well." Annette stood there awkwardly for a moment, dazed, before she curtsied.
Conflicting emotions warred within me, as Ozra stood and straightened his posh leggings. I''d seen the worst of him in the Enclave, memories that still lingered in the dark. Ozra, the Arch-Demon of the Asmodials, laying waste to people I cared for. People I loved. Tearing through innocents and combatants like parchment, trailing the dead behind him like a cloak. He''d remanded me to torture and even now still held purchase on my soul.
Yet, in that moment, I wasn''t sure I could have consoled Annette. She''d always been too intelligent for platitudes, and in many ways, our situations were not entirely dissimilar, though the nature of my curse made it almost impossible to convey.
Only, of all people, Ozra had conveyed them for me. Beyond that, Annette had erred when she asked if he wished to renegotiate. Given him the opening I''d worried about. Yet, instead of exploiting the lapse, he''d let it pass. Which led me to believe he¡¯d truly reached the same conclusion I''d always known. Even when I took it for granted.
My sister was precious.
Given that, when he glanced over at me, I mouthed the only words I could reasonably say.
"Thank you."
"Bringing us back to Lycaon, just briefly." Maya put a comforting hand on Annette¡¯s back as she addressed Ozra. "I understand the purpose the chronal magic and sequestering the soul serve. What''s less clear is how the second taboo factors in. Abominations. We encountered them in the Sanctum, did we not?"
Memories of fighting through adolescent infernals twisted beyond recognition over and over surfaced. Limbs twisted and split like branches of trees, gaping faces leering, wielding wild, tainted magic that made the very air crackle with the scent of burning flesh.
"Not exactly," Ozra settled back into his usual smugness. "What you encountered were innate abominations, transformed by the tainted mana of a dying ley line. Formidable by pedestrian standards. But they pale in comparison to true abominations. The monsters Lycaon created to inflict his torment. Demons, before demons came to be."
Maya rolled her eyes. "Do they have a name to go along with the reputation?"
"They do. Though you would not know it." Ozra mused. "They are rarely spoken of. Most believe them gone, destroyed along with the rest of Lycaon''s legacy. Imagine my surprise, when I discovered its presence in the sewers. I cannot tell you this particular one''s origin, nor its master. Parsing those details would be a breach from which I could not recover. But it is the purpose of this meeting. The embodiment of fear itself. And its name is Lithid."
What felt like a lifetime later, we emerged into the sunlight, the shadows of the demonic chamber fading as the revelations clung on, souring in the wind''s stench of sewer.
In a matter of seconds, someone grabbed the neck of my armor and yanked me forward. "Where the hells were you?" Sera''s voice revealed the identity of the silhouette as my eyes adjusted to the light. "It''s been hours. I didn''t know what to do, what to tell the men¡ª"
"At ease, banner lieutenant." I managed. To her credit, Sera released me, scowl now visible beneath the blazing sun. "I know what we''re fighting. And, more importantly, how to fight it."
"Well, what is it?" Sera demanded. "Changelings? Something vampiric?"
Closer than you think. Yet somehow worse.
"There''s little point in repeating the same information twice. I''ll address the regiment in a moment."
"Fine."
I reconsidered, calling out after she''d already turned away. "Sera."
She stopped and turned. "Yes?"
"You were always fearless growing up, throwing yourself into the sort of trouble Annette and I did our best to stay clear of. Almost vindictive in your rebellion."
"And?" She crossed her arms, likely expecting me to advise caution.
I thought about the best way to say it. "I need that version of you now. We all do. The men who decided to follow you, they''ll need you to fight for them to get through this. This is your chance to prove yourself as their direct report and a leader."
Slowly, she let her arms drop. "It''s that bad?"
"Make sure everyone''s prepared and alert. Follow the instructions I give the rest of the Banner Lieutenants, and we''ll get through this."
"Sure..." Sera trailed off, as Annette stumbled up beside me, a little dazed. "Nettles. You alright?"
"Been better." Annette admitted, as she looked up at me in shame. "I... I... I''m not sure that¡ª"
I put a hand on her forehead gently, stopping her. "Get one of the soldiers to take you home, little sister. With haste. No arguments."
"Okay." She agreed quickly, relieved. "I''ll uh... find one that''s weary, unlikely to handle the sewers well."
"Good thinking."
Sera stared after Annette as she trudged towards the greater regiment, blinking several times as our sister inspected the group of soldiers, eventually singling one out. "Did she just... run away¡ª"
"Princess Annette is returning to the castle on my orders." I interjected. "And on the subject of orders..."
"Yes, yes, your eminence, I''m going." Sera grumbled, though her heart wasn''t in it. Behind her, our arrival had been noticed as more and more heads turned my way.
"You''ll need to address them soon." Maya said, taking her place at my side. "If you wait too long¡ª"
"The lithid will have more to feed on. I''m aware."
"This will be hardest on you." Maya observed, her voice tinged with worry.
"Perhaps. But... that''s the way it should be." I admitted, looking over the regiment, feeling a swell of pride despite the circumstances. "They''re here because they chose to follow me. I don''t want them to die for that choice. If it takes me first, their chances only get better." I reached over and interlocked my fingers with hers. "And we both know what you face won''t be any easier."
"If it takes me, I hope it dredges up that wretch from the trial." Maya''s mouth twisted in hatred. "It will bring no end of pleasure to slide a dagger between her ribs."
"At times you frighten me, Ni''lend." I admitted.
"Often, I frighten myself," Maya mused, words heavy with meaning. "We should be vigilant in what we say."
"There are ears everywhere in Whitefall."
"More today than ever. The wisest course would be to speak of this later, but given what we face, it seems more necessary than usual to set my mind at ease." She squeezed my hand tightly. "When our host was reciting his history... was I imagining it?"
"No."
It all lined up perfectly. How the metamorphosis society perfected that final, desperate effort to meddle with time before the world ended. They¡¯d gone to the source. The progenitor of evil.
Lycaon. The Black Beast.
234. Fracture XXXIX
The bulk of the regiment remained posted by the sewers, while I led a smaller group of volunteers with experience in woodcraft into the outskirts of the forest that, miles away, became the Everwood. It was tamer here, closer to the capital, thanks to the concerted efforts of Whitefall''s rangers.
That didn''t mean it was safe. Even this far north, people still disappeared regularly into the forest, consumed by its shadows, leaving no trace.
With that in mind I divided the volunteers into pairs. They were experienced and seasoned, but anyone could make a mistake.
After a brief search I located a long green shoot. At first glance it appeared similar to premature barley, but on closer inspection the head was speckled with tiny cotton-like growths that could have passed for cobwebs. I plucked it and turned, presenting it to the gathered volunteers. "Everyone recognize this?"
There was a scattered affirmative.
"Pretty sure it''s what ya mix with mead to keep the party going," Mari grinned.
I feigned applause. "Correct. I''d wager at least a few of you have had some boisterous evenings that stretched into nauseous mornings under your belt courtesy of this very plant. And naturally, too much mead."
Many of the gathered volunteers laughed, but I spotted enough pained expressions to confirm they knew exactly what I was talking about.
Towards the back, a balding man with a permanent scowl raised his hand. "This is what we''re gathering? Fresh Vurseng?"
I nodded. "As I told the regiment at large, the Lithid will strike at the consciousness of mind first. Only after we are sleep-addled, or gods forbid, in the depths of slumber, will it reach the apex of its influence. My intention is to prevent that from happening altogether. Hence, Vurseng." I pointed at him. "But there was more to the question, yes?"
The bald man shifted uncomfortably as more attention turned towards him. "Apologies my lord. I understand the intent, but not the method. Vurseng is common. Easily found on any plot of green touched by the fingers of the cursed wood. There are countless apothecaries and alchemists within the city walls that would be happy to sell such an ingredient in bulk at discounted prices. Would it not be easier to simply purchase what we need, than spend hours gathering it?"
"It would certainly be easier." It was nostalgic, in a way. I''d once asked Lillian much the same. I scanned the soldiers. "Does anyone wish to hazard a guess why we''re taking a more difficult path?"
Several voices rang out, echoing into the forest.
"Less bickering with merchants."
"¡ªReserve our purse for more important resources."
"Efficacy."
Immediately, I pointed toward the last answer. "Who said that?"
A boy with porcelain skin and a helmet forged to accommodate pointed ears raised a hesitant hand. "Me, my lord."
"Name?"
"Vicant, your grace."
"The one who chokes," Mari murmured under her breath.
I let the comment go, noting it for later and approached the boy. He was small of stature, for a soldier. Almost half an arm span shorter than me. "Were you apprenticed before your stint in the armies?"
"Nothing official. My father taught me, when he could spare the time," Vicant said, head low, seeming to regret that he''d spoken at all.
"Then your father taught you well." I smiled encouragingly at him and returned my attention to the group at large. "It is true that for vendors with relevant wares, Vurseng is a staple commodity. For good reason. It produces the same effect as more expensive potions and poultices at a fraction of the cost. Demand is always high, and thanks to its commonality, it is never scarce to find at a reasonable price. Why then, are we out here wasting time marauding nature when it would be simpler to just procure what we need, Vicant?"
"Uh. Because... some ingredients¡ª"
"Louder, for the group." I gestured for him to come forward. Vicant stood beside me, pale as a sheet. "Speak from your chest," I murmured in his ear. "Stare between them if you cannot bear to look at them individually, but do them the courtesy of direct address."
Vicant drew a deep breath and tried again. This time his voice carried. "With any bulk purchase of medicinal or alchemical ingredients, efficacy is a point of concern. A stalk of Vurseng harvested a month prior will look much the same as a stalk obtained the previous day. However it appears, the older stalk''s potency will be severely degraded. It is widespread practice to mix in old with new when fulfilling a large-scale purchase."
"Excellent." I thumped his shoulder, signaling for him to return to the group, which he did with clear relief. "This mercantile practice is less of a problem for alchemists, who can use magic and various mechanical means to derive the maximum potency from ingredients in practically any state, be it too young, or just shy of rotting off the vine. For our purposes, freshness and potency is critical. That is why we turn to nature for our yield."
"Do we need to take any special measures while gathering, your grace?" someone asked.
"Keep the roots intact if you can. They''re earthy, but sweet, and do much to offset the bitterness."
"We''ll be preparing them in the traditional way? As pipe mash?"
I nearly rattled off the answer before noticing that Vicant was anxiously fidgeting and realized there was an opportunity to test his knowledge. "A composite of Vurseng and tobacco has always worked best in my experience. If there is a better method, I''m not aware of it."
"Tea," Vicant clamped a hand over his mouth, horrified that he''d brought attention to himself again.
Several people laughed. Some went further.
"Elphion''s balls. The elf wants tea. Who could have seen that coming."
I paid them no mind, focusing on Vicant again. "Why tea instead of the composite?"
Vicant cleared his throat. "Both constituents stimulate the mind, my lord, so it is not the worst way. However, where Vurseng clears, tobacco clouds. If the intention is to guarantee every soldier in the regiment receives similar dose that does not cloud the minds of those unaccustomed to tobacco, we should brew it as tea, prepared in large batches at a low boil. It will be far stronger than hash, especially if we use¡ª"
"¡ªA large kettle. Preferably cast iron with a wide mouth. Holds the heat better and allows for rigorous stirring," Maya cut in smoothly. She played the fool, cocking her head and staring up at the sky. "There are many like that in the Enclave, but I''m not sure where one would source such a thing in the human cities."
At first I wasn''t sure why she''d interrupted until I pictured what she was describing.
Ah.
"I... can get one," Vicant confirmed, suddenly uncomfortable. He paused, waiting for her to say more, and when she didn''t, looked to me. "If that is the direction you''d like to take?"
"One less set of hands won''t set us back much." Somehow I kept a cheery demeanor, though it was a struggle to maintain it. "I assume you have some experience, brewing in this manner?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Then take a horse and wagon for transportation. When you return, adjust the fire and kettle to your liking."
/////
I crouched down beneath the shadow of a massive tree, yanking a cluster of Vurseng out by the root. Maya did the same a short distance away, watching me out of the corner of her eye.
"There I am, playing the role of the Good Commander, delighted to find a kindred spirit among the not-yet-familiar faces¡ª" I groused, rambling more to myself than the company.
"¡ªA role you played well," Maya noted.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
"¡ªOnly to discover the awkward soldier I assumed to be apothecary adjacent isn''t at all. Instead, he''s a Nychta-damned warlock¡ª"
"And what, pray tell, is the problem with a soldier in your regiment being a Warlock? Or a witch for that matter?" Maya sat back on her knees and raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, nothing." I breathed out a hiss. "It''s just the whole living in isolation, capitalizing on desperate people by charging horrific costs for your services that lends a degree of pause."
"That is a hag, Cairn."
"Correct me if I''m wrong, but I''m pretty sure all hags started as witches."
"Yet not all witches become hags." Maya shook her head, rays of the descending sun flittering through the curtain of her hair. "The chances are about as likely as a mage ascending to lichdom."
That''s not so bad. There''s only ever been what, three? That we know about, anyway.
I paused, puzzled. "What would you even call a male hag? A codger?"
"Idiot," she rolled her eyes.
"Well, that''s just rude to male hags."
"You¡ª" Maya stopped, retying her bundle of Vurseng and centering herself. "Based on what I know, which is admittedly not very much given the shortage of information on the topic, only witches can become hags. They sometimes take warlocks as retainers to act as servants and perform other... less palatable... duties, but I''m going to take a wild stab in the dark and say that role is probably not something many warlocks aspire to."
"So... you''re saying we have nothing to worry about," I said dryly.
"I''m saying, you should wait until there is a cause for concern to assume the worst. For now, it would likely be best to avoid unnecessary offense, and calling attention to him in public as you did today." In a motion so subtle it would have been difficult to notice if it wasn''t occurring right in front of me, Maya drew something out of her pocket and stilled.
I finished tying off my own bounty and hefted it under my arm, approaching her from the side. The dark mirror in her hand caught the light, reflecting a troubled expression.
"Are you pleased to see it returned?" I murmured.
She slid a thumb down its tinted surface. "It is undeniably a boon to any life mage. An invaluable asset received at little cost. If one must suffer the company of demons, there is no better recompense."
"And yet."
Maya drew a deep breath. "Yet, its history cannot be overlooked. It was an instrument of my fury, in the sanctum. In different circumstances I would have treasured such a rarity. Used it sparingly, only in the most dire circumstances. But instead, I drained it dry, exploited it ruthlessly, until there was nothing left. When it turned to dust, that was a relief. Because its time had passed, and my fury with it. There are many practical uses. I should be grateful. But I cannot forget what it¡ªwhat I did. Nor carry on without questioning the intentions of the devil that returned it to me." She turned it over in disgust, holding it away from her. "Perhaps it would be better to simply cast it into the sea."
Within the fog of my mind, an idea struggled to surface. "If it burdens you that much, give it to me instead."
"You?" She snorted. "Did I somehow miss yet another awakening?"
"No. But I''m in need of a hand mirror, and it will be more flattering to my complexion than most."
"Take it, then." She held the mirror out to me, lips half-quirked in amusement, waiting for the other shoe to fall. I kept my face neutral as I plucked it from her fingertips and stuffed it unceremoniously into my satchel. Maya''s gaze lingered on my pack until she forcefully looked away. "We should be getting back."
"Just a moment. I received something recently, and I''d like your opinion."
"So we''re exchanging eccentricities now?" Maya''s smile broke the surface of the malaise that''d overcome her, disappearing as I drew the mirror back out of my bag. "Cairn¡ª"
"Just... listen." I grasped for the words. Verbosity typically came more easily, to the point my problem was more often the opposite¡ªspeaking too much without saying enough. Ever since the fog had settled over my mind after discovering what happened to Lillian, connecting thought to spoken word had been a constant struggle, carving every syllable from stone.
Maya stood in the clearing, waiting. Too disciplined these days to fidget, but I knew her well enough to read the signs. A twitch in her jaw that implied the grinding of teeth behind her passive lips, the way her tail darted up towards her arm yet never wrapped around it. She was anxious.
And here I was making her wait.
I closed my eyes, pushing everything that proliferated in the darkness away, before focusing on her again.
When I spoke, my voice was serious. Intent. "Diplomat Maya. I find myself in possession of a dangerous artifact."
"Do you?" Maya played along, a tremor of fear undercutting the words.
"An item that could be leveraged for great good, or terrible evil."
"How worrisome. And what do you intend to do with such a thing?"
"That is the question." I tossed it up in the air and caught it, regarding it with disdain. "It lends no benefit to me. And while it would, perhaps, be wiser to dispose of it, I must remember that it is a tool. An implement. And implements hold no allegiance beyond their bearer. If I choose to place it in the hands of another, I must do so carefully." I stroked my chin. "And of the many magicians I''ve encountered in my travels, there is only one that is worthy."
"This is ridiculous." Maya looked away.
I took several steps forward, closing the distance between us. She glanced towards me, then down at the mirror and looked away. I held it tighter in my grip. "What happened to you in the Sanctum should not have happened. I cannot change it, much as I wish I could. And what occurred during that lapse in judgement caused you to doubt yourself."
Maya straightened, her posture perfect, almost regal. "As I''ve said before. My actions were mine alone. Don''t laud me for my successes and credit yourself only for my failures."
"That''s not my intention. What I mean to say, is the doubt you feel? I do not share it." I reached down and slid my fingers between hers. "Nor do I fear the monsters that haunt you. From this life or the last."
"You did not see, Cairn." Her mouth tightened.
"No. But I''ve listened. And what I''ve imagined is likely far worse than what actually occurred. Yet there is not a single person in this life nor any other that has held even a fragment of the trust I hold for you. And that trust has never wavered. You don''t have to bear it. As it''s in my possession, you are absolved of that responsibility." I chuckled. "Hells. If you''d like, instead of Kholis, we can travel down to the coast. Spend the sabbatical lounging on the beaches of the Sapphire Sea, and you can dismiss the mirror to its depths at your leisure."
Maya giggled momentarily, reining in the lapse with a quick bite of her lip. "You''re such a fool."
"Perpetually." I released her hand and presented the mirror between my palms, as a knight proffers a sword. "Leave it with me, cast it away, or take it and use it. No matter the choice, I trust you to make it. But if you choose the latter, I''d ask for an oath."
Maya hesitated. "What sort of oath?"
"That you''ll use it wisely. Sparingly. That it¡ª" My voice broke, and I looked away, waiting for the surge of emotion to fade. "It will never become an instrument of your torment again. That you''ll leave it with a kinder legacy. One of pride, rather than shame."
"Just that?" Maya smiled a little, turning away to wipe her eyes. "No specific parameters, rules of use?"
"Just that." There was no point in getting into particulars. That wasn''t the purpose of this exchange. The lithid would spare no kindness for our doubts. Of that, Ozra was clear. Any crack in mental fortitude was a potential weakness for the monster to exploit. Maya was the only reason I was still standing. And if there was any way I could help her prepare, I needed to do it.
"Then I suppose... you have my oath, Ni''lend." Maya''s fingers closed over the mirror. She leaned in to whisper in my ear. "Kholis cannot come quickly enough." There was pressure, and a pinch that burned like fire as her teeth left my jaw.
I stepped back reflexively, completely off-balance, uttering a nervous laugh I''d be kicking myself for later
As she watched me impassively. "Right. Yes. Kholis. Reconnecting with, will be a pleasure. And it''s candied fruit season again! Plenty to look forward to." I picked up the bundle of Vurseng.
"Yes." Maya replied. "I expect to be fed."
In the moment it took me to process her words, I tripped, nearly dropping the bundle altogether. Maya chortled as she hefted her own bundle beneath her arm and carried it alongside me, devolving into fits of outright laughter the deeper my scowl grew.
"Mock while you can. I won''t always be out of practice," I groused.
"It''s quite fun to tease, knowing exactly what strings to pluck," Maya decided.
"Uh-huh."
She leaned over towards me conspiratorially. "It will be even more fun¡ª"
"¡ªIf the gods planted a glimmer of kindness in your heart, please. Spare me. This armor''s snug as it is and it will be difficult to address the regiment half-bent over," I glared at her over my shoulder.
"Fine, fine." Maya pressed her lips together in amusement. "You know, the fault is entirely yours."
"The hells did I do? As suitors go, I''ve been nothing but chaste."
"With me." Maya smirked. "But your memories have been quite informative. Educational, rather. And I''m nothing if not a quick study."
"Elphion give me strength."
"Cairn." She stopped, the playfulness leaving her voice. "We haven''t talked about it."
"The lithid," I intuited, after a moment.
"Yes."
"We''ll search from the outside in until we find its corporeal form. The tea will rouse the men enough that only a few of them will fall asleep, if any. The arch-fiend said it himself, its physical form poses little threat."
"The wellbeing of the regiment is important. But that is not my immediate concern." Maya stared at me hard. "You bear the greatest danger. Vurseng builds up in the body for years. The tea will not affect you as strongly as the rest. If the lithid turns you¡ª"
"It won''t."
"That is an assumption we can''t afford to make. It is not a question of if you fall asleep, but when." Maya stated flatly, leaving little room for argument. "Given the risk, would it not be better to play the role of war-room commander for this engagement?"
After a brief consideration, I shook my head. "Send the men who chose to follow into a situation where they may have to confront their greatest fears while I hide from mine? No. I... can''t."
"Can''t, or won''t?" Maya asked unhappily, accent carrying through more heavily than normal. When there was no reply, she huffed, but didn''t offer further argument. "Fine. The last thing I want to do is cause pain, but I need to be sure. You understand what''s coming? The vector from which it will press its offensive? Because if any part of you remains in denial, it will not be just your undoing. We will all pay the price."
When I answered, my mouth was dry. "I understand."
235. Fracture XL
It was, without a doubt, the oddest tea party I''d ever attended. And considering I''d once traded veiled threats with an infernal power broker over root tea and sceoquel at the edge of an abyss, that was a surprisingly high bar.
My soldiers seemed to think the same. Hundreds of them awkwardly sipped from whatever vessel they could drum up. Cups of all sorts until they ran out, then canteens, arriving eventually at bowls and ladles. The sewer''s stench and the strong herbal taste of the brew had already turned several stomachs, and they''d spread out some, away from the grating and runoff, forming impromptu social circles that presented an odd, almost satirical reflection of noble society.
All while the keening voice of a prophet, or soothsayer, caterwauled in the distant outskirts of the city, howling something barely intelligible about death. Or dying. Or something equally grim.
Vicant, our recently discovered and thankfully unoffended regimental Warlock, was nervous. Understandably so. If folklore was to be believed, witches and warlocks spent a great deal of time brewing their concoctions in dark and occasionally subterranean spaces such as basements and caves, valuing the safety such isolation presented. Conversely, plying his craft in the middle of a clearing in the clear light of day, brewing a cauldron directly in view of a wall of soldiers, must have been at least somewhat alarming.
However, after some time, Vicant seemed to be taking a shine to the additional duties. He no longer cringed every time he served the next soldier as if expecting reprisal in the form of a gauntlet to the face. If anything, there was a quiet giddiness beneath his neutral expression. Nothing malevolent.
I stepped up onto a small stone outcropping a few steps from the grate and caught Sevran''s eye. He nodded and waved to the rest of the Banner Lieutenants, and within minutes the regiment was assembled and alert, waiting for orders.
So damn organized.
Quickly, I drained the rest of the brew from my stein, grimacing at the taste, then set it aside.
Calm. In control. Confident. My father''s voice echoed in my mind. I no longer resisted his counsel as I once had. He was far from a perfect person, and we''d always have our differences, but in this much, at least, he was right.
"There''s been a lot of talk regarding the threat we face." I smiled, glancing around. "Yes, I''ve been listening. Personally, my favorite theory so far is that the notorious Sirens of the Gilded Coast packed their bags, somehow navigated the mainland, hopping upon piscine fins for miles between rivers and lakes, until they finally reached their ultimate destination." I pointed towards the grate. "Our collective shithole."
There was laughter. Nervous, but better than none.
"''Bout the only thing that''d get me excited about goin'' in there." A big voice bellowed out, drawing more mirth.
I rested my hands behind my back, waiting until the amusement died down. "I bring up the Sirens, because they are not altogether different from the threat before us. They don''t leap from dark waters and drag men to their deaths by force. No. They sing with the voices of angels, presenting their alluring figures just beneath the ocean''s surface, sensuous features illuminated by starlight. Out of curiosity, has anyone ever heard one?"
A man towards the front with weathered skin raised a calloused hand. "Aye, my lord."
"In the king''s navy?" I asked, surprised to find a sailor in our midst.
He shook his head. "Privateer."
"And during your tenure, how were you counseled to deal with the presence of Sirens?"
The once-privateer crossed his arms. "Short explanation? Ignore ''em. Though it doesn''t always work."
"Tell us why."
He cleared his throat and raised his voice. "Most folk with sense are bright enough to understand you shouldn''t look at ''em. Goes double for anyone sea-bound longer than a month. You can feel it, if you do, a tug right here," he tapped his temple. "It''s obvious. Intentional. Everyone else¡ªthe folk without sense¡ªwise up real quick like after watching some poor bastard tip over the side and disappear into a cloud''a red." He shuddered.
"But that''s not the end of it." I filled in. Sirens appeared frequently enough in stories and bestiaries that I had basic knowledge of the topic, despite a lack of personal experience.
"No." The privateer shifted uncomfortably as he recalled the memory. "There''s shit to do at sea. It''s quiet. Nothin'' but the wind, and water, and gabbing of your fellow sailor. Most who ain''t green stay the hell away from the sides at night, especially if they''re singin''. Problem is, they don''t stop. They keep singin'', sometimes all the way through morning. Thing a lot of folks miss is that you gotta go out of your way to ignore it. Filter out the most beautiful sound you ever heard like it''s the local blacksmith, banging away at some stubborn iron. ''Cause if you don''t? That''s when the real evil starts."
"What sort of evil?"
The man''s face screwed up in disgust. "The song isn''t just a song. It''s magic. A whisper. ''Just go up on deck. Glance at ''em a little. When''s the next time you''re gonna see somethin'' that beautiful? You''re a grown man who can control himself. You''re not like that other idiot on his first voyage who fell off the boat a month ago, got ripped to shreds. You''re experienced, can handle it. With every voyage, you tire of the sea. It won''t be long until this life wears you down and you retire, landlocked, so this could very well be the last chance. What''s the harm in looking, just this once?''"Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
The privateer''s recollection was too specific to be anything but personal. He''d listened to the song, felt the pull, and fought it.
Somehow I took solace in that.
He stepped back into line, and I drew a deep breath, thinking through what I needed to communicate to the regiment at large. "That''s what makes Sirens insidious. A sailor can maintain their composure for countless voyages. Grow deft at resisting the call. But all it takes is one bad night. One evening you didn''t shut them out, because the melody offered some small comfort from loneliness and hardship, or simply because the necessary precautions slipped your mind. And that is the gravity of the threat we face¡ª"
Echoing loudly from the distant streets, the manic prophet''s voice grew louder. "Elphion has forsaken us! The ferry is gone, our passage barred! The spirits of the damned draw near¡ª" The voice grew muffled, obscured as the speaker continued an indecipherable holler.
I cleared my throat. "Pardon, someone seems to be celebrating Draugeblod early."
The joke invited confusion from the regiment instead of laughter. A soldier nearby murmured, "Draugeblod is today, milord."
It was?
Draugeblod was a religious holiday, commemorating the passage of the dead. According to the Church, it was the one day over the course of a year that Elphion rested. And when he did so, he turned his eyes from us and from the souls still scattered on the mortal plane seeking reincarnation. And with emancipated souls being devoid of all but the dimmest senses and awareness, they reacted the same way any person would, suddenly finding themselves alone, abandoned in the dark. They panicked. Grew angry and restless. And tried to find their way back home. The weak spirits would take to mischief, moving and knocking over objects, while the stronger presences lashed out directly, causing injury, and rarely, attempted possession.
That was what the Church believed. None of it ever really happened. There were sporadic reports from the superstitious involving lesser spirits shaking tables or destroying wine cellars, but nothing that couldn''t be explained away as shoddy craftsmanship.
It probably sounds like I disapprove of the belief. I don''t. Just because there weren''t spirits tearing through the city, enacting mayhem every Draugeblod, didn''t negate the value of it. If anything, it was better in their absence.
Because celebrating Draugeblod meant reflecting on those we''d lost. Setting aside whatever pressing concerns we had to take time to honor the dead. Tradition dictated plated portions of food placed on one''s doorstep, as offering and ward, accompanied with some small possession of the deceased.
When evening fell, every mana lamp, candle, and lantern remained lit, guiding lights to bring the spirits comfort and direction.
In my last life, the practice was a great source of comfort. I spent the first Draugeblod after my mother passed in the isolation of my rooms, gazing down at all the flames burning against the darkness. Imagining her traversing the streets beneath me, drifting from lit windows to doorways, partaking in the offerings, waiting for Elphion to guide her home.
And every year after, I lit a candle for her.
I cursed internally. Another lapse. We were later in the seasons than I''d realized. My sense of time was terrible, for obvious reasons, but my recall in general had suffered. Minor details slipped through my mind like a sieve. If there was any hope of defeating Thoth, I needed to be at my sharpest.
Which meant snapping out of this haze.
I surveyed the waiting faces, reminding myself of how much was on the line, and how terrible the consequences could be if we failed.
Straightening, I picked up where I left off. "Where our foe and the sirens differ, is that a Lithid doesn''t require your attention. It likely prefers otherwise. Over time, it will leech the energy of anyone who sets foot into its domain. Every step taken, every effort made, will be felt tenfold. Which is, of course, the entire reason Vicant''s been slaving away." I clapped in his direction, a ripple of applause following my example. "But Vurseng is a supplement, not a replacement. I don''t need soldiers who follow orders blindly. What this regiment requires is men and women who understand their own limits. So, whether you were up late last night because you couldn''t sleep, out on a discreet rendezvous, or simply hungover, congratulations. You''ll be very awake for the rest of the day, courtesy of the tea. But I need you to step aside." I scanned them, imparting the seriousness of my words. "There''ll be no honor lost, no penalty given."
Some of them would leave. The picture I was painting was hardly a pretty one, and I was being clear enough that they''d take the mandate seriously. Part of me worried there would be a sudden exodus, halving the available manpower.
But, thankfully, only a few did. A dozen at most, wincing apologetically as they retreated. If anything, the overall number seemed low. I was still waiting for more when Sera asked the obvious question.
"Say it puts someone to sleep. What does it do? Feed on them, like the sirens?" Whatever doubts she held, Sera''s demeanor was imperious, confident. She was taking the lieutenant role seriously.
"In a manner of speaking." I nodded, not entirely sure how best to explain it. "Its ultimate goal is possession. In theory, it''s capable of controlling hundreds, possibly thousands."
That drew a din of alarm, and I raised my hands for calm.
"Possession is not as straightforward as in the tales." I assured them. "Even if you fall asleep, and it snares you, the outcome is uncertain. In the brief window between unconsciousness and possession, the Lithid will attempt to break down your mental defenses. There are countermeasures in place, should that come to pass. If you fall asleep, your fellow soldiers will attempt to carry you out of the Lithid''s domain. If that fails, there are other alternatives. Even if the worst comes to pass, all you need to do is resist until we can find its form, and end it.¡±
"The sirens use a song of seduction to trap their prey. What does the Lithid use?" Sevran asked at the front of his division, seemingly unbothered.
This was the part they wouldn''t like.
"The Lithid¡ª"
"¡ªTHEY ARE UPON US! THEY ARE HERE! THEY ARE HERE!" The herald screeched, loud enough that he could have been less than a wingspan away.
"For the sake of the gods, does the man never shut up?" I spun, furious, trying to catch sight of the speaker and finding no one.
"Quiet!" Maya said. Her head was tilted, as if she was straining to listen.
Seconds later, I heard it too, saturating the ambient noise from the city. Horses whinnying in fright, the frantic crashing of panicked movement, distant screams, forever echoing across the city as the cacophony grew louder, and louder still.
What the hells is happening?
236. Fracture XLI
A light blue spectral tear zig-zagged through the air, sporadically pausing at seemingly random intervals before it shot forward again, zipping from rooftop to rooftop, thousands of others like it in the backdrop of sky. Its exterior was almost gaseous, trailing wisps like see-through cilia, while its interior was dark, implying the presence of something less ethereal within.
With no warning it plunged downward and slammed into the skull of a fleeing tradesperson, sending a concussive shockwave that reached nearly thirty-span away.
The man should have been dead. But he wasn''t. Instead, he writhed on the ground as if swarmed with countless insects, hands plastered over his face¡ªno, his eyes¡ªwhere a frigid blue-light radiated from beneath them.
And behind him, further down the street, there were at least ten others locked in the same throes.
It didn''t take much to put it together. Draugeblod. Wispy entities attacking random people. The talk of possession so recently in mind. The other disasters I''d experienced cycled aggressively through my mind. I let them come, filtering out the fear, leveraging everything I''d learned.
The severity of anything approaching this scale was decided in the first hour. When there were thousands of lives on the line, and imminent danger, people died quickly.
There was no time to think. To ponder why this was happening now.
I opened my mouth, about to give the order to restrain the fallen people long enough for Maya, Vicant, or any of the healers to establish what was happening to them, when armed men rushed the streets.
Blackshields and regular rank-and-file rushed the streets, organized and assembled. But the bigger surprise was the mages. Every member of my father''s personally trained honor guard was flanked by a member of the Crimson Hand. They operated in tandem, Blackshields restraining the fallen, while the Crimson Hand chanted incantations over wands or tomes.
"Thought those two hated each other," Mari mumbled, shifting back and forth on her feet.
"They do," I agreed, thrown off by the sudden reinforcements. In my past life the Crimson Brand were treated much like an open secret. Everyone knew they existed, but they were generally shunned by the military and outright forbidden from taking any action within the bounds of Whitefall. It took a great deal of training and discipline to cultivate a combined effort this effective.
Another surprise from my father. He had no end to them, as of late.
"Keeping rank, or acting to supplement, my lord?" Sevran asked. The banner lieutenant was impassive as always, but his spear was brandished, ready.
I considered that. There was something about this I didn''t like. But in a state of emergency, the directive was clear. Regardless of the usual chain of command, in a time of local crisis, the King''s orders superseded all others. You either acted on direct commands, or if you happened to be caught out without them, sought the highest ranking person you could find who had orders. Which meant there was really only one choice: diverting from our current course and assisting the greater armies.
"Support in a reserve capacity," I said, reluctantly. Then remembering the unfortunate casualties of the gray plague, as well as several riots and uprisings, amended that statement. "Belay that." I turned to Sevran, imparting seriousness into my words. "Split up, support the core armies as you would otherwise, but concentrate your efforts to Topside. Make sure they''re following the same procedures there as they are here."
My orders were technically treasonous. But the lieutenants took little issue. They were all clever enough to realize that distribution of troops in a shitstorm was naturally scattershot, and unless someone could jump through the many barriers of proving our original location and that we moved to Topside with intent...
"And if they aren''t?" Sevran asked, the slightest hint of curiosity in his voice.
"Then signal." My stomach tightened, the memories of mass graves filled with beggars and various topside all too visceral in my memory. "I won''t be far behind."
Sera frowned. "We don''t know the situation at the castle. Someone should go¡ª"
She was cut off as Mari rounded on her, pressing into her space, the much shorter woman intimidating nonetheless. "Didn''t take long to bleed purple. Piss off back to the most secure place in the city, pretend you''re doing something. Kiss my arse."
Never one to ignore provocation, Sera stepped forward, bumping against the woman''s breastplate. "Say it again."
"Mari''s right," I cut in quickly, trying to circumvent the conflict before it bore fruit. "In theory, Annette''s in the safest place in the capital. But this might be an attempt to draw troops away from Castle Whitefall."
"A smokescreen." Mari grunted, observing the widespread chaos as she absorbed the idea. "If this is all a distraction? It''s a damn good one." She backed off with a muttered ''apologies,'' which Sera flagrantly ignored.
"On that topic, does anyone else find the timing of this incident peculiar?" Sevran shifted a little, peering into the growing smoke.
"My thoughts as well." Maya spoke up, so quiet up to this point I''d nearly forgotten she was there. "Just as we''re about to set foot in the sewers, a catastrophe bars our entry."
"If the creature we hunt has any connection to the chaos above, its intentions are clear." Sevran''s terse voice left little room for disagreement. "It''ll use the blood-bought time to make its final preparations, or worse, flee."
Zinn assembled beside Sevran. "Piling on the bad news, based on what we''ve heard already, any store of sustenance that remains will be consumed. If we do nothing, anyone in the lithid''s clutches will be lost to us."This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
There it was. The moment my father lived for. The one I hated more than anything. Where countless souls hung in the balance, and all it would take was a single misstep to damn them.
I closed my eyes, wrestling with the reality. "We don''t know if the people taken are still alive. If my contact is to be believed, it''s unlikely. What we do know is that there are countless people above ground under threat. Humans, Demi-humans, women and children. They take priority until we''re confident the armies have this under control."
This is why it is better if they fear you.
My father''s voice echoed in my mind, as I felt the tenuous grasp of authority I held growing weaker. Between the reluctant expressions, and repeated looks towards Sevran, I could almost feel it coming. They''d been humoring me, to this point. Curious. Committed enough to pledge their allegiance, but not single-mindedly.
They are with us. But they are not us. We have our purposes, they have theirs. They''ll abandon you the second the two no longer intertwine.
The quiet fear grew to a fever pitch, driving the aggression deep within me that always roused when survival was on the line.
But before I could speak, of all people, Aetherya interjected. She held her bow loosely in her arm, actively scanning the city instead rather than anyone in particular, making it unclear who she was talking to. "I have met my share of monsters in the Everwood. Slayed many beyond the natural order. They are not in the habit of sparing the living." She eyed Zinn with distaste. "Even if my twisted brethren is correct, and the foul thing uses this uproar to drain those it holds, it would arguably be more motivated to do so if we forsook the capital and set foot in its domain. Monsters do not hold prisoners without purpose. Once its hold is challenged, one way or another, those in its clutches are likely damned."
"So kind of you to finally take your seat at the table, Aetherya," Zinn sniped. But, notably, he didn''t argue.
Neither did Sevran.
/////
It was less difficult to reverse the process of possession than it appeared. For perhaps the first time in the history of the bloody institution, the Crimson Brand was entirely forthcoming. They''d received their orders nearly an hour before the mayhem started, complete with instructions on how to reverse the possession.
Someone inside the castle walls knew this was coming, and at the moment, I''d wager the contents of my purse it was Thaddeus. Another quill''s jot on the very long list of topics we''d be thoroughly discussing as soon as there was time to hunt him down.
Still, it was surprising how complex the method was, albeit simple in execution. The hardest part was restraining the possessed tightly enough that the demonic symbol for amplification could be inscribed correctly. It required eight contact points, shallow incisions made with an inked needle, and the lines the points formed needed to be filled in. The inscription was placed on the left wrist, above the vitality line. If it passed muster, all that was needed was a concentrated application of mana directly onto the victim''s inscription.
None of this would have mattered if the spirits remained aggressive, but once exorcised, they seemed to lose interest, floating away incorporeal. Some lingered, reclaiming form becoming shadows of their former selves, silhouettes blue and transparent, eyes slack and empty, ambling past¡ªand occasionally directly through¡ªthe living.
The King clearly put more effort into sculpting the Crimson Brand in this iteration than he had before. This was entirely beyond what I believed them capable of. When Thoth burned the capital to the ground, they hadn''t even managed to mobilize. Perhaps they''d been ambushed at their barracks. Perhaps they''d fled.
More than anything, I couldn''t get over how in control it all was. My immediate fears were more or less sated. The afflicted subjects were treated carefully. A few had become fully possessed, and gone as far as arming themselves with sticks, swords, or whatever else they could find, but the possession took too long for a coordinated offense to form.
The situation was quickly deescalating into a battle of attrition.
And something about it all made me uneasy.
Sera let out a sigh of relief when we found the castle lined with countless guardsmen, defenses unquestionably intact. She turned to me, horse stirring nervously beneath her. "Maybe I overreacted." Sera hazarded a glance towards Mari. "Should we reconsider¡ª"
"No." I shook my head, somehow more certain now than before that there was something wrong, despite no evidence to support it. "Get in there. Stay close to Annette and the Queen."
"And me?" Maya asked.
I weighed the possibilities, then shook my head. "Stay with Sera." I withdrew the water orb from my satchel, holding it up between us. "If we suddenly start talking casualties, I''ll call for you."
Maya raised her matching orb, and I gave mine a shake, confirming the binding still held, coming away satisfied.
"You know where you''re going?" I asked Sevran as the infernal half-jogged, returning from the assembly of blackguards he''d been speaking to.
Instead of answering, he leaned in and whispered in my ear. "There are reports of an unquenchable fire in Topside."
"What color?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary," Sevran confirmed.
It wasn''t demon fire. Still. Even a single fire mage could wreak havoc on a city. Normally there were precautions and safeguards to quickly locate such a person. But I had a feeling those measures weren''t functioning well at the moment.
"They think it''s the work of a magician?"
"Not the sort you''re expecting." Sevran shook his head, lowered voice becoming almost inaudible. "The Crimson Brand is, to their credit, working to contain it. I suspect the quick response has less to do with decency than the slow response during the previous fires. Any water they conjure evaporates before it hits the flames. Yet the ordinary men and women carrying pails seem entirely unaffected."
I sucked in a breath. "The void mage."
Void, as an element, was rare. Rare enough that the entire enclave full of infernals seldomly housed over ten void mages like Bell at any given time. I''d caught glimpses of a powerful void mage acting behind the scenes, first during the confrontation with my father''s forces outside the enclave. One powerful enough to suppress my sister''s magic, bringing her no end of heartbreak. It was possible there were two, and I was inventing a greater enemy where none existed.
But my instincts said otherwise.
"This all seem too easy to you? Too orderly?" I asked Sevran quietly.
"Many things appear easy before they show their true face," Sevran returned. "But if the situation does not transform, and soon, I''d be shocked if it was little more than coincidence."
"Aetherya," I called to where she stood off to the side, peering down a nearby side-street that was a hive of activity. "Keep scouts overhead. Regardless of the situation. If there''s something else driving this, or someone, the last thing we need is to be blindsided."
"Always do," she acknowledged.
"I''ll be up there with them, so make sure they don''t shoot me."
There was a split-second of displeasure before Aetherya answered. "Of course, my lord."
I grabbed Maya''s hand, gripping lightly before releasing. "Stay safe."
"You too."
As the regiment disbursed, each heading towards a separate quarter of topside, I slipped into an alley, ditching my armor with the awkward assistance of a regimental squire. As armor went, mine was lighter than most. But the void mage was meticulous. They''d been completely hidden from me to this point. If this was my one chance of catching them off guard, I needed to move swiftly. The way I had in the sanctum.
I pulled the tabard''s hood over my head, grateful for any protection against the wind, scaled the wall, and took to the rooftops.
237. Fracture XLII
Wind crashed past my ears as I made the leap from one rooftop to the next. The inscriptions in my legs burned, and my muscles ached. I''d softened some, since my return. In the sanctum I''d managed similar acrobatics nearly every day, using trees and caverns in Mountainside to obscure my presence from either the unwitting infernal children pursuing their rites of adulthood, or the corrupted creatures I hunted.
Close enough to Topside now that I could see the smoke, I slowed my pace, making each leap more cautiously, hiding behind whatever cover I could find. Almost absentmindedly, more out of habit than anything else, I touched the amulet at my neck.
"Vogrin? Anything to add?"
The expected, irritable response never came. I groaned in annoyance. Vogrin couldn''t materialize indefinitely. My summon functioned the same as any demonic summon, siphoning off a small percentage of mana until he''d gathered enough to materialize. And considering how long the negotiations with Ozra went, I could only assume he was spent.
Could have given me a heads up before we were about to make our way into the sewers.
In fact, he really should have. I frowned.
There was a whinge of wood, and I looked up to see the lithe form of a leather-armored elf, pointing a fully drawn bow in my general direction.
"The instructions I gave were for you, as well as your division," I clarified, glancing down at the waiting arrow.
Aetherya lowered the weapon. Slightly. "Couldn''t be sure it was you. From a distance it could have been any human child, cowering on the rooftops."
"I thought Elven vision was superior."
"That changes little."
I fought a surge of annoyance, eventually settling on ignoring her, measuring the distance to the next rooftop, and backing up until I was confident in the run-up.
Aetherya spoke quickly. "Sevran believes you''re hunting the void mage. He is under the impression that I could be of help, as my division is disciplined enough to fulfill their role without my oversight."
"And you agree?"
"I am impassive, in the matter."
I rolled my eyes. Tempting as it was to tell her to strike rocks, reluctant help was better than no help. And putting emotion aside, I could really use someone with her skill-set.
"Alright." I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "I have a plan to deal with the fire, but there''s a problem. Soon as I do, he''ll know I''m there. Extinguishing the flames means giving him a window to escape. I¡¯m guessing he''s up high somewhere, elevated."
"And you''ve established this how?" Aetherya questioned.
"If you''re a mage capable of using void from range, you''re either embedded in the frontline as a spell breaker, or at an elevated distance shaping the battle from afar. I doubt our quarry is the sort to break concealment," I said, not bothering to hide my disgust.
Aetherya nodded, seeming to find the explanation satisfactory. "Then lead. I''ll position myself to observe everything you cannot."
¡ª
I panted, cycling clean air into my lungs with wind magic. It barely helped. The smoke from the growing fire¡ªa grainery to the side of a mercantile square¡ªhung hazy in the square. There was a flash of movement that half startled me before I realized it was Aetherya, scaling a multi-story common house near the fire, clinging to a brick chimney, bow drawn, perfectly still.
Everything Sevran described held true. A long line of dirty, sweat-sodden faces formed, weathering the storm of spirits armed with pails and wine-skins, moving in tandem. The prior orderliness of the Crimson Brand had evaporated. For the most part they held their position to the side, watching the fire warily.
With growing frustration, I squinted through the sting of smoke, scanning every open window, looking for movement, the flash of a robe, searching for the damning violet glow that would finally, finally confirm my suspicions.
But it never came. Most open windows either belonged to families who were frantically packing with intention to flee, or showed little movement at all. I was desperate enough to settle for a sole, seemingly unbothered figure, focused in the chaos, but even in that I was left wanting.
I glanced up towards Aetherya, who shook her head.
Damn.
Below, one of the Crimson Brand tentatively approached the blazing building. He straightened his back, perfecting his posture before extending an arm towards the fire. A column of water exploded from his palm, highly pressurized, bigger around than a man''s head.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
I tensed at the display. Elemental water was not the joke many made it out to be. Weaved correctly, a tightly focused spray could strip flesh from bone. The sheer volume and force the mage below was putting out would break the wall before it extinguished anything.
But that didn''t mesh with the violent sizzle that reached my ears, moments later.
Begrudgingly, I had to give credit to the mage. Using void at a distance was already unheard of. This was something else. A typical void mage could counter practically any magic. From what Bell and others had said, the scale of the magic didn''t really matter once close enough to touch. I''d seen it countless times in sparring. The fire was there, then it was gone. But sabotaging the magic somehow, giving the appearance that it failed?
Whoever they were, they were strong. Terrifyingly strong. To the point I was doubting Ozra''s and Vogrin''s collective guess that the void mage was mortal.
I made a circular gesture, then pulled it down in a fist.
They''re here. Somewhere in the perimeter.
Aetherya acknowledged the command. I tensed. There was a part of me that was frightened. But somewhere else, somewhere darker, sprung a desire for a worthy foe, if only to escape the guilt. The guilt I felt, every time I thought about how happy I''d been to be home. How guileless and carefree.
Where are you?
The faces of Topside still ferrying the pails flowed below me, and I focused on them, looking for anyone well-kept or out of place. There was nothing yet. But he''d be experienced, well-versed in blending in. Just a little longer¡ª
A thud startled me from the malaise, followed by the skittering of wood on stone. With a returning sense of irritation, I retrieved the arrow my Elven banner lieutenant saw fit to shoot at me, and unwound the message.
THE FIRE IS GETTING WORSE.
I looked up startled, only to realize she was right. The flames were climbing higher up the building now, and buildings in Topside were tightly packed. Any longer and we''d risk them spreading.
"Keep watch."
With that, I stepped to the edge of the building, balancing carefully on the roof of the vagrant''s den. Exposing myself this way wasn''t ideal, but I needed to see the magic, make sure it wasn''t altered in some way.
I breathed in, summoning the Dantalion. Countless motes of violet light slid down my palms, to my legs, down the building''s front, spreading out, traveling over wheelbarrows and beneath overturned carts. They were small enough that I could no longer see them, only feel them, traversing hills and valleys in the gravel, approaching the building in tandem. I positioned them around the points where the fire burned brightest.
And then, I stopped suppressing, allowing the motes to burn brightly, hemorrhaging mana to contain them. There was no interference. Nothing from the void mage. The tiny vibrant fires lost their color, burning white, hotter than any flame had a right to be, consuming the air itself.
Slowly, then quickly, the inferno died.
A ragged cheer broke out on the street, but I barely noticed. Across the clearing, Aetherya was shaking her head.
No movement.
Dammit. I snarled, ditching any remaining instinct to stay hidden and dropped down the front of the building, barely remembering to place an aegis and break my fall. There was a reason this was happening. The void mage played a part, of that much, I was certain.
Unfortunately, the rules of Topside¡ªscatter as soon as the crisis is averted¡ªgave them perfect cover.
I darted from person to person, taking in their faces, peeking under hoods, looking for anyone out of the ordinary, checking if Aetherya had found someone and growing more desperate when I realized she hadn''t.
In the span of minutes, there were more ghosts than people. Floating specters and ambling silhouettes.
Aetherya descended from her perch in an acrobatic series of hops, beginning on a distant awning all the way to where she landed beside me, solidly. "Well. That was a disappointment."
"They were here." I snapped, shuddering in discomfort as one of the silhouettes walked through me, leaving behind a cold, cloying sensation.
"Yet there was nothing to report." Aetherya breathed a long sigh. "It is no accident the void mage has remained hidden for so long. But we must think strategically. Subjecting a granary to arson is senseless. We must accept the possibility the fire was lit as a distraction."
"I''m telling you, they were here." I seethed, still scanning the square, finding little beyond frightened expressions. "It''s the only explanation for what happened to the water. They were just here."
Aetherya shrugged, unbothered. "Experience suggests we will not pick up this trail for sometime. Carry on the search if you wish. But I must tend my greater duties."
Ever so briefly, I entertained the idea of ordering her to stay, before eventually dismissing it. There was less tension between us these days, but it was far from gone. And I was meant to be above using my power for pettiness.
I waved her away, watching with clenched fists as the Elven lieutenant sprang up the nearby wall.
Cephur chose her for a reason.
We''d never seen the void mage leave. And yes, Aetherya could be right, the bastard could have slipped away through a blind-spot, maybe even with the aid of a glamour. But there was an obvious, second possibility. In lieu of support, I scoured the square, searching any possible hiding spot. They could be hiding in plain sight, beneath the curtains of a shuttered stall, peeking through the gaps of planks in a doorway.
As I attempted to look everywhere at once, hope dwindled. The square was entirely abandoned, save the owner of the granary, surveying the damage.
Still, I pressed on. Searching for something. Anything.
The ghosts grew more numerous. In human form they were harmless, but every time they passed through me, it was like the very warmth was being siphoned from my chest.
With every possibility expended, I sidestepped a lone specter, intending to question the granary''s owner.
And stopped short when a frigid hand clamped down on my wrist.
"Please... Help me..." A familiar voice whispered.