The resonance stone had never left Vega’s possession.
It had been so long since she’d last heard her husband’s voice--at least, it felt that way. A day felt too long, let alone a week, and then two, and then a month… and more. But she hadn’t reached out to him; not since the last words they exchanged. The hint of her resentment for staying behind, the loneliness she felt in his absence, the helplessness that was a direct result of her pregnancy, and her inability to lend a hand for the sake of providing a safe and ideal environment for their developing children. The truth was, she owed him an apology; for putting pressure on him to hurry up and return, to inciting guilt when he was already involved in a thankless mission. And it was not so much that she was reluctant to express that apology… rather, she wasn’t sure how.
She’d thought about it, time and again. Being pregnant significantly limited her means of passing the time, especially with regard to those old habits that she relied on to keep a grounded mind. Training was out of the question, as were jaunts in the air upon the rocs. Both Elias and Daphni had been keeping a close eye on her condition, and that of the children’s, since Haraldur had left; and thanks to them, their suggestions and their care, both the princess and the unborn children were at optimal health. Physically, at least, but the truth was the Skyknight commander could not quiet her mind. She knew that it was best to leave it to Haraldur to make contact; that bothering him with the stone at the wrong time could result in dire consequences. But it had been so long, and he’d promised to have returned before their children were born, and with each day that passed without hearing his voice, she grew more and more concerned.
But in the fashion of a true Sorde, and as one who was convinced that only a visage of strength before a kingdom would suffice if one meant to make it as part of the monarchy, she spoke to no one of her anxieties. Certainly, Daphni suspected, but either out of respect for the princess (or for fear that asking would only make it worse), she never pressured her to speak. As a result, Vega spent a good deal of her time wandering the perimeter of the palace alone, sometimes (but not often) venturing out into the cities beyond. At this point, several months in, and with a bump that clothes could no longer conceal, Eyraille was well aware of the life inside of her; and, as expected, opinions were divided. While many approved (after all, it had been some time since the birth of a Sorde), others looked down at her out of suspicion that the children had obviously been conceived out of wedlock.
Frankly, she didn’t care. At first, she had, but what concerned her more wasn’t the kingdom’s perceptions of her growing family, but the safety of that family. And it wouldn’t be safe--truly safe--until Haraldur returned. Until…
Relief finally found her when she felt the subtle vibration of that stone one afternoon, when she was quietly taking in the sun on the balcony of her bedroom. One that she had once taken for granted, yet which now felt so small, without her husband’s broad form next to her in the bed. Even with two children inside of her, it was too small. But all of that empty space seemed to fill when she felt the resonance stone come to life against her hip.
“Haraldur…” Vega’s hand shot into the pocket beneath her petticoats, her fingers trembling and her heart racing. “Haraldur. Is it you?”
It was. She would recognize the timber of that familiar baritone anywhere, and it filled her heart so thoroughly that she was forced to suppress a sob. “I was so worried. Every day that I did not hear from you… but I had to believe. I had to have faith that you’d be alright. And it seems that I was right to believe in you. Tell me what has happened, since we last spoke. What of the Forbanne? And have the D’Marians made it safely to Braighdath?”
He was safe--they were safe, all of them, he explained. And she believed him, because she had no reason not to. And yet… something wasn’t right. It had nothing to do with what he said, and everything to do with how he said it. And when it came to the new Prince of Eyraille, Vega was well enough attuned to his tells--physical or otherwise--to know when he was not telling the whole story. “Something has happened.” It was not so much a statement as it was an observation, and in the very fashion of an irritable pregnant woman aiming to get what she wanted, the princess fell silent, an indication that it was up to him to continue speaking.
And, to his credit, he did. He told her everything; about what had happened to Elespeth, how she had suffered, and how she was now recovering, despite being suspected of a murder that wasn’t her fault. He told her about Captain Solveig, how he had been forced to let her go, and how she had infiltrated his mind and caused him to attempt to kill an ally. What concerned her was not the suspicion that he might be lying, or that he was withholding; no, he was being honest with her. He owed her that much, and she trusted his honesty. But something… something still did not sound right. She couldn’t put her finger on it.
“You’re alive. You’ve made it--all of you. That is all I wanted; I know what you are facing right now is difficult. But look what you have already vanquished. Elespeth, she’ll be fine. Please send her my regrets for not being present at her wedding; I’d have loved to stand for her and for Alster.” The warmth of Vega’s smile crept into her voice. “And you… whatever it is you are facing, Haraldur, you know you are not alone. I am more than just a voice. And I… I am so sorry for what I said before. For complaining, for making you feel overburdened with the promise to return to me, when you’ve no control over the timeframe required to see refugees safely to Galeyn…”
The Eyraillian princess breathed out, slow and steady. “Listen to me, Haraldur. I’ll be honest with you; I believe that you are safe. I know that you are not lying to me; because you wouldn’t dare.” Again, that smile warmed her cadence, but it was short lived. “What I don’t believe is that you are alright. Whether you are overburdened, or haunted by second-guessing your decisions, I know you well enough to be able to tell, from hundreds and hundreds of miles away, that you are struggling. And I want you to know… that whatever ails you, it is going to be alright. I promise you, it will be alright. Do you understand?” A serious note crept into her voice, and she stood from the seat at her balcony, one hand holding the stone, the other resting on the bump of her belly. She exhaled again. “I need you--we need you to have faith. Your word has not let me down; nor will mine let you down.”
The princess turned toward a mirror mounted on a wall, and took a long look at herself. Of the fierce red of her locks, reflecting the fire in her azure eyes, to the sign of life growing just below her abdomen. How much longer did she have, until travel by flight would become entirely impossible, and far too dangerous…?
The resonance stone had long since grown warm in the palm of her hand. “Do you understand? You will see a way through this--but not by pretending that you are alright when you aren’t. Talk to me; I am always here. I am more than just a voice. Or if not me… then Sigrid. She promised me she’d look out for you; and she knows better than to fall through on a promise. I need you to stay strong, but that is not synonymous with denying your pain... I love you, Haraldur. Don’t ever forget that.”
Roen was, of course, happy to meet with Alster, and made arrangements to be present at city hall later that day. Of course, his cooperation was in part due to his own (as of yet unvoiced) belief in Alster’s innocence--and, of course, Sigrid’s words, which had stayed with him all day, since that morning. It did not come as any surprise that she was so intent on exonerating Elespeth Rigas, who had become a close and trusted ally, but there had been something so desperate about her plea… as if she were begging him to succeed in a feat that that she could not. And there had not been a moment, let alone a day, where Sigrid Sorensen had ever been uncertain at her potential to accomplish something.
At Alster’s arrival, the Dawn Guard’s trusted leader insisted on waiting a few moments before hearing the Rigas head’s request; but when it became obvious that they would be alone in this consultation, he shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “I apologize for the delay, Lord Rigas. I had mentioned this meeting to Sigrid, and considering how deeply invested she is in Elespeth’s case, I’d thought she would be here.” Roen folded his hands on the desk before him. “Well, she can always catch up, later. I assume you are here to advocate on your fiancee’s behalf… or is it your wife, now?” The older man arched an eyebrow at the ring on the Rigas caster’s finger, and didn’t fail to notice the shade of pink that spread over Alster’s face. “Relax. Your business with Elespeth is of no concern to me; to the council, perhaps, as your views will no doubt be considered biased... But I suppose that is why you are here, in the first place.”
Roen listened patiently as Alster showed his hand; and, frankly, was surprised at the amount of aces up the man’s sleeve. This “news” of the very councilman in question wasn’t particularly surprising; in fact, it had been rumoured in the past that these very dalliances had given rise to a good deal of problems in his marriage. Of course, they had always been viewed as just that: rumors. Until now. “Hm. Well, I must say, that his is… quite the unexpected angle that you have chosen to take.” His lips curled into an ironic smile, and he shook his head, unfolding his hands. “And, under different circumstances, I might feel obligated to convince you to reconsider. But if this is what the cards have dealt you… and given the haste in which the council is so eager to dismiss Elespeth as guilty, I see no reason for you to want to play fair.”
The Dawn Guard’s leader stood from his seat. “I will speak with the council this evening. We should know their decision as to how to proceed with Elespeth’s case by tomorrow morning; I will send word to you. Though, Lord Rigas, I must tell you that it is within your best interests to tread lightly.” The tall man casually folded his arms and rolled his shoulders back. “It is not wise to make an enemy of Braighdath, especially in light of the help they have lent to your people in their flight from Stella D’Mare. I am sure I am not the first person to tell you to keep a hold of your golden aces, until the time should come that you have no other choice but to play them. I am sure that you can agree.”
True to his word, Roen had consulted with the council regarding the news Alster that evening, and by the next morning, there was a knock on the door of Elespeth and Alster’s room. Elespeth was slow to wake, of late, a direct result of her heart condition. Alster was greeted by the stoic face of Sigrid, who stood within the doorframe, but didn’t step inside at Alster’s invitation. “Roen asked me to let you know that the council has opened up to hearing your defense. You’re expected at city hall, tonight, at dusk.”
“They’ll… they are going to hear me out?” Though still relatively groggy, Elespeth slid out of bed and ran a hand through her chin-length locks. Standing, she took a place next to Alster, and rested a hand on his arm. “Sigrid, that… that’s amazing news! That they’re actually giving me a chance--that must mean something.”
“They’re giving you a hearing, Elespeth. Just because they are going to let you talk doesn’t mean that they are going to listen.” Contrary to the excitement Elespeth had expected on behalf of her friend, Sigrid’s response was cold; more than just unfeeling. She seemed somehow agitated. “Look, you’ve got a day to prepare. So put on something presentable, get yourself together, and think about what you’re going to tell a room full of people who would sooner see you prosecuted.”
“Sigrid--wait.” Elespeth reached out and touched the Dawn Warrior’s arm as she turned to leave. “Listen… what you’ve been doing for me, and for Alster… you’ve been working tirelessly. I’m sorry for all the trouble that I have been, since my arrival. And I know there is no way that I can repay you for your help--”
“I don’t need to hear it, Elespeth. And, frankly, I don’t have time with your petty apologies anymore.” With a sharp motion, Sigrid shook the former knight’s hand from her arm and frowned so deep that a crease formed between her brows. “You’re right--you haven’t been anything but trouble since you arrived. And I am tired of looking out for someone who had so little regard for themselves. I should have let Haraldur cart you off somewhere to heal, before you stole that stimulant and ran off. And I shouldn’t have wasted precious days looking for your half-dead body. And, frankly, I shouldn’t have begged Roen to have the Dawn Guard nanny you to ensure you didn’t take your own damned life.”
Understandably, Elespeth was taken aback. Her hand fell from Alster’s arm. “Sigrid… do you really feel that--”
“Feel? I don’t feel anymore, Elespeth. I’m tired of feeling for the wrong people for the wrong reasons. What you have today is a second--no, a third chance that you may or may not even deserve. I’ve done what I can for you. The whole Dawn Guard has, so whatever comes to pass… it’s your turn to prove to Braighdath that you’re worth taking seriously.”
Elespeth stood in a cold shock as the person she’d thought had been her friend walked away without so much as a backwards glance. She didn’t realize she was unstable on her legs until she felt Alster’s hand steady her. “...I deserve this. She’s lost faith in me, and I… I deserve it. After everything I did. I just… I’d hoped to prove to her that I can come through…”
Feeling heavy with sadness, like that of a sudden loss, she took a seat on the bed. “She’s right… harsh, but right. This might be a second chance that I don’t deserve, but I am going to make it count.” Even if, in the end, it made no difference to Sigrid… Even if she’d lost a good friend, she’d clear her name for the sake of a future with Alster.
With permission from the guards at the gate, Haraldur traveled past the city limits to the encampment hiding beneath the crest of the hill. Upon his arrival at the camp’s boundaries, a Forbanne sentry greeted him, no inquiry or concern over his days’ long disappearance. His tone was matter-of-fact; he, as well as every other man and woman Haraldur encountered, were aware of his detainment and of his orders to carry on as usual. Granted, he’d expressed such orders through the mind-link he inherited from Solveig. Had they obeyed his ordinance through their telepathic connection to him, or had a Dawn warrior informed the small unit of their commander’s condition and indefinite incarceration? Somehow...he believed the former. They had obeyed. Had listened without fuss, or without packing up the supply wagons and heading back to Captain Solveig in Stella D’Mare. While she flat-out mentioned the Forbanne would obey him, he didn’t know if they obeyed because she ordered them to obey, or if they obeyed because they remained loyal to him.
Haraldur sighed as he passed through the flaps of his tent in the center of camp. His headache had returned.
The tent was scarcely furnished; a bed pallet in the corner, a table constructed from dead, splintered wood, and a tree stump at its center that acted as a chair. He sat on the stump, a heavy slump that collapsed all limbs and rendered them as useless as hanging branches after a storm. His fingers unfurled to reveal the resonance stone, its cracked green color luminous in the twilight of his tent. Sucking in a long, courageous breath, he pointed the stone to his mouth; it glowed in response. And then he uttered the name he’d only spoken in dreams, on the rare occasions when he dreamed at all. “Vega…”
She answered. Of course, she answered! He hadn’t spoken to her in months. Fully anticipating a reprimand strong enough to dislodge the sky from its moorings, his chest concaved in relaxation when her response came through not as a rumble but as a soft flutter of surprise and relief. “It’s so good to hear your voice. It’s been so busy around here. I--”
She cut him off as she rapid-fired questions so numerous, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “One answer at a time. “Actually, I think it’s more pertinent you answer mine, first. How have you been? Are you...showing yet? How are they?”
She assured him that her health and their health were at optimal levels, all thanks to the exemplary care of Daphni and Elias. Yes, she started to show, and the castle was in a furor over the implications of an out-of-wedlock birth. Regardless of their marriage, the haste by which they tied the knot must have raised a red flag or two among the more astute observers. “It’ll all blow over,” he said, with practiced nonchalance. “What matters is that you married the father of those children. As long as they accept me, then...we’re fine.” They accepted me at the Equinox Festival, he thought, trepidation threatening to burrow into the holes in his heart, but they’re all bound to recover from the hangover and realize who Vega married.
No longer able to delay his news from the front, he relayed it all to her, from Stella D’Mare’s exodus, to his new base outside of Braighdath. And when she deployed the silent treatment to urge more finite details out of him, he complied, but in doing so, placed a fair enough emotional distance from events as possible, without eliciting suspicion from his wife. It didn’t work. She knew him too well. Nothing about his work with the Forbanne, conversations with a Mollengardian oppressor, or his twiceover compulsion that pitted him first against Sigrid, then Hadwin (and Elespeth), generated any confidence that he withstood the trials of his greatest fears with grace and ease. Her words of love and apology were like a balm to him, an inkling of hope that should he share his worries about his soul, about his future, she would listen, and care, and refrain from calling him dramatic or accuse him of wallowing in self-inflicted misery. Still...he did not fall for the bait. She needed a strong husband to return for her children, not a man who threatened Eyraille’s reputation and holed away in a room because he couldn’t face himself as the weapon Solveig had created. Any indication that he could not hold his own, and she would fly down to Braighdath herself, even if it endangered the development of their children.
“I do understand, Vega,” he said, at last. “And you’re right. It’ll be alright. I’ll be alright. I am. You’re worried, and that’s to be expected, but it’s a storm that’s blown over. I’ll make sure to keep in touch more often; give you updates on Elespeth’s case. Now that she and Alster are married, it falls to Eyraille to support and recognize the union if it ever comes into question. It was a snap decision,” he smiled, and hoped it reflected in his words, “but I hope I didn’t abuse my fledgling power too quickly; otherwise everyone will think I married for the money and for the power.”
At her mention of Sigrid, the smile faded. No use withholding information about his now estranged cousin, either. “We...had a falling out. Nothing to do with her; it was my fault. Too stubborn, as usual. It gets the best of me, sometimes. I’ve apologized, but it’s too late. But,” he shrugged, “it happens. Maybe one day, we'll reconnect, but Braighdath is on the brink of chaos and her duties are with the Dawn Guard, where she belongs. I won’t get in her way again.”
Following through with her send-off, he responded with an “I love you” in turn, and when silence deadened their connection, he set the resonance stone on the table. I won’t ever forget, he thought, playing with the ring on the end of his chain. I hope. I hope I never forget. I can’t lose, again. I can’t lose to Solveig.
Even from far away, I feel her...telling me to obey.
The morning after his meeting with Roen, Alster heard an urgent knock on the door. Assuming it belonged to Roen or an envoy delivering the council’s reply, he pulled open the latch to reveal a grim Sigrid on the other side.
“Sigrid,” he started. “Is there an issue, going forward with the case?”
On the contrary. They agreed to a hearing that evening. In spite of himself, a self-satisfied smile blossomed on his face. Even Sigrid’s defeatist talk didn’t water down his ebullient mood. “We’ll make them listen.” He mouthed to Sigrid, covering his hand so Elespeth didn’t see, “We’ve got dirt on them all.”
“Of course,” he cleared his throat and gave an encouraging squeeze of Elespeth’s arm, “we’re not stepping into this lion’s den without a cogent defense. You’ll find that we’re well-prepared. Have faith in us, Sigrid.”
But then, the Dawn warrior’s dour mood turned on Elespeth, and its weaponized fury unleashed, full force, at its target. At the end of her tirade, Alster’s frown rivaled Sigrid’s. “Is that really necessary, Sigrid?” However, when his eyes narrowed, they narrowed with suspicion. They hadn’t enough time to scour beneath the manufactured surface which boiled with hurtful lies before the blonde warrior departed, a swift coldness in her step.
“No, you don’t deserve it.” Alster looped his arm through Elespeth’s and helped to steady her on the bed. “It’s an act. She doesn’t mean any of it. At least, not to that extent. Give me a moment.” He kissed her on the forehead and headed out the door.
Sigrid made it only outside the inn when Alster caught up to her gait. “I know what you’re doing,” he announced, and doubled his walking speed to keep with her grueling pace. “Your change of character is too sudden for me to believe. If you remember, I was there the night Teselin transferred Gaolithe’s memories to you. Whatever she showed you, it affected you deeply--enough to drive you into some desperate attempt to push people away.” Reaching out his good hand, he clamped her on the shoulder, slowing her to a halt. “I registered fear in that sword, the other night. At first, I thought it was the sword itself, that it was merely reacting to Teselin uncovering some well-guarded truth, but I was picking up numerous signatures. Hundreds of distinct energy readings--and they were all displaying signs of fear. The previous holders of the sword...they all met with a terrible fate, didn’t they? Tell me what’s going on, Sigrid.” He searched her eyes, his seaside blues scanning her icy blues. “If you don’t, I’ll find out, myself--and you know that I will. So please,” his features softened, as did his voice, “...what is that sword going to do to you?”
The sun dipped below the horizon, introducing eventide to the harried denizens of Braighdath. Alster, together with Elespeth and Hadwin, their prime witness, were all escorted by a Dawn warrior from the inn to the front doors of City Hall. In accommodating his wife’s heart condition, Alster acted as a crutch on one side. Even the faoladh, unprompted, moved along to Elespeth’s unoccupied side and slung a supportive arm around her shoulders. Their procession was slow-going, but in anticipation of an unknown variable (mainly, the suspect’s health), they left with time to spare. Before they clambered up the stairs to the main doors of City Hall, Alster whispered into her ear. “Just be as honest as possible.”
“Really lean on the waterworks,” Hadwin advised in her other ear.
“You know that you’re innocent. Offer condolences if you must, but do not admit your guilt.”
“They’ll trick you into admitting your guilt anyway. Watch for it,” Hadwin warned.
“Don’t worry,” Alster cooed, sending a healing pulse through his contact with her back. “I’ll be representing you. Answer what you can; I’ll take on the rest. But remember; we fight this together.” He shot her a confident smile. “For our future.”
At the height of their climb to the top, the double-doors creaked open, with Roen awaiting their entrance. All members of the party filed inside, following with cathedral silence down cavernous corridors leading to an antechamber. Through the final set of doors, a large rotunda engulfed their unimpressive forms amidst tree trunk-sized pillars and a stern-faced bust of Judgment glowering down with indiscriminate eyes. On the raised dais beneath the bust, the council of Braighdath sat in a semicircle, their corresponding expressions no less fluid than the stone tightness of their marble muse.
Alster stepped forward, and at Roen’s introduction to the seven members of the council, he offered a bow by the waist. “Your Eminences. I am Lord Alster Rigas of Stella D’Mare. May I express my ongoing gratitude in aiding my people through this difficult time. If only we could meet during more favorable circumstances. Alas, it cannot be so.” He waved a hand of introduction to the person of the hour. “This is Elespeth Rigas. Beside her is Hadwin Kavanagh, our prime witness.” He caught the glint of his wedding band and held it to eye level. “I feel, before we proceed, that I must preface this hearing by stating my personal involvement with the suspect, so there is no falsifying information between us. Elespeth Rigas is my wife. However, so long as the councilman of the deceased should preside over this case, I find it only fair that I am given the same courtesy to defend my wife.”
After speaking his peace, he invited Elespeth to take the stand, before them. “Tell them what you saw and experienced.”
And she did--as they rehearsed it. She mentioned the incident between Hadwin and the Prince of Eyraille, her defense of the man in their vicinity, who also attested to her protective sword, the subsequent flight into the woods--and the strange woman she encountered. A woman of persuasive means who bore powerful magic able to enchant anyone to her bidding.
At the conclusion of Elespeth’s recounting of events, the gruesome end to which all present in the room were well aware, a councilman spoke his retort.
“She is guilty, then,” he said, and the others murmured their assent. “She carried out the murder, and she has admitted that it was her hand and her sword.”
“It was not her will,” Alster argued. “Tell me, gentlemen, if a puppet bludgeons someone to death, is it the fault of the puppet or the puppeteer?”
“They are one and the same,” another councilman said. “The puppet is an avatar of the puppeteer.”
“And if that is the case, without the puppeteer, this woman you see here, pleading her innocence, is nothing but a victim whose body was used to conduct a murder. No one would think to hang a puppet, but their master--yes.” Alster punctuated with the slam of his steel hand against his flesh and blood palm. “She who pulls the strings is our true culprit. Councilmen,” he nodded to Hadwin, “hear our witness, who was on the scene at the time of the murder.”
When all eyes honed on him, the faoladh gave a surprising no-frills account of the night, starting from his violent encounter with Haraldur and Elespeth springing to his aid, to his glimpse of the mystery woman, her inciting words to murder--and finally, the murder itself.
“Why did you not help your fellow companion in need, as she had done for you?” A councilman inquired with the tilt of his head.
Hadwin threw his hands up in surrender. “I wanted to live that night, sorry to say. That woman radiated magic. I could feel it coming off her in waves. You don’t mess with something like that unless you know a way in.”
“Based on my own research, supplemented by my century of magical-training and extensive experience in the art, I have gleaned the identity of this woman.” Alster clasped his hands. It was time to throw all modesty and proportion by the wayside, with his next set of words. “As a Rigas, it is my business to know and note magically-proficient people living among us, for they can pose a danger to our livelihoods. I rank them in accordance with my power, which is the strongest of my family, and formidable even outside the Rigas name. There are not many who outclass me, and yet she outclasses me. I have reason to believe,” he paused, readying himself for the moment of reckoning; by uttering her name, there was no turning back, “by this woman’s strength, age, and reputation alone, that her name is Locque.”
While Haraldur had fallen for her ruse rather easily (it wasn’t hard, given the tension that had been building between them for quite some time, now), Sigrid had overlooked her flaw in attempting to alienate Elespeth while Alster was present. The Rigas mage had been there, that night, when Teselin had showed her images of the terrible fate that awaited her. He had seen her reaction, and even commented on it, but she had dismissed it and had not brought it up sense. It appeared as though he hadn’t forgotten, however, and he called her out on it before she had the chance to put enough distance between the two of them. Why, Alster? She sighed, her shoulders heavy and sore with her burdens. Why must you make this infinitely more difficult than it already is?
The Dawn warrior ignored Alster’s pleas to stop and talk to him, until he brought her to a halt with a hand on her shoulder. She had to refrain from physically pushing him away. “It’s not a change in character. I’ve just had it with all of the nonsense that has been brought to my city; I’m done keeping quiet about it.” Sigrid hissed the lie, hoping the venom in her words would be enough for the Rigas caster to at least second-guess his stance. “I’m sorry, Alster, but I’m done with all of this pettiness. I’m done standing for people who cannot stand for themselves--namely, your wife. I’m done with Haraldur wallowing in his own misery and refusing to move forward. You can dream up whatever excuse you wish, and blame it on Gaolithe, but the fact remains that I am just done. I have nothing left to give.”
Alster knew even more than he had previously let on, though. His mention of the myriad of energy signatures that he’d picked up on when he’d been near Gaolithe caused the Dawn warrior to falter in her ruse, that astute anger and stubbornness temporarily giving way to shock. It only lasted a second, but it had been there. “Teselin drew too close to a heavily enchanted object. If course she was affected by it; she didn’t show me anything of consequence. She was just afraid, but she always seems afraid of something.”
But he wouldn’t leave well enough alone. Alster was determined to pursue his suspicions of the sword--but unless he spoke to Teselin or Hadwin (and she had her doubts that either of them would actually spread word of the terrible fates that befell all of those who wield Gaolithe), he would find nothing. “Listen to me.” She met his eyes with a dare, and gripped his shoulder--hard. “There is nothing to tell. So stop deluding yourself. I’m spent, and I am through with you and your comrades. Go and defend Elespeth, and live happily ever after with your life. Just… forget about me.” Eventually you will, anyway…
When she walked away this time, fighting off more stubborn tears, he did not pursue: he did not have time. Not with his chance to clear Elespeth’s name rapidly approaching.
Elespeth was not sure that she believed Alster when he’d said that Sigrid hadn’t meant her words. Even if it was a ruse (although she could not fathom why the Dawn warrior would feign irritation with her), she could not deny that everything Sigrid had said to her was true. She had made poor--no, awful, detrimental decisions. It had started when she’d refused to be sent away as per Haraldur’s orders, when her body had been too broken to permit travel. And it hadn’t ended there: she’d stolen the very drug that had nearly taken her life, and still threatened to, if the condition of her heart was any indication. But even when she had begun to recover, she’d pushed way and emotionally wounded the one person who meant the world to her, and forced him to become less than a shadow of his former self. And if that weren’t enough, she had somehow become unlucky enough to become caught up in the scheme of some magical entity who had for whatever reason seen fit to frame her for murder. If you could even call it framing; was she framed when it had been her hand, and her sword, that had felled that poor, defenseless woman? Even now, she wondered if she was only continuing her pattern of terrible decisions by bothering to fight it, by resisting the guilt that, deep in her gut, still ate away at her. No, she thought, every time the notion of turning herself in for prosecution crossed her mind. Maybe I don’t owe it to myself to regain my freedom; but I owe it to Alster. To Haraldur, to Sigrid… to Hadwin and Teselin. I owe it to them to ensure that all of their efforts have not been in vain.
As per Sigrid’s harsh ‘advice’, Elespeth spent the day corroborating with Hadwin and Alster on how to proceed with her defense, rehearsing as if she were going to perform before the council of Braighdath. And by the time evening rolled around, and the sun had set and given way to dusk, the former knight was certain that there wasn’t an angle they had missed. Her plea was as solid as it could possibly be; and she could only hope that it would suffice.
The council of six men, seated at a curved table before a fierce statue of blind and unbiased Justice were not the only ones awaiting her at the council’s estate. Rows upon rows of seats were filled with Braighdathian denizens, to the point where there was hardly standing room for any newcomers. The entire perimeter of the building, inside and out, was guarded by the Dawn Guard, with the only exception being Roen, who himself sat upon the council as representation for his warriors. Even Sigrid, stoic and fierce, stood nearby, her azure gaze not once falling upon her, or Alster, or anyone she had, just yesterday, considered an ally. It was as if the whole city had come out to bear witness to her defense…
...or, perhaps, to her downfall.
She wasn’t given much time to dwell upon the implications of the still-growing crowd. Neither party wasted any time in getting straight to the point. “We have gathered here at the request of the defense, today.” One of the councilmen announced, his voice carrying through the room as a hush descended on the crowd. “Despite the aid our fair city has lent to Stella D’Mare and its ruling family, the Rigases, Braighdath now suffers a period of mourning for the loss of one of their own--and the wife of one of this city’s esteemed council, at that.” He nodded to the councilman in question, whose eyes remained downcast. For whatever reason, be it the topic of his dead wife, or having to face her supposed murdered, it seemed difficult for him to be here. “Nonetheless, Braighdath has always prided itself in a fair sense of justice. That being said,” his eyes turned to Alster, Elespeth, and Hadwin. “This city eagerly awaits the explanation you have prepared. We are all very curious as to how the hand that stabbed councilman Thamon’s unarmed wife is somehow not her murderer.”
For all Alster had expressed doubts about leadership, Elespeth marveled at her husband’s diplomacy as he addressed the council--and the city. When at last the council bade her to proceed, she took a step forward, and met his eyes with her own. Don’t look down. That had been one of the many details they had worked out during their day of preparation. If she so much as looked guilty, then the council would jump on the opportunity to hold her to it. “Sirs. Braighadth. I understand your confusion at my defense. To be very honest with you, I myself am not entirely sure as to how or why it all happened. I can only tell you what came to pass, that evening, and my witness can corroborate. But before I say anything, I need to let you know… that I want justice. Just as much as you do. It has come to my attention that it is no secret I hail from Atvany; nor is it a secret that Atvany is no longer a place that I can call my home, for a variety of reasons. Namely… because I cannot call such a place my home if its sense of justice is merely akin to revenge.”
“Word spreads. We have reason to believe you are wanted for treason in Atvany. For defiling the name of its knights.” One of the councilmen cut in, the frown on his aged face deepening. “What does this have to do with your defense, daughter of Atvany? Do not waste our time.”
“I watched my brother die. He died in my stead.” Silence throughout the room followed Elespeth’s words. “Atvany captured me a year ago. I was sentenced to die; I am only here today because Alster saved my life. He tricked Atvany into thinking that I had died in the night of a broken heart. But my dying wasn’t enough for them; they wanted to take my life. And because they believed they’d been cheated of that chance… they took Farran’s, instead. My older brother. The one who was supposed to kill me. The reason I am saying this is because I need you to know, that while I clearly stand at a disadvantage right now… I believe in Braighdath. I believe that it is different. I believe in its Dawn Warriors and its sense of justice. And I want justice--true justice--just as much as you do. Let me… let us,” she motioned to Alster and Hadwin, “work with you.”
She turned her attention to the councilman on the far left--the one whose wife had met her end at the former knight’s blade. “...what was her name?”
The councilman’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “You have no right to ask that question.”
“I see her face in my dreams every time I sleep. I’ll never forget her face. But I know she is more than just a face… she was far more than that to you, wasn’t she?” Tears had begun to mist in Elespeth’s eyes, unplanned and unbidden. “What was her name?”
“...Alyndice.” He spoke quietly, so much so that the name was a whisper on his lips. “Her name was Alyndice. And no amount of feigned sympathy on your part will play out in your favor. So get to the point.” His hands clenched into fists on the table before him. “Was is your sword that took my wife’s life?”
Elespeth sighed, and her shoulders fell. “Yes. It was.”
“And your hand that wielded it at the time? Was it your strength that drove that blade through her body?”
“It… it was. But--"
“Then what are we sitting here for?” Another man on the council shook his head. “There is nothing to debate, here. Your hand and your sword took the life of an innocent woman. It should be you who pays the price.”
It was at this time that Alster spoke up and reminded them of the third party that had as of yet to be touched on. The woman behind it all; the one who had controlled Elespeth’s body, and to whom Hadwin had also born witness. She had to give the faoladh credit; for all their history was splotchy and not particularly amicable, he had her back. But, sadly, even that wasn’t enough.
“And where is your alibi?” Another councilman asked, lifting a hand, palm up. “Who can attest that you were there, and that you saw what you saw? How are we to know you didn’t flee the site entirely after being attacked? You are asking us to invest in your word; but I am afraid that is not enough. Your Elespeth Rigas might be as honourable a person as you claim, but she has not been well for some time. And it seems to me that you are covering up for a mentally unstable woman who had a terrible lapse in judgment and poor impulse control.”
“And where are your credentials to determine that?” A familiar voice spoke up in the crowd. Tomasin--the healer who had been treating Elespeth since her arrival--stood up from her seat and pushed to the front of the room. “I have been seeing to this woman’s health since her arrival in Braighdath. And I can tell you with a good degree of certainty that she is not a danger to anyone.”
“Is that so? Did she not try to take her own life? Was she not, herself, recovering from thoroughly abusing a medicinal herb? Tell me” the councilman speaking leaned forward. “Can you tell us with your ‘good degree of certainty’ that this woman is entirely sound of mind, after all of that?”
“I…” Realizing she’d cornered herself, Tomasin looked down, unable to answer.
It was then that Alster finally took a stand, and revealed the card he’d been hiding up his sleeve for precisely this moment: when all would otherwise seem lost. A single name passed his lips, and suddenly, everything, everyone, went very quiet, and very still: Locque.
But that stillness was short lived. A cacophony of gasps and panicked murmurs filled the room. People stirred in their seats; some up and left entirely. Elespeth wasn’t sure what it meant, but something about the power of that name had made the city come unhinged. And she was not convinced that it played out in her favor…
At the point, every man on the council, Roen included, stood from their seats--except for one. Thamon: husband of the woman who had been murdered. He stared Alster and Elespeth down with fire in his eyes. “Locque hasn’t been seen or heard from in over a century. Many believe her to be dead… you have made a mistake. Far graver than I think you realize. Not only do you dishonour my wife, by turning this investigation of her death into this… this theater act, but you disgrace this city by daring to use that name as a tool in your pitiful defense. I have heard enough. We have all heard enough.”
“He is right.” The councilmen had only exchanged a few brief murmurs before the one who had initially spoken made a dismissive gesture with his arm. “We agreed to hear a defense; not some preposterous story with no bearing, aimed to scare this city into compliance! Elespeth Rigas, the city of Braighdath finds your guilty for the murder of Alyndice Gurran. You may either face prosecution here, or you will be sent back to Atvany--we will give you the privilege of making that choice.”
“This is unlawful.” Sigrid spoke up for the first time that evening, and made her way to the front. “You have not heard them out at all--you won’t even entertain the possibility that we may be in more imminent danger!”
“We have made our decision. Now Elespeth Rigas must make hers.”
“There will be no need of that.”
A new voice--a new presence entirely--captured the eyes and ears of the room, when a newcomer pushed through the doors. Elespeth turned, and her jaw dropped. At the back of the crowd, flanked by four people in silver-lined robes, stood Lilica. At least… it looked like Lilica, but it was not the sunken, spent mage that Elespeth remembered. This Lilica was clad in pale grew and indigo traveling gown, and had skin flushed with color and health. Her eyes were not dark with weariness, and her shoulders were not slouched in at attempt to make herself disappear. She stood, tall and strong, with an authority that was somehow enough to part the sea of people to let her and those accompanying her through to the front of the room.
“What is this?” Councilman Thamon hissed, and jabbed an accusing finger in Lilica’s direction. “I do not care that you are the new monarch of Galeyn. You cannot intimidate us; this matter concerns Braighdath. Kindly remove yourself and return to your kingdom.”
“Actually, this concerns more than just Braighdath. In fact, if Alster Rigas’s suspicions are true, then it concerns Galeyn far more than Braighdath.” Lilica clasped her hands in front of her and made eye contact with Alster, offering him a brief nod. “Alster has appraised me of this situation. When he began to suspect that the real culprit might be the same that forced Galeyn and my father into hiding for a century, he contacted me immediately. After all, if Locque is the real cause of all of this, then she will not be targeting Braighdath. She will come for Galeyn. Your city will be caught in the crossfire, inevitably, but Galeyn will be the target. That said, I think that right now, both my kingdom and this city should be using this time to work together and take precaution. Not to prosecute on the grounds of wanting someone to pay for a tragic death.”
The eldest man on the council scowled and clutched his hands in front of him, his knuckles turning white. “Queen of Galeyn, you have nerve to speak this way to the city that has lawfully protected and guarded your kingdom for centuries--even when it was still lost. Is this how you repay us? By interrupting our private affairs?”
“If we are being frank, sir, then it is the Dawn Guard specifically--not Braighdath--to which I and Galeyn owe the deepest of gratitude.” A familiar glint shone in Lilica’s dark eyes; one that Elespeth recognized from across the room. Whatever change the dark mage had undergone since her departure from Stella D’Mare… it appeared she, herself, was still a force to be reckoned with. “I understand that my kingdom and your city have been close allies for quite some time. But I also understand that change is inevitable. Do not misunderstand me, I did not come here to cut ties. Not when there are still so many pieces of Galeyn that must be picked up. However, if you insist on persecuting a friend and ally for the sake of revenge, understand the magnitude of allies that you will be losing. Galeyn, the Rigases… even Eyraille, if I understand correctly that its prince is among us right now.”
The Gardeners on either side of Lilica themselves stood tall and unyielding. Sigrid, who had been present when they had first laid eyes upon their new monarch, sensed a change in them. Before, they had not trusted Lilica; and, for good reason, given her initial reaction to her large inheritance. Now, they stood for every word she spoke. Whatever metamorphosis the dark mage had undergone, in the short time she’d spent in Galeyn… there was no debating that she was the kingdom’s true monarch.
“Galeyn is still vulnerable. We want to believe that our primary ally shares a lawful sense of justice, and knows how to prioritize their time and resources.” Lilica went on, clasping her hands in front of her. “Braighdath has always been that ally, from what I gather. I come here to ask that you will continue to pursue true justice, and to work with us to keep this city and my kingdom safe. I do not belittle the tragedy of your loss. And if it was at the hands of the same person who damned my father and Galeyn, so long ago…” She unclasped her hands, and curled her fingers into fists. “Then I want that justice, too. Whomever is responsible--truly responsible--you must believe that together, we can find them. And we will make them pay.”
Still, the council of Braighdath seemed so reluctant to agree, their pursed mouths and red faces all but giving off steam for the fact that this hearing had been completely commandeered. It was Roen who finally spoke up to put an end to the ridiculous circular reasoning on behalf of those men. “I speak on behalf of the Dawn Guard,” he began, folding his arm across his broad chest, “when I say that you should strongly consider what her Majesty of Galeyn is offering.”
It was not a suggestion, but rather, a thinly veiled threat. The Dawn Guard stood for true justice, fair justice, and it would not do to represent a city that contradicted those ideals. That alone put Braighdath at risk of losing a lot more than a few allied kingdoms. The council took a moment to murmur among one another, before one of the men spoke again, his face a mask of dejected fury. “You have put Braighdath in a position where it cannot refuse, then.” Came his monotonous agreement. “And know that we are not happy with this decision. But… if there is a true threat at large, then our time spent on this woman,” he gestured to Elespeth, “is indeed wasted. Go on, then, Rigas. Consider yourself lucky to have such powerful and influential friends.”
“Elespeth Rigas.” Councilman Thamon, ever eager to have the last word, glared at the woman whose life, just moments ago, had all but been sentenced to death. “I hope Alyndice’s face continues to haunt you. As far as I am concerned, you were still the hand that killed her.”
“To be very honest, esteemed councilman… I am sure that you will get your wish.” Came Elespeth’s sad reply. There were tears in her eyes, now; but she wasn’t sure if they were tears of guilt, or of relief.
At first, when the trio entered the crowded rotunda, Alster was taken aback. A hearing, Sigrid had relayed to him that morning. A small, private affair, involving only those who bore direct involvement. But what awaited them, when they climbed to the stage and faced the raised dais of surly councilman, was akin to a trial--complete with the whole blasted city in attendance.
This changes nothing, he assured himself. We’ll proceed as planned. We’ve circumvented one step, is all. This was the eventuality. They’re trying to dislodge our defense, make us sweat it out in front of everyone. But we’re fine. We’re fine. We’re…
Alster almost winced when Elespeth began their defense not as they planned. Perhaps too invested in her ideals of justice and fair-play, she made her appeal in the name of a chivalric code she claimed no longer to follow--for it had failed her in the past, time and time again. Why, now, did she think to revisit a system that never stood with fellowship and fidelity by her side? What purpose would pitting Atvany against Braighdath serve for the council? They’d long established that the council of Braighdath served not Justice, but their own interests. The idealism Elespeth so idolized, which she still fought so hard to preserve and protect--did not exist, here. She was pleading to the wrong podium. Worse yet, she further dug her own grave by mentioning past criminal acts while unprompted, incriminating her character and her penchant for trouble to every influential member of the city. No doubt, word would trickle to Atvany that their Elespeth Tameris did not suffer death, but was very much alive--a fact that, up until now, had not been made public knowledge! No more avoiding the kingdom of Atvany; Stella D’Mare would be hearing their declarations of war soon enough. Oh, how he wanted to slap himself on the forehead and moan aloud--or grab Elespeth by the shoulder, part the air, and transport her to some safe house far away from the strife and madness of a world that did not understand the simplistic, yet beautiful dream that his wife harbored for humanity. Alas, it didn’t matter. She spoke the words and the damage lingered like smoldering ashes in the wake of an erupting volcano. The councilmen breathed those ashes in...and it gave them strength. He saw the imperceptible smirks alight on each face; a preemptive celebration for their most assured victory.
However, amid the roughshod navigation through the travails of the court, Elespeth’s innocent inquiry regarding the victim’s name came across as genuine, and seemed to strike a chord across several members of the audience--if their confused murmurs were of any indication.
When Elespeth and Hadwin delivered their statements to the council, they each readied themselves for the flood of questions that bubbled like champagne from the lips of the councilmen.
“And if I told you my alibi,” the faoladh crossed his arms, aiming a skeptical glance at the skeptics, “would that alibi need an alibi? How about an alibi for the alibi’s alibi? At that rate, the whole damn city would have to be present for you to recognize this mystery woman’s shenanigans as fact.” He scoffed. “A tall order, I’d say. Murders don’t just happen like we’re all forever spectators of a gladiatorial pit. These things tend to be clandestine. Besides,” he tsked aloud, “alibis are for when you’re somewhere else---and I was clearly there, so...hate to tell you how to do your job, but…”
“Would the word of a prince stand in court?”
The interjection from a familiar voice pushed air through Alster’s lungs in a grateful sigh. Someone had to disrupt Hadwin’s purposeful antagonization of the council, and seeing the broad form of Haraldur, accompanied by two Forbanne soldiers, wend down the aisle, brought with it equal parts hope...and uncertainty. Alster not-so-covertly slid between Hadwin and the Eyraillian Prince...just in case.
He did not wait for permission to speak, like his predecessor, the healer, who’d been stunned to silence by the council. “I am Prince Haraldur Sorde of Eyraille, and I can confirm that Elespeth Rigas and Hadwin Kavanagh darted off in the same direction, towards the woods, after I drew my sword and assaulted them.”
“And why,” a councilman, impatience bridging the gaps between his brows, growled his words, “did you attack the accused, and the witness?”
“Because,” Haraldur grit his teeth, as if fighting an inner battle not to turn and engage the faoladh to the death, “I stand before you with the urge to kill that man. I don’t want to kill him, and yet there’s a compulsion in my head forcing me to obey. If you know a lick about the Forbanne of Mollengard, you will know that they share a telepathic connection with their superiors. They can’t disobey orders, or their bodies go haywire, and they suffer excruciating pain until they do the deed. As a former Forbanne, I am still affected by these compulsions to act by a superior commander. This is why I stand by Elespeth’s defense.” He twitched, and nodded to the two Forbanne to act if necessary. “Think how you’d like, councilmen. That this is some show of theatrics. That I’m pretending. But I didn’t pretend the night I tried to kill a man, when Elespeth stood to protect him from me, fully knowing what an enraged Forbanne is capable of. The seven hundred Forbanne outside these walls can all confirm that what they face daily is a legitimate form of mind manipulation--the same as what the accused has suffered. Go on and tell us that we’re wrong, councilmen. If you are willing to make an enemy of the Forbanne, and of Eyraille, come to my camp, and tell me to my face.”
Unable to remain a minute longer when in clear sight of his quarry, Haraldur turned and, with the help of his personal guard, ushered himself out of the room and the building, to the hollow sounds of dead air. No one, it seemed, could take in a breath.
Yet the council, though they did not react, or formulate words, remained unmoved. Even after Haraldur’s risk in showing up, despite his monumental feats of restraint that no actor, no matter how accomplished, could perform with his sense of urgency and agony, their stubborn heads did not bob an inch in consideration. Fine, Alster thought, straightening the fingers of his good hand, which had curled tight into a fist. I have no choice.
So he dropped the dreaded name. Locque.
And everything backfired.
Even as chaos whipped up around them, Alster determined to stand his ground and not cow to defeat. Elespeth’s prosecution never held out as an option, regardless of the council’s verdict. No matter what he had to do to prevent it.
“Keep in mind, Councilman Thamon,” he said, a depthless tempest in his eyes, able to snuff fires with ease, “that we are on equal playing fields, here. If I have disrespected your wife, you have disrespected mine, in kind. You have disgraced the Rigas name; made a mockery out of our arcane experience, to which you have limited knowledge. You, therefore, cannot debate, with reason, certainty, or any heights of intelligence, might I add, that I am wrong. You would rather sink all ships than to see one reveal a sea monster lurking among your shores. I do not speak this name lightly, councilman. We had our own monster to slay in Stella D’Mare, and trust me when I say that I don’t want the same fate to befall you, or Galeyn. But,” he leaned threateningly close to the councilman, “if it’s a performance you want, it’s a performance you’ll get.”
That was to be his signal to Hadwin. Indeed, the faoladh had reaped enough time in the councilmen's’ presence to acquire enough dirt to bury each man alive. Reputations were a fragile thing, and with so public a venue, one mention of corrupt behavior, of nefarious dealings, suspicious disappearances of taxpayer money, for example…
But another voice, and the clamoring of doors at the far end of the room, stilled the uneasy crowd. Resplendent in purple, Lilica Tenebris glided down the aisle in an effortless sweep, appearing even more salubrious and regal from when he last saw her a mere few weeks ago. To be honest...he did not believe she received his message in time. While they did talk in depth, over resonance stone, the possibilities of a Locque resurgence, he messaged her again that morning, shortly after Sigrid’s summons, asking if she or a representative could make it to Braighdath in time for Elespeth’s court date. If Galeyn gave credence to the threat of Locque, he explained, it would bottleneck the council into cooperation.
That was his prior hope, anyway; but the council, specifically Thamon, would not concede any other route than the one where Elespeth hanged for her crimes. Unless--and it was what Alster had planned previously…
He rallied his allies to oppose the council. And Lilica, blessed Lilica...came through for him.
With a nod of a reply, Alster stepped aside to allow space for the monarch of Galeyn and her attendants. Throughout her speech, he stood with silent intensity, yet he never broke eye contact with Thamon.
“Queen Lilica and I, through our travels to reclaim the lost kingdom of Galeyn, have become well-acquainted with the tale of Locque and her reputation. If I allow justice by your terms, councilmen, my wife would hang by a crime she did not commit, and an even larger threat would terrorize Galeyn, and by extension, Braighdath, unseen and unchecked. If you profess to care about the citizens of your city--and of your son, Councilman Thamon,” his unerring eyes narrowed, “let us all band together and fight this entity that more than one person has confirmed exists.”
“Do you need more ‘alibis’?” Hadwin quipped, sending a wink over to the councilman who’d questioned him, before.
“We can learn a lot from the Dawn Guard,” Alster continued. “We need to fight for what’s right. To extend a hand to help, when others have fallen and need aid. And we never leave anyone behind,” his eyes searched for and focused on Sigrid in the crowd--and stayed on her. “That is the kind of fellowship that will see us through adversity. Members of the council,” he turned back to the men at the semi-circle table, “if you dare to split that up...there is no helping you when the storm hits.”
With the final word from the representative of the Dawn Guard, the council, at last, crumbled. Through profound hesitation, they dismissed Elespeth Rigas. But not as innocent, no. Or free. They shooed her away as though she were nothing more than a gadfly buzzing about their food. Won through overwhelming support and sheer numbers, they did, but they had made an enemy of the council. And he had a feeling they were not quite done with them.
He was right.
Before Alster could think to retort, however, Hadwin, who also heard Thamon’s last statement, sidled next to Elespeth and said, without missing a beat, “and I hope that Alyndice’s face is the only one you see when you’re out fucking your whores, good sir. I’ll let ‘em know you’re coming, tonight.” With the full bombast of his voice, it reverberated clear across the spacious hall, informing half the crowd.
Pulling the warrior away from the snags of the council, the two of them regrouped with Alster, who wasted no time throwing her into his arms. The aftershocks of the ordeal had sent him into a mess of shivers, with tears of emotional exertion streaking his face. “I’m so glad.” He peppered her with kisses: on the forehead, the cheek, the chin, the ears, the lips. “I didn’t know what was going to happen, anymore. I was all too ready to destroy their lives.” Realizing Lilica was still in their vicinity, Alster bowed his head, deep in his appreciation. “Thank you, Lilica. I didn’t think you’d come on such short notice. You’re free to stay in our room at the inn, if you don’t feel like making the trip back to Galeyn this eve. If you do,” a tilt of a smile appeared on his face, “I can orchestrate a run-in with Chara.”
His smile faded when he caught the attention of the four head Gardeners, clad in their billowing white. “If you should so have the time, my wife is suffering a heart condition.” In case Elespeth commandeered the conversation, insisting she was faring fine, he made sure to single them out and walk far out of earshot, which wasn’t hard among the dispersing crowd. “She developed arrhythmia by abusing a potent stimulant, but I fear that her ailment has been growing steadily worse. Before I decide to move forward with treatment, I wanted your opinion. I’m no stranger to healing organs, but I’ve not tackled one nearly as vital as the heart. Any help you can provide will be a godsend.” In his periphery, a familiar figure tried to slip through the doors unseen. “I’ll return. I know where to find you. I’ll be just a moment.” After dipping his head in apology, Alster followed the trail of the retreating form, appearing right behind her heels as she cleared the last step of City Hall.
“Sigrid,” he called. When she turned to face him, he offered a friendly smile. “You can’t hide it, you know. Your objection back there was pure, and not spoken by someone who’s given up. But there’s no purpose in deconstructing your reasons for pretending like you don’t care. It doesn’t matter, because I won’t ‘forget’ you.” The word seemed to stir a visceral reaction in her; she flinched, and no attempt at crossing her arms could hide it from his discerning eyes. “That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? The sword...using it will end your life. An enchantment that boasts the power to end wars can’t exist without exacting a weighty cost. But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there? All those strings of fear...something worse than death came to collect the hundreds of...forgotten souls.” He bit his lip, squinting with concentration. “When I was in your restricted library, and I scoured the shelves looking for any information on Locque, I came across another curiosity. There didn’t seem to be much information on Gaolithe, either. Namely, well, the names of the previous holders. Their histories, their deeds...nothing. It was like they never existed at all. Strange, isn’t it? That the enduring camaraderie of the Dawn Guard would not record the names of their greatest heroes. If wielding Gaolithe is such an honor...where can I read about the honor? So,” he sighed, and spread out his hands in a supplicating gesture, “tell me now, Sigrid. Will fulfilling your obligation to Gaolithe erase you from history, from memory? Will the world,” he laid one hand on her arm, “forget you, Sigrid Sorenson?”
Meanwhile, back at City Hall, someone sought out Lilica. A slow, plodding gait of steel and flesh combined. It clunked to a stop before her, the bottom-heavy contraption of a person and the top half, the healthy arms and face of a man she once knew well. “Lilica. It’s been...close to a half a year, I wager.” Lysander Rigas lowered his shoulders at an attempt to bow his respects. “I have not seen you look so...lively. The seat of the monarch has treated you well. Do you think the healing garden of Galeyn,” he paused, looked at his legs, emaciated and still blackened by Lilica’s magic, shrugged, then smiled, “make me look a hundred years younger? If not,” the light in his blue eyes faded, “Chara, she...is in need of healing. She has lost her way. Something horrific befell her, in Stella D’Mare.” He nodded to the doors. “She fled here not long ago. She and I were in the audience, but when she saw you, she...vanished. I don’t know where she’s gone.”
From the moment she’d stopped speaking, everything around Elespeth became a muffled blur of colours and noise. A few words--terrifying words--reached her ears. Guilty. Atvany… she had outed herself. Certainly, the council had somehow caught wind of her past and suspected her involvement with her previous home, but she had just handed them precisely what they’d wanted: a reason to find her guilty, if she’d been found guilty in the past. It was all her fault. All day long, she had rehearsed just what she would say with Alster and Hadwin. She’d been prepared to say it all, word for word, entirely verbatim, but… that hadn’t been what had drifted past her lips. It had been eons since she’d been a knight, and yet, those deep-seated values that had been instilled in her persevered. Deep down, despite what she knew now of the world and of human corruption, Elespeth Rigas was not very different from the young summoner. Hence her reason for being so hard on the girl… and, now, she had made a hypocrite of herself, and lost the edge they’d worked so hard to accrue.
Everything change the moment Lilica arrived.
Lilica, whom she had not seen in months. Lilica, to whom she had never in any way been close, and who to this day she did not know well, was… defending her? Alster had filled her in on the details. That they had unearthed Galeyn, and that Lilica D’Or--no, her real name was Lilica Tenebris--had, however reluctantly, accepted her position as reigning monarch of the kingdom. Truthfully, she had been willing to bet she might never see the dark mage, again. And even if she had, it never would have occurred to her in her wildest dreams that Lilica would go out of her way to defend her.
The whirlwind continued, this time with the addition of Lilica’s voice. Elespeth didn’t even register it when the council dismissed her, just prior to councilman Thamon’s venomous remark. It wasn’t until Hadwin and Alster physically led her away from the half-moon table where the council had gathered, and in the opposite direction of the justice statue, that she realized what she was, in fact, walking away from this a free woman. The ex-knight fell into Alster’s embrace, her knees shaky and unstable from the rush of adrenaline in her veins. “I’m sorry.” She whispered, too stunned to share in his tears, but she felt like she wanted to cry. “I ended up speaking from my heart… all the while knowing that would not appeal to the council. I don’t know why, Alster. I wasn’t thinking… I’m sorry.”
Elespeth took a seat on a nearby bench to get her bearings as Alster approached the catalyst of their fortune. Lilica returned his thanks with a small smile and a nod. “Intervening in what would have been gross injustice on your behalf only seemed fitting. After all, you saw me all the way to Galeyn. You left Elespeth behind to take a wild chance on a kingdom that might not have existed. So… consider us even.” That polite smile turned up ever so slightly in a grin. “I mean… I am also guilty on having made an attempt on Elespeth’s life, in my darker days. Now is my chance to smooth things over and put that behind me. Don’t worry about accommodations.” She waved her hand dismissively. “We arrived by night steeds; we’ll be back in Galeyn in no time…
Chara. A name that she hadn’t forgotten, yet one she’d been too afraid to bring up. Lilica’s smile faded, and her voice dropped to a soft whisper. “Chara… she isn’t sick, is she? She never was…” It was what Alster had told her upon his arrival in Braighdath. That Chara was ill and required quarantine until she recovered. But the truth was, Lilica had known it was a lie from the very beginning, because Alster was too honest a man to know how to lie well. She hadn’t questioned him, because the reasons behind that untruth was obvious: that Chara had asked him to say that, to keep Lilica from finding her. She didn’t want Lilica to find her… perhaps she didn’t want the dark mage in any respect, at all. Not anymore. “Does she… would she even want to see me?”
But the Rigas caster had already caught the attention of her Gardeners, and she did not feel right to interrupt him, when the tone of his voice had become quiet and serious. Whatever it was in which he saw fit to involve them, it was obviously a time-sensitive matter. Alster, however, was not the only person who wished to have a word with her. A familiar face, kept upright by cumbersome metal contraptions, pushed his way through the crowd, which parted willingly; no one saw fit to have their toes crushed beneath the weight of his leg braces. “Lysander.” The dark caster’s heart felt a little bit lighter. She’d have been lying to say he hadn’t crossed her mind, especially in light of all her futile attempts to contact her own father again. “I suppose I haven’t had time to be weary. Galeyn is still picking up the pieces of itself; it might be up and running, but it is far from being fully functional. You don’t look a day older than when I last saw you, you’ll be happy to know.”
Of course, his concern for his age was only in jest. It was impossible not to take in the withered state of his legs, and the burdensome steel that held him upright. Lilica could feel her heart sink all over again. Because of me… She hadn’t forgiven herself, for Lysander walking into her line of fire as she’d fended off Adalfieri. Certainly, he had found ways around his crippling condition, but it did not have to be that way. This did not have to be his future.
“The Night Garden… it could help you, Lysander. I am not familiar enough with it yet to know the extent of how much it can reverse what happened to you, but it is worth investigating. We have room on the night steeds; they travel exceptionally fast after dark. You could come back with me…” Except, he couldn’t, and he made it very clear as to why: he could not leave Chara. Chara, who was also in need a healing. Though whether or not it was the sort of healing the Night Garden could provide… well, that remained to be seen. As did whether or not Chara would even choose to set foot in Galeyn. “If she runs from the sight of me… I don’t know what I can say to make her listen. We both know her stubbornness, Lysander.” But I want to reach her. She knew that; Lysander knew that. At the very least, she had to try. The only thing worse than having Chara Rigas tell her she never wished to see her again was never knowing if she could have helped her, because she didn’t try. And as much as she had struggled to come to terms with the possibility that the woman she loved did not want her in her life anymore… well, she hadn’t come to terms with it. She had just become accustomed to holding herself together before the public, and suffering her cold loneliness in silence when no one was around.
“...I’ll try to find her. Maybe she won’t come to Galeyn for me. But for you… for the opportunity that you could be well again, maybe she will concede. It would be good for the both of you.” Galeyn’s monarch reached out and gently squeezed his arm, before turning to leave. Her Gardeners were still preoccupied with Alster, anyway; she’d regroup with them before the night was over.
Among the Gardeners was a Head Gardener, Senyiah; one with whom Alster was already acquainted. She patiently heard Alster out in his request, and her eyes flicked from him to Elespeth, who sat, hunched over, on a bench several paces away. “You’ll be happy to know that the Night Garden is growing stronger every day. I can tell you with a great degree of certainty that your wife would be much better off among its healing energies. However… as to how much the Garden can heal depends on the severity of her aliment.” The Head Gardener clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head. “The heart is a vital organ, as you’ve already identified. If your wife comes to Galeyn, I can assure you that her condition will stabilize. But I cannot make any guarantees as to what the Garden is able to do without determining her heart’s condition. However, this is something that can be determine in Galeyn. Whatever you decide, know that our healers are also at your disposal. But--whatever route you might think to take, it will inevitably be invasive. And as such, I strongly recommend that any procedure take place near the Night Garden. The chance of… complications arising would be significantly less likely.”
Before he excused himself and turned away, she reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “We could take her back with us, tonight. There is room on the Night Steeds. Let us know what you decide before dawn.”
Elespeth was safe. That had been Sigrid’s only request to Roen, who had come through for her, and laid out a silent ultimatum before the council of Braighdath: that either they reconsider their brash persecution of an innocent woman, or in breaking ties with Galeyn, they would break ties with the Dawn Guard. She wasn’t sure whether her mentor had said as much because he’d known the council (and the city) could not afford to lose their population of formidable warriors… but that didn’t matter. Elespeth was safe, now. She could leave this city and make for Galeyn with her husband. One less variable for the Dawn warrior to have to worry about…
Except that the ex-knight’s husband did not appear to be placated solely from his wife’s renewed freedom. She truly hadn’t thought he would take note of anyone but Elespeth, in this crowded room, yet here he was, pursuing a topic that she’d made very clear she wished to discuss no further. “Look, Alster; I’m happy for you and Elespeth. Let’s just leave it at that.” Her fingers gripped the handle of the door, but went slack at the Rigas caster’s choice of words: I won’t forget you. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sigrid snapped, but the fierceness in her voice did not reach her eyes. “You don’t know anything about Gaolithe.” But that was the point: no one did, and Alster, by some intuitive reach, had the sense to connect the dots. Perhaps her behaviour had been too telling… she might have fooled Elespeth, but she should have known it would take more than harsh words to push him away.
“Listen to me.” Sigrid’s voice dropped to a low and secretive tone. She gripped Alster by the shoulders. “Leave it alone. Keep your theories to yourself, and leave it alone. Gaolithe chooses someone to wield it during a time of inevitable danger--and I will face that danger, and I will win, on behalf of everyone I care for. This--this conversation, none of this will even matter, in the end. So leave it alone…”
She released him, dropping her arms to her side. “You just bought a chance at a future with your wife. Go and make the best of it.” Sigrid didn’t give him time to reply before she was out the doors in haste, without looking back.
Teselin hadn’t attended Elespeth’s hearing for a variety of reasons. For one, she’d realized early on that the affair would be heavy with negative emotion, and she didn’t trust the live, frayed reach of her magic to go haywire in the presence of too much negative energy. However, there was also the matter of Sigrid being there (and she had, of late, developed something of a fear of the Dawn warrior), along with the possibility that Elespeth might not be released from her confinement or found innocent. Too many variables that she didn’t trust… Her cozy hideaway in the alley was all the solace she needed. Most of the city had gone quiet, with so many people present at Elespeth’s hearing that few were left in the streets after dark. The young summoner took in the quiet and the peace while she could, hoping from her small corner that everything would work out for Alster and Elespeth in the end. Hoping that Hadwin was right: that destiny was something made, not an inevitable fate that you couldn’t avoid.
In all truth, she hadn’t spared a thought for Chara, of late. And that was the last person she expected to see.
“Chara…?” The Rigas woman was out of breath, like she’d been running. Teselin immediately sprung to her feet. “Are you alright? Has something happened?”
She was alright; well, insofar in nothing terrible had happened. The young summoner stood aside so that Chara could take a seat. She explained that Elespeth was free to go, but did not elaborate. She seemed unsteady, shaken… running from something. Or someone. “Look… I know we’re not close. I was foolish to think you ever thought of me as someone who… well, something more than a person with a common goal. I understand why you wouldn’t want to talk to me. But something has you ill at ease, and if you won’t talk to me…” Teselin rolled her shoulders back, sudden clarity dawning on her like moonbeams. “Maybe you should talk to her. You owe her that much…”
How Teselin had known Lilica was the reason for Chara’s erratic behaviour (and how she knew the monarch was in town at all) remained unclear, but didn’t exactly come as a shock, given the extent of the girl’s magical prowess. But just moments after she took her leave, with Chara crouching alone in her little safe haven, someone else rounded the corner. She stopped at the entrance of the alley as soon as she took note of the person she found; someone who looked so familiar… and yet, so different.
“Lysander asked me to come and find you,” Lilica said at first, as if by way to placate Chara before she took off running again. It felt akin to approaching a wild animal; move too quickly, and they would either run, or attack. “He is worried for you… and so am I. I have been since Alster lied and told me you required quarantine.”
Perhaps it hadn’t entirely been a lie. Chara wasn’t well: a healthy and fully functioning Chara Rigas would not run from someone, she would face them head on. She would not cut her hair and dye it an entirely different hue… “Your father said… something happened to you, in Stella D’Mare. He didn’t go into any details; and you don’t need to, either. I won’t ask if you don’t want to talk. Chara, I… whatever you suffered, or whatever I have done to push you out of my reach… I’m sorry. It was never my intent to push you away…”
Lilica pressed a hand to the side of one of the stone buildings and looked down at the toes of her boots. Here, she had wanted to appear strong and capable; it was shameful, how little it took to make her crumble. “I know… that a part of you hasn’t forgiven me for leaving Stella D’Mare. I don’t blame you. But the truth is, Chara, I needed to leave because… because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be who I am now. Someone stronger. Someone who is actually worthy of you.” She looked up, and although her dark eyes were dry, they shone with a sadness that she had stopped talking about. The sadness she’d shouldered when she’d left Stella D’Mare. A sadness that had deepened, finding that she would never get to know her father. A sadness whose signature was longing and regret. “You were there for me, when my world was falling to pieces. You took me to Stella D’Mare; you believed in me. You loved me when I had nobody to turn to, Chara; you even loved me in spite of your father’s displeasure of that decision, at first. And the only way that I can ever pay you back for that is by becoming that person, for you--now. When you need it.”
At last, she took a chance and closed the distance between them by a few steps. “You were my shelter. Whatever happened… whether or not you want to tell me, I can be your shelter. In whatever way it is most meaningful to you; even if… you can’t love me, like you used to.” Lilica’s arm stretched toward the Rigas woman, palm up; an offer, but not a demand. “Come with me to Galeyn, Chara. There is a chance the Night Garden can reverse the damage I did to your father’s legs; maybe… it can even help you. If you just want peace, and quiet, you will find it there. I don’t need to be a part of it; I realize there may not be a place for me in your life, anymore, but even if that is the case…” A tear escaped the corner of her eye, and she swallowed a lump in her throat. “I just need to know that you will be alright.”
Despite Lysander’s mobility-restricting condition, the former spy had a wide network of people, Rigases and D’Marians alike, working under him. When one such informant knocked on the door to his quarters (where Chara had spent most of her time, nowadays), they learned of the city-wide event involving Elespeth and the Braighdath council. A “hearing” in name, but its intentions were clear: besmirch the woman’s reputation, and silence her for good.
Together, they hurried down to City Hall to claim a spot in the audience. Even if their attendance provided no help in the case, a dose of support might make somewhat of a difference, like prayer, or a blessing. ...While she didn’t believe anything short of a quick, aggressive takedown, there was little else she could do but sit and pray.
Stripped of her power and influence, a move she blamed no one on but herself, every step through her numbered days proved more painful. She had chosen to rot in a stagnant pool, grateful for its cooling waters, but resentful of its necessity, and the world that carried on without her. The old Chara Rigas never tired, never quit, never removed her star from the center of the universe. And yet...she was not Chara Rigas. No star shone in the night sky; not now, or ever again.
But why make a fuss? Fate always had great and grandiose things in store, not for her, but for Alster Rigas. He didn’t want to take on the mantle as Family Head, and yet, how he exceeded her expectations--his Serpent transfer act notwithstanding. A few months into his role and already he oozed charisma, the maturity of ages, diplomacy, approachability, determination and a sense of righteousness --all aspects she lacked as a leader. So easily did he secure alliances using geniality, compassion, and a genuine desire to heal the world. Chara, in comparison, amounted to nothing beside his fiery star. The best decision she’d ever made as Head was to abdicate and pass along the coveted position to a man she never could outpace in life. Even when she worked twice as hard and started from the lowest rung of the Rigas hierarchy...she was always meant to fail beside a prodigy.
However, Alster, all-around problem-solver that he was, had seemingly met his match. Before a half-dozen stubborn councilmen (oh did she know that pain all too well), he was losing ground in the fight for Elespeth’s innocence. It was a strong defense. A prime witness (who outed the stupidity of a councilman, which brought her far more amusement than she’d let on), and a bevy of supporters who arrived to proclaim their loyalty for the accused--they were, alas, not enough. The men had made up their minds long ago, and nothing short of a miracle could budge their tight asses from those seats.
That was when the doors opened, and a vision in violet scanned down the aisle.
Immediately, her hand gripped her father’s arm. “Lilica,” she whispered, breathless from mere utterance of the name. “No. It cannot be…”
This was not the Lilica she remembered. The woman at the door, with her strong brow and enviable posture, was not rail-thin or shuffling forward with her head to the ground and her hair lank and tangled. She spoke with clear authority, her voice rich and resonant. Everything about her seemed warm; her skin, no longer translucent pale. Her eyes, alert and well-rested. And her hair, like a raven’s wing, glowed in iridescent blue. It was how she appeared in dreams. A Lilica Chara always believed was possible.
And she had nothing to do with her surprising transformation. No hand in creating a strong, irrefutable figurehead. She radiated beauty, and Chara’s heart pounded with need of her. Together, again. Oh, the curiosity of acquainting herself with this new Lilica, a Lilica who wouldn’t terrify her with worry. A Lilica she could trust not to end up dead or saturated by her own darkness. I want to know her, the heart pleaded with her mind. Let me know her.
No.
The scales had overturned for them. Lilica’s ascension meant Chara’s downfall. Downfall... I can’t let her see me this way.
She will not care, the heart insisted. Lysander did not care, either. Neither did Alster. Such love is unconditional.
I care, she argued. I care that I am not presentable before someone so...unobtainable. I cannot have her. She is...too important.
Do you not think she felt the same way when you expressed your love for her? The heart demanded.
This is...different. She has always felt like a nobody. But I...I really am a nobody, now.
“Chara. Chara.” An enduring pressure on her shoulder propelled her forward, into the present. Lysander cast worried eyes at her. “Did you hear?” He shouted over the sudden furor of the crowd. “Elespeth has been exonerated.”
“Oh.” She tried to muster some excitement for the situation. It was there, but buried under layers of self-pity and confusion. “That is wonderful news.” She gathered to her feet. “I must go...relieve myself. Do not wait up for me.” Before he could protest, Chara sid out of the pew and smuggled out one of the side-doors.
She didn’t realize she had been running down the deserted side-streets until her body heaved its rejection of unplanned exercise. Slowing her pace, she grabbed the edge of a building and looked into the maw of an alleyway she recognized from the other day.
“Tes...elin,” she breathed the name when she saw the tiny girl emerge from the cave-like hovel. “No. Nothing has happened. Well,” she remedied, “Elespeth...they dropped her case.” Accepting the summoner’s invitation to sit, she did so, half-collapsing on a pile of bunched-up blankets. “I...no.” She sighed. “Give me a moment.” When she gathered her second wind, she shook her head in fervent denial over Teselin’s words. “I have been meaning to tell you something. I tried to, the other day, when I was with Hadwin, and before that, when we attended Alster and Elespeth’s wedding. It,” she looked down at her lap and fiddled with her thumbs, “is an apology. I did not want to associate with you because you reminded me of all the wrong that befell me. So I cast you aside. For the longest time, it was too painful...to even look at you. But,” her nails picked along the edges of her cuticles, “I did not mean what I said, back then. You were dependable. Reliable. But it was during a time when I trusted no one. I was reeling in thoughts of betrayal, and you reminded me of a fresh-faced Alster, who days ago left me to pursue far more rewarding goals. Along with,” she stopped herself before mentioned the dark mage. “...It is not fair to you. You only wanted to help, then, and you did. We,” she hesitated, “suffered the same, under the hands of Mollengard, and instead of banding together in our shared experience, I wanted nothing to do with you. I know it is too late to reconcile the pain I’ve caused, but,” she finally met the girl’s eyes, “I am sorry.”
Whether Teselin accepted the apology or not, it went unsaid--in favor of something curious she found reason to mention. “Her? What do you mean?” But Teselin said not another word, and left her alone in the alleyway.
She was not alone for long.
“Lilica!” She recoiled so hard, she knocked her head against the side of the building that had acted as her backrest. While it did not cause her much harm, she rubbed the sore spot vigorously in a bid to distract her from...her.
“Lysander,” she snorted, in feigned nonchalance. “Leave it to him to rope you into his little circle of spies. And what of Alster’s lie?” She stopped rubbing to cross her arms over her chest. “I told him to lie. It was far improved than my original lie. I wanted him to tell you that I died.”
Why did she admit that aloud? She cursed her flubbing mouth and stared, long and deep, at the wall as punishment. “You have done nothing wrong,” she managed, in a quieter tone. Slowly, she slid off her shawl, revealing not only the blonde roots peaking aggressively from her scalp, but the ruined ears, sans their iconic Rigas points. “Stella D’Mare is...was...a toxic place. Nothing good could grow from its soil. Be thankful you left with time to spare, before its infection took root in your body. You have saved yourself. That is my failure, Lilica. I could never provide you a proper home. It sank to the bottom of the sea. Everything I touch...I’ve made worse. So do not touch me. Whatever ‘me’ is left. Chara Rigas is dead.”
Tears sprang into her eyes, and she burrowed deeper into the alleyway to flee from their visibility--and from the woman she was too determined not to ruin. “It does not matter, Lilica,” she muttered, trying to stay coherent through her tears. “I am not worthy of you. There is no shelter for me. That...woman is on the loose, Lilica. How is Galeyn safer than Braighdath? Than Stella D’Mare? If I go with you, I will be a harbinger of doom to your kingdom. Take my father, but…”
Her last uttered word hung in the air. But…
But what?
But leave me to die?
But give up on me?
But...take me anyway?
She choked on a sob.
“Fine. If you want this...broken thing, take it.” She stretched out an arm and it fell, limp, in Lilica’s hand. “Take it, Lilica. You’ve always had it. This is all I can promise you. A body. Stripped of everything that made Chara Rigas the woman you loved. It can function...but that is all it can do.”
Upon returning to the inn with a newly liberated Elespeth, Alster celebrated their good fortunes by ordering a honey cake from the kitchen and presented the whole thing for her to eat.
“It’s all yours,” he said, when the special delivery passed through the open door. “Well--I’ll help,” he said, with a shy smile. “It’s a delicacy even I can’t pass up. And since we did not partake in a wedding feast, consider this the feast.”
Once they plowed through the cake (which was more Alster’s doing than Elespeth’s), and they lay in bed to digest awhile, he finally broached the subject he’d wanted to discuss since his quick consultation with Galeyn’s gardeners.
“Elespeth,” he sat up, his demeanor taking on a serious sheen, “I was speaking to the Gardeners, before. They’re expert healers who tend to Galeyn’s Night Garden. They’ve agreed to take you with them tonight, back to their home. On Night Steed, they can make the trip in hours, rather than the week by normal means. Proximity to the Night Garden will stabilize your heart and help you recuperate. From there, we can evaluate a more permanent treatment for your condition. I advise you go with them. Not just for your heart, either.” He stood and traveled to the window, shuddering the curtains closed over a darkened view of the city. “Though you’ve been exonerated, this city, I imagine, won’t take to your presence with open arms. I’d feel much safer if you went to Galeyn. The thing is,” he turned to her, apology written on his face, “I can’t go with you. Not yet, anyhow. I still have to oversee the transfer of D’Marians from Braighdath to Galeyn. Until we’ve relocated the refugees, I’m duty-bound to stay here. Not that I wouldn’t visit,” he hurried, “and often. I’ll likely be bouncing between the two places, anyway. But--as Lilica and the Gardeners are leaving tonight,” he returned to Elespeth’s bedside, and placed a gentle hand on her chest, “go with them. The sooner we can heal your heart, the better. And I’ll be along as soon as my business is settled in Braighdath. ...They depart in two hours.”
Not far from the inn, across from the Dawn Guard barracks, Naimah was expecting company.
Even with her busy schedule, Sigrid did not hesitate to visit almost every day. Sometimes, it was a quick hello; other times, an overnight stay, crowded together in her tiny pallet. However long or short the encounter, Naimah counted any drop-in from the blonde warrior as the highlight of her day.
Lately, though, she had been seeing a much more troubled side of the Dawn warrior. The source of said troubles seemed to reach beyond her circle of friends, who had occupied her time and energy for weeks. While the pertinence of Elespeth Rigas and her case fell as a priority, and the challenge of communicating with her melancholic cousin wore her to the limit, it never removed all the direction and drive from her life. Before, she was alight with determination to help her friends, no matter the cost. Now...for as long as she’d known Sigrid (which was not long), Naimah had never seen her look so dispirited. Lost. Afraid. Resigned. Though she didn’t wish to pry, several inquiries about the warrior’s health and well-being were met with mumbled assurances and a swift change of subject. If such tactless evasion persisted, she would have to wrench the truth out of the reticent woman. She did not enjoy using force, but if requested by her clients--and if necessary--it was not beyond her capabilities.
Lucky for her, one of Sigrid’s friends gave her the fuel to succeed in her forthcoming interrogation. Alster Rigas called on her; not to stay, or even to chat, but to relay the reasons behind the warrior’s cagey behavior.
When Sigrid stopped by later that evening, she was prepared.
“Sigrid.” She placed one hand on her hip, and pursed her lips. “Care to tell me why Alster Rigas came to my door earlier?” At the baffled silence that hung over Sigrid’s open mouth, Naimah shook her head and pointed to the bed. “Sit down,” she ordered. The Dawn warrior did, without complaint. “He tells me you refuse to confide in him or in anyone about a disturbing dilemma you are facing. That you are employing cruel methods to alienate yourself from your friends because you have accepted your thankless destiny without bothering to ask for input and advice among those who have the means to guide your sorry ass from the precipice of obscurity. You,” she growled the word, “when were you planning on telling me? Or better yet, when were you planning on concocting the perfect verbal formula to poison our relationship, for good? And,” she cut in before Sigrid could speak, “I do not want to hear your cover-up story, or lack thereof. I am no fool, to eat up your words of denial and live on with blissful ignorance. I am through with your silence. You will tell me the truth, Sigrid Sorenson. I,” her fierce, dark eyes sagged a bit with sadness, “have the right to know. People want to help you. Why will you not let them? Let me? Are you so agreeable to your fate? Do you not wish to fight?” Her eyes misted. “No one is asking you to bear this alone, or to wield this cursed sword in the first place. If there is a solution, it cannot be had with silent and stubborn acceptance. And if you do not want to fight, then I will.” A deadly air emblazoned her aura a deep, ruby red. “Consider me Alster’s research assistant. And since I am on friendly terms with Roen...perhaps he will be more than happy to join our team. It should not matter anyway, right?” She raised a brow. “Better to forget while in the pursuit of trying than to forget without trying at all.”
Lilica wasn’t sure what to expect, when Lysander had explained his daughter had run at the sight of her. It felt like ages since she had laid eyes upon Chara Rigas--at least half a year, as the woman’s father had estimated. People could change drastically in a single month, let alone the span of half of a year… Even in the time between now, and when they had last spoken using the resonance stone. She had sensed fear and uncertainty in Chara’s voice during that brief communication; she had feared for her, despite her desire to cling to the Rigas woman’s promise that she would return to her. That they would be reunited--the promise that they had made one another in the Rigas gardens, seated upon the fountain that had served as a focal point of Lilica’s comfort, at the time. We’ll find a way to be together. That had been their promise to one another, against all odds. But… promises were not invincible.
And neither was Chara Rigas.
When she happened upon an alleyway, in her blind search for Lysander’s daughter, Lilica almost didn’t recognize the figure crouched in the shadows. A thin woman with short, pale-brown hair and haunted eyes; so different from before, but not unrecognizable. No… she would know Chara from anywhere, in any form. What happened to you? She wanted to ask. Wanted to take the shaken woman into her arms and force the words, the truth, from her. Who did this to you? I’ll kill them; I’ll make it go away. I’ll make everything better…
But she refrained. Because maybe Chara did not want her to make everything better. Perhaps she wanted to be lost, and not found… Lilica knew the feeling all too well. It was how she had spent most of her miserable life, hiding from the world and from herself. Preferring the bitter edge of loneliness to the consequences of what her deadly penchant for darkness might do to people she cared about. She, too, had preferred to be lost, once. But Chara had not allowed it. Chara had found her, forced her to reveal herself. Forced her to believe in herself. And while the Rigas woman may not realize it, or believe it, even if she knew, Chara was part of the reason that Lilica Tenebris had been at all able to emerge from her chrysalis. Without that push, and the woman’s penchant for brutal honesty… Lilica was not sure she’d have taken up her father’s mantle, at all.
Lilica Tenebris had become not only who she needed to be, but--at least, it was her hope--who Chara also needed her to be. And she could not let her down, now.
“Had he told me you died… I’d have called him on that lie,” she confided, shaking her head slowly. “I’d have known. I’d have felt it. But when he told me you were sick… part of me knew there was truth to it. Not that you required quarantine; but that you needed space. Not that you were physically ill, but… you’re not well. Just as your father said.”
Her heart skipped a painful beat when moonlight caught the tears glistening in Chara’s eyes. Lilica could hold back no longer. Slowly, purposefully, she closed the distance between them and knelt with Chara. “No; you are right. Stella D’Mare was not my home. Not that city in its geographical location… it, alone, could never be a home to me. But you…” She cupped Chara’s fair cheek with a hand. “Neither is Galeyn. It’s just a place; something that I inherited. But home isn’t a place, Chara. People are a home. You… you are my home. Insofar as that when I am with you, wherever that may be, I am not lost. So, no, you never failed to provide a home for me. Chara Rigas is not dead.” She pressed her lips together, her voice taking on a stern, albeit soft, tone. “She is right here. When I could not see myself past a withered reflection in a mirror, you still saw me. And now, Chara Rigas… you can change the color and length of your hair, the shape of your ears, the clothes on your body, but you cannot hide from me. I see you. And nothing you say or do will change that.”
She tucked the Rigas woman’s short tresses behind one of her scarred ears, but did not draw attention to their blunt tips, as much as it pained her to witness those scars. “Galeyn may not be safe from the woman, Locque, if she is indeed a threat once again. But neither is Braighdath. Even the infamous Dawn Guard cannot stand up to power such as that. Whether or not you come with me now, the danger is no more, and no less. The only difference is… I’ll be able to protect you, if you’re close to me. Galeyn might have been vulnerable, once, because it was not familiar with or inclined to use offensive magic. And, well,” she pressed her lips into a thin line. “Clearly, I cannot be the leader that my father was. But… I am beginning to think that is not such a bad thing.”
Lilica had made a promise to herself, the moment she’d set out to find Chara. And that was not to back down. She would not take Lysander and leave Chara behind; and she was not inclined to leave for Galeyn, again, until Chara agreed. Especially seeing her now, broken and lost and devoid of faith in herself, she realized just how crucial it was that she come with her. It had taken time, but the Night Garden had helped her; had healed her from the inside out. So that her own magic no longer poisoned her body, and she was able to put on healthy weight. It had not cured her sadness or loneliness, and perhaps it, too, would not cure Chara’s. But it was something… a step in the right direction. A step toward becoming whole, again, and she’d prepared to stick it out for as long as possible, until Chara agreed.
And, as it turned out, she was not so hard to convince. She saw it in Chara’s eyes: longing. A desire for what once was, for the person she had been… for what they had been, together. No, she might have given up on herself, but not on Lilica. Not no them. There was still hope…
The queen of Galeyn took her hand delicately in her own, but only for a brief second, before she gave in to the urge to pull Chara Rigas into her arms. She was bonier than before; not taking care of herself, which was something Lilica had been guilty of as well, once upon a time. But she was still Chara. “You’re wrong.” She whispered in her ear. Hot tears trickled down her cheeks. “You have never been so wrong. The woman I love is right here; she’s alive, which is precisely what I asked of her. Whatever has happened to you, Chara… I’ll make it better. I will find a way. Whatever it takes for you to see the strong and proud woman you really are.”
Lilica brought her hands to either side of the Rigas woman’s damp cheeks, and leaned in to do something she’d longed to do since walking away from her in Stella D’Mare. She kissed her; a long, and daring, and meaningful kiss, that made her want to sob with relief, but now wasn’t the time. Chara needed a pillar of strength, someone to help her stand on her feet. “I love you.” She whispered the words against Chara’s lips, afraid that if she spoke too loud, it would push the hurting woman away. But Chara did not go anywhere. She fell into her arms and let her be the comfort she so needed. I’ll be your pillar, Chara. I’ll help you stand, until you’re able to stand on your own, again. I won’t let you down…
“Come with me tonight.” At last she pulled away and clasped Chara’s shaking hands in her own--hands which, for once, were warm, and not plagued with perpetual chill. “You and Lysander. The Night Garden… it is real. There is a chance that it can restore strength to your father’s legs. And… at least for now, it is peaceful. You can find solace, there, and you’ll have as much space as you want or need.” Lilica smiled, warm and inviting, and intimate. “You are not broken, Chara Rigas. I’ll help you see that, if it is the last thing I do.”
Even by the time they made it back to the inn, Elespeth’s hands still shaking from the stress of a trial that could have gone so horribly wrong, it still hadn’t registered to the ex-knight that she was free; that it was over. At least, insofar as she had regained her freedom, and was as such free to come and go from this room as she pleased. She stood passively by as Alster spoke with the kitchen staff, not taking in his words or intent, and was as such surprised when a fresh, moist honey cake sprinkled with sugar and a hint of lemon was delivered to their room. This was a celebration; acknowledgement that she’d made it out alive (literally and figuratively). They’d done it: they’d exonerated her, and the reality dawned on her by the sparkle in Alster’s eyes. “This is not how I imagined the evening would end, for us,” she confessed, taking a slice of the cake onto a plate. If she dug deep enough, she was sure she could find an appetite for it, for Alster’s sake. “I honestly didn’t know how it was going to end… but, it doesn’t have to be our wedding feast, either, however delicious this is. We can have a real ceremony in Galeyn; we can let all of Stella D’Mare, and Lilica’s people know of our union. It doesn’t matter that it is belated.” She grinned a half-smile. “The festivities that Braighdath put on in an attempt to boost morale backfired… so, this could be just the excuse that we need to give the D’Marians a reason to celebrate. And to thank the Galeynians for accepting us as refugees.”
On the topic of Galeyn, Alster’s countenance grew more serious. Elespeth furrowed her brows in confusion when he brought up the Gardeners--keepers of the Night Garden who had a hand in healing. Certainly, this place, and these people, sounded promising… except for a single deal-breaker: and that was that he would not accompany her.
“No. Absolutely not.” The warrior didn’t miss a beat, didn’t hesitate for even a second before she sat up and stood from the bed, much faster than what was likely healthy for someone suffering a heart condition. “I am not going to Galeyn without you, Alster. We’ve been apart for too long. I’ve lost you too many times, before, and I’ll be damned if I am parted from you again.”
It was spoken from the lips of the stalwart warrior that Alster Rigas had fallen in love with. She might have been thinner, her hair cropped short, with shadows under her eyes, but she was still Elespeth. Throughout all she had endured, alone and with Alster, that hadn’t changed. It wouldn’t change. “I’m fine. I mean… I know my health isn’t optimal. But my symptoms haven’t flared up, today; it isn’t urgent, I don’t need to leave right away. It can wait. I can wait, until you are able to leave, as well.”
She folded a hand over his, capturing his gaze with her stubborn green eyes. “I’m sorry; the answer is no. I am not leaving without you, tonight. Every time we seem to have a moment together, something tears us away from each other, and I will not walk away willingly. And don’t bother trying to change my mind, because I won’t. Alster…” Elespeth placed a free hand over his heart. “Do you remember when you were mortally wounded? When I took some of that damage upon myself to ensure you lived? I survived that; we survived that. So whatever is happening now, as a result of that accursed herb, I will survive it. We’ll find a solution, and yes, it will probably be in Galeyn, where my heart can be more stable under treatment. But that won’t happen tonight; not without you. I’m sorry…” Her face softened, and she dropped her hands to her side. “You know I’d do anything for you… but not this. I cannot oblige this request. Please… try to understand.”
Naimah was the only Solace that Sigrid found, these days. Since she had become acquainted with the true nature of Gaolithe, and its intentions. But this was only because she had not yet sought to alienate the Kariji woman. She knew she had to; she knew that it was inevitable, and that the sooner she could rip the gauze off, the sooner the wound would heal… but it was hard. Harder than when she had pushed Haraldur away, and harder than the words she had aimed to at Elespeth to wound their camaraderie. She didn’t want to let go of Naimah until she absolutely had to. When she was with her, those moments they spend in one another’s arms, or even just making light conversation, she could temporarily forget what awaited her. She could even go so far as to pretend that it wasn’t happening, at all…
She’d felt herself coming apart at the seems, after the words she’d exchanged with Alster. He was too well acquainted with the truth, and he, with his foolish optimism, insisted there was another way. But if there hadn’t been ‘another way’ for any of Gaolithe’s previous wielders… what hope did she really have?
Somehow, she managed to maintain her composure long enough to make it to Naimah’s quarters. But what awaited her this time wasn’t the kariji woman’s warm smile and open arms. On the contrary, she wore a stern look that mirrored her voice and her posture. As soon as she mentioned Alster (how the hell had he gotten here before her?!), her heart sank. “Naimah…”
But the dark-haired woman wouldn’t let her get a word in. She ordered her to sit down, and Sigrid was too stunned to argue. So Alster had unpacked everything, all on his own, merely by associating the recent change in her behaviour with what she had recently learned about Gaolithe. He had never quite let go of that evening, when Teselin had showed her a glimpse of her future, and he had run with what he knew. And now… Naimah knew, as well.
“Naimah, you don’t understand…” She began in a whisper, struggling to keep a cool composure, but the truth was, Naimah knew all too well. There were no words that could possibly placate her now, including the truth. But if the truth was what she wanted… “Gaolithe… that sword is a vestige of ancient magic. It only chooses someone to wield it during a time of great need. After what happened with Elespeth, and the threat of the very woman who nearly brought down the kingdom of Galeyn a century ago… I cannot ignore that call. Not if it means that I can keep everyone I care about safe. Not even if it means I…” I’ll be gone. I’ll be forgotten. None of this will matter…
“I was going to tell you,” she went on, her voice growing hoarse as her throat tightened. “I promise, I was. But I wanted more time… just a little more time, to pretend that all was well. To entertain the idea that my future… that I could have a future. And that you could be part of it…”
It was useless. After days of keeping her pain and sorrow well-contained, the strong and unshakable Sigrid Sorenson of the Dawn Guard finally shattered. Tears poured from her eyes, her shoulders shook, and she fell to pieces before the one person for whom she wanted to be strong. Her shoulders shook and her breath caught in her throat, and she bent over her knees to sob into her hands.
“I just… wanted more time…” She said again, her voice more broken than before. She couldn’t meet Naimah’s eyes. “I cannot refuse this fate, Naimah. You need to understand… I have to wield Gaolithe if it means that Alster and Elespeth can live a happy life together. If it means that Haraldur can safely return to his wife and their children, and be a family. If it means that you… you can have the future that you deserve. I would rather die and not be remembered than to live, knowing that I could have saved you, and everyone that I care about. Gaolithe has been the path to victory, in the past, and I cannot… I will not deny this city, Galeyn, and the D’Marians a happy ending for selfish reasons. It goes against everything that I fight for…”
At the mention of Roen’s name, Sigrid pulled her hands away from her face and looked up, her red-rimmed eyes wide with fear. “No--please, you cannot tell Roen. It will only hurt him, to know. It is not that I do not want to fight, Naimah; I exist to fight. But this battle… I do not know that this is a battle that can be fought. And I do not want to make a promise to you that I may not be able to keep…”
All of the pent up emotion, the sadness and anger and despair that the Dawn warrior had so carefully kept at bay until now, found its way out of her body in a torrent of tears and short breaths. Her hands shook; she couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t even catch her breath long enough to regain control of it. Of all of the people to crumble before, why did it have to be Naimah?! The one person for whom she wanted--no, needed to be strong. I don’t want it to end like this. Sigrid clutched her arms, her blunt fingernails digging into her indigo tunic. I don’t want your last impression of me to be full of pain… before you forget me.
“...I was never going to alienate you.” She managed to whisper, sapphire eyes fixes on the floor as tears continue to fall and wet the tips of her boots. “To be truthful… I don’t think I could. I was going to wait, until the very last moment… until there was no time left. I wanted the last chapter of my life to be about us, and to involve only you, until the end. But that… that was also selfish of me. And I’m sorry. I am sorry that there is no right decision on this matter…”
She had never seen Naimah look so determined. There was fire in the Kariji woman’s spirit; she had known that from the beginning, which was one of the reasons the Dawn warrior had fallen for her so hard, and so fast. But she had never seen it manifest in quite this manner, before. Naimah was going to take action, whether Sigrid liked it or not; whether she was even a part of it, or not. It didn’t appear that any amount of reasoning was going to persuade her to do otherwise. Sigrid straightened her slouched posture and expelled a long, shaky breath. This had all escalated far more quickly that she’d anticipated, to the point where it was out of her hands. Against all odds… the people she cared about would not sit back and allow herself to resign to her fate.
“I know… that there is nothing I can say to make you change your mind.” Sigrid sighed, wiping her damp cheeks with the back of her hand. “I didn’t want anyone to concern themselves with what happens to me. In the grand scheme of things, Naimah… I’m no one. And this issue is nothing compared to the threat that may be facing this city… I shouldn’t mean this much to you.” And yet, for whatever reason… she did. “I need to focus my energy on keeping my friends and this city safe. But if you are potentially going to put yourself in danger by finding a way to circumvent Gaolithe’s intentions… I cannot let you pursue this alone.” Her voice was laden with defeat, but… her eyes told another story. Naimah’s conviction had touched her. She honestly hadn’t known if the Kariji woman had even given thought to the future of their relationship (and she hadn’t even dared to refer to what they had as a relationship, so to hear that declaration from Naimah’s lips… there was more at stake for her than she had imagined). The fact remained that she mattered enough to more than one person, that they could not stand by and watch her disappear. And, were she in Naimah’s position… she would do the exact same thing. Just as she’d refused to give up on Haraldur.
“I won’t stop you; I’m not sure I could, even if I wanted to.” Sigrid turned her hands palms up in defeat as she stood from the bed. “So I’ll help you. If you want me to fight, I’ll fight… I don’t know that it will be enough. But I’ll fight. Tonight, though… not tonight. It’s been an exhausting day. Up until an hour ago, Elespeth’s life was still in danger, and I’ve nothing left to give after facing that sorry excuse of a council.” She hesitated, then laid a light hand on the Kariji woman’s arm as she made her way toward the door. After upsetting her so profusely… it wasn’t right to assume that she would want her to stay, tonight. “You… you should rest, too. I…” She paused, her heart heavy and laden with sadness and guilt. “I am sorry. For not confiding in you. You deserved better from me… I realize this, now, but I apologize for realizing it too late.”
Alster couldn’t deny that Elespeth’s proposition sounded appealing. Much as he brushed off the need for a ceremony surrounded by his friends and an approving crowd of D’Marians looking on with glee, a large part of him yearned for the pomp and glamour. A podium for his and Elespeth’s love to shine upon every soul, no matter how downtrodden or lost. But it was a preposterous, unrealistic dream. Why would any stranger, or mildly acquainted guest, at that, express the same level of ecstasy as two newlyweds who had experienced more hardship together than they did harmony? No reveler in his highest state of inebriation could equal their level, let alone hundreds of onlookers. So he resigned himself to their small yet intimate affair, grateful that it happened and appreciative of the few who did attend.
“We can’t afford it, Elespeth,” he said, but not a shred of disappointment clung to his rejection of his wife’s far-flung idea. “The Rigas treasury contributed to the funding of Braighdath’s festival, but it is no secret to admit that we are running low on coin, and must preserve what little we have for the betterment of our citizens. I never thought I’d have to turn my pouches inside out in search of a spare sovereign.” He smiled, a simper of downplayed futility--but his eyes crinkled with discomfort. “Of all the things I’ve experienced in life, I’ve never been poor. I know that my status, even now, makes me far from unfortunate--desirable, according to some--but when your wealth keeps others afloat, you don’t want to be the one to tell them, ‘no,’ when the money vanishes. Besides,” a light shrug dismissed the concern, “I don’t know if D’Marians will be in the mood for another celebration after how the last one ended. It’s no fault of yours or of Haraldur’s, of course. ...We’ll find a more cost-effective means of raising morale, and show our appreciation for Galeyn another way.”
As the subject naturally segued to talk of the awakened kingdom, Elespeth’s recovery remained the most pressing and time-sensitive issue to tackle. When she flat-out rejected the offer on the grounds of his absence, he shook his head and sighed, a weariness fraying the edges of his well-crafted guise. But after days of running errands, gathering support, marrying Elespeth, bouncing between the Braighdath council and the Rigas council, hammering out their defense, researching information on Locque, and investigating Sigrid’s sudden secrecy, the exhaustion did not stay hidden; it showed bright red through the cracks. “That’s sweet, El. But I have so much work to do here, it won’t even matter if you stay; I’ll be gone save for mornings and evenings. I won’t have you coming with me, tiring out your heart, just to keep yourself to a promise. Please, El,” he sat beside her and directed his entreaty into her eyes. “I need you to get better. This is your heart we’re discussing, here. If we neglect its care,” he hesitated, not daring to speak a fatal prognosis aloud, “what irreversible damage will that wreak in the long-run?”
Of course, she did not listen, however cogent his reasons. He sank into a deeper sigh, too tired to argue against her unshakeable resilience. Until…
His head perked up. He touched her hand, where it had settled upon his chest. Instead of arguing against her, he’d argue for her. If staying was what she wanted…
“You shared the pain of my rupturing heart, and kept me alive. You’ve also carried some of my magic in you, and it prevented me from dissolving to pieces. Well,” he twitched his steel arm, “almost. So I’ll do the same for you. For our survival, El.” Closing his eyes, he directed his flesh and blood hand and laid it over the arrhythmic beating of her heart. “This is nothing new for us,” he explained, in case she protested. “Besides, I was already experiencing your symptoms before, when my empathetic attunement to you was,” he paused, not wanting to reopen the wound of her guilt afresh, “a little too pronounced.” Bowing his head with concentration, he reached the center of her heart’s ailment and coaxed half the pain into his body. Through the strings of fate entwining their lives taut, the transfer happened with all the ease of water sliding down an elevated tube. When he removed his hand, the pitter-patter in Elespeth’s chest did not skip or thump with worrying prominence--as much. It followed the beat in Alster, the quick-quick-slow of a two-step as it dragged and sped...dragged and sped.
“That’s...much better.” With a kiss to prove it, he settled in Elespeth’s arms...and despite his racing heart, nodded off to sleep.
Lilica was warm. Chara was dreaming; there was no other explanation. While she believed the image presented to her--healthful weight-gain, confident bearing and all--what blurred the lines of fantasy and reality was in the temperature of the dark mage's skin. Never would a person describe Lilica as warm to the touch; one would rather call to mind a blizzard or a corpse. The whole notion of a steady, stable temperature in the woman almost wrestled Chara out of her arms, out of the illusion. But beyond the sun-ray strokes of her hands, the way she touched hadn’t changed. Tentative, unsteady, unsure. Tender, careful...questing for more. She invited the sensations trickling all around her, an explosion of stimulation so long missing, she’d forgotten its flavor. A half a year deprived of an embrace, the deliberate meeting of two hands wanting, or of mouths thirsting to drink from each other...How, after so dry her span of two seasons, did she emerge with her desire still in tact? The love she claimed was lost...perhaps it was not lost, at all. Just...in hiding.
No! She recoiled from the thoughts. She had a point to prove. The new Chara was loveless. Too drained to entertain its reemergence. Mollengard dredged it out of her, along with her spirit. Lilica was not there. Lilica did not save her. It was the randomness of the universe that did, under the guise of a mongrel. No love existed in the vortices of chaos and chance. Her life was saved on a gamble, won from the loose hand of Death. She owed her years to Fortune, and Fortune, in turn, did not owe her anything more. Definitely not happiness, a purpose, or love.
But then Lilica leaned forward, and their lips locked. And Chara wished again to rescind her beliefs on love lost, if only to enjoy something sweet from her long-ago past. It didn’t have to last, but she welcomed the memory. Welcomed the reminder of the once-had, however painful the retreading of a time lined with bougainvilleas, and color and...warmth through a corpse.
But now, she was the corpse. Her mouth didn’t even know how to respond to Lilica’s summons, too accustomed to stiff stillness. It hung. Puckering. Trying. How pathetic! She couldn’t even return the sweetness. Revive it from the time of bougainvilleas. In the end, she had to rely on Lilica to carry the memory, and the love, for two. She contributed nothing. It was a future she accepted for herself, but…not for Lilica.
When they separated, the dark mage did not reveal her disappointment or upset in the one-sided exchange. She spoke her comforts, professed her love, and wanted nothing in return but for Chara’s well-being. Oh, how this poor woman led herself astray, to think the former Rigas existed as more than a distant memory--which every day, faded, like paper dissolving in water.
“I will go with you,” she said, after so much silence. She hung limp in Lilica’s arms like a doll. “Tonight...if that is your wish. You...you are in charge.” The old Chara would have balked at the statement, but the faded Chara did not care. She had her opportunity to lead, and her way brought nothing but ruin. So now...she would heed Lilica and her way. Her promises, her hope for the future, her plans for recovery.
I shall follow you, Lilica. As you once followed me.
After Lilica essentially fished her out of the alleyway, they fetched Lysander, who awaited their arrival in his quarters. Between the two of them, her father packed and carried the most luggage. He apologized in advance for the weighty trunk, which inside contained another set of leg braces and crutches, among various accoutrements.
“As long as these sprightly Night Steeds can handle the heft.” She threw a few outfits into the trunk, mainstays from her time on the road with Briery and her caravan. “I do not suppose we will have time to inform Alster and the others of our departure?”
They decided to stop at the inn, to inquire on Elespeth’s status for the Galeyn-bound trip. A bleary-eyed Alster answered the door, hair disheveled and cheeks scored with sleep-lines. The room behind him had disappeared into darkness. “Sorry; we fell asleep.” He rubbed one eye, for full effect. “Elespeth will be staying behind. She'll arrive with me, whenever I’ve finished my affairs in Braighdath. Are--” as if only now noticing Chara and Lilica standing together, a light smile crossed his face. “You’re going with her, Chara? And--” he nodded to the gangly man blending with the walls of the dim corridor, “Lysander. I won’t lie; I’ll miss your perspicacious eye around here. But I wish you the best. May the Night Garden tend to your needs. Chara,” he clutched his cousin and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t give Lilica a hard time.”
Chara snorted. “As you have noticed, Alster, I am now the epitome of well-behaved. Like a sleepy lap cat. You needn’t worry.”
“Of course, Chara.” Alster cast Lilica a meaningful look and nodded. “Take care, the three of you.”
The Night Steeds were stabled in the barn beside the inn. Somehow, Lilica's team balanced Lysander’s enormous chest on the saddle, between the reins and a mounted Gardener. Securing him on a horse, however, proved difficult. It took the combined might of everyone to lift him and to straddle his contraption-heavy legs on opposite sides of the steed. The man, to avoid embarrassment, joked about how he put on weight and how he needed to restrict his diet to fresh greens from the Night Garden.
Chara rode in back, with Lilica. “If these steeds are what you say, and they ride the night wind like they are wrinkling time and space, I,” she wrapped her arms around the Galeyn Queen’s middle, “best hold you tight.”
Naimah, in keeping with her rougher persona, remained unmoved throughout Sigrid’s attempted excuses for why she needed to fight this specific battle. It was only when she sank to the floor in a puddle of tears that the Kariji woman eased on the intensity. She unclenched her jaw, loosened her muscles, and crouched to the distraught warrior’s level. A gentle touch on the shoulder, a nonverbal sign that she listened and understood, persisted as her sole form of communication until the tears thinned, and the sobs lifted. This raw, unfiltered reaction from someone so stouthearted and disciplined--it shook Naimah with regret, for forcing her hand and catalyzing such a strong, visceral reaction. All the same--she was glad for it. Glad to see Sigrid release her despair and frustration, to allow herself the vulnerability to cry before someone who dared not judge her for a natural, human response. Naimah had no need of people masquerading as stone, who brushed aside emotion like useless detritus. Sigrid’s position, no matter how you approached it, was a heartbreaking one; thus, she had every right to fall apart. She was allowed to dislike her (literal) soul-shattering destiny. Otherwise, she’d question the woman’s sanity.
“Sigrid,” she stroked back stray pieces of hair that had come undone from the warrior’s braid, “it’s not up to you to fight this alone. You may have the power, the sword, and the opportunity, but do you believe everyone is going to stand back, without complaint, and watch as you sacrifice yourself for the greater good? No one is asking for an end all, be all hero. We are all perfectly capable of fighting, however dire the odds. With our combined wisdom, experience, and knowledge, there is hope. And if it all ends the same,” a sad smile parted her plush lips, “we will not feel as if we wasted our time on an unchangeable outcome--for no one will remember. But that does not matter right now.” Her dark eyes beseeched Sigrid’s. “Give us the chance to help you. I cannot sit by and watch. You would agree, were our positions reversed.”
And she did agree. But not out of agreement; because she saw the fire burning in Naimah’s eyes and knew, without a doubt, that nothing would deter her from lending aid to the impossible.
“Good.” She helped Sigrid to her feet and slid her hands up and down her arms. “It is settled, then. For now, I will not tell Roen. But,” an incredulous furrow appeared between her brows, “of course you mean a lot to me, Sigrid. You have done nothing but provide me with the utmost comfort. You always seek my company, and it is a pure pursuit, not driven primarily by base desires. You are genuine, Sigrid Sorenson. Like a dashing knight, mindful of her lady.” She curtsied, for emphasis. “I must save my knight...so she can continue to save me. Since you’ve arrived in my life,” she bounded back a step and pulled up her sleeves, exposing arms free of new incisions, “I have not needed to find alternative forms of relief. You are my relief, and you have done just fine as you are. I cannot thank you or appreciate you more. It would be my honor to give my all for you.” Closing the distance between them, she held the warrior’s chin in place and kissed her. “So,” she whispered, to entice her further into the room, instead of away from it, “stay here, tonight. With me. We still have time. We shall make it so.”
A shade of color crept into Elespeth’s otherwise pale cheeks--which wasn’t entirely unwelcome, since it had been some time since the ex-knight had given off a healthy glow of any sort. Though it wasn’t for warmth, but rather, embarrassment that her cheeks flushed pink. Of course they could not a garish and lofty celebration for their wedding… With the trek from Stella D’Mare to Braighdath, combined with openly contributing to the festivities that had taken place in Braighdath to boost morale, the Rigases and D’Marians had nothing left to spare. “Of course. I’m sorry--I did not mean to imply that I expected a large celebration, Alster.” She was quick to amend, with a soft smile. “You may only be starting to become acquainted with the potential for poverty, but I’ve lived it. I, too, grew up wanting for nothing. When I fled Atvany, I had nothing but my blade, a few spare coins, and the clothes on my back. Even this,” she motion to the honey cake, a third of which was left, “is more than I could have hoped for to celebrate our union. It was merely a suggestion that we make it anything more than what it already is, but… I don’t need that. I just need you--with me. Which is why I cannot agree to leave without you…”
Elespeth laid her hands on his arms, both flesh and metal. “I don’t care that I might not see much of you. What matters is that I am near you, Alster. I won’t be torn from you again. Not even because of my defective heart…”
Alster’s blue eyes were suddenly alight with an idea. She could tell, and she knew precisely what he was about to suggest, before he even began to explain. “Alster…” The refusal was on her lips before she gave it a voice, but he would not let it stand. “Are you sure? You have an important job, right now. Rigases and D’Marians are depending on you. Should you compromise yourself in any way…”
But just as her mind was made up to stay, so, too, was Alster’s to find the means to have her stay. And the effects were almost instantaneous: with every passing second, his hand over her heart, Elespeth began to feel lighter. Sitting upright, keeping her head up and her eyes open, did not feel like such a dismally laborious chore. And by the time he took his hand away, she felt even lighter. It was easier to see, easier to breathe… she had become so accustomed to living and pushing onward in spite of her symptoms that she had forgotten what it felt like to be a healthy, fully functioning human being. “Are you alright…?” She was impelled to ask Alster when he dropped his hand, and her green eyes immediately honed in on his chest. What had this done to his heart? Even if the solution was only temporary, and any discomfort on his part was also temporary… the thought of being the reason he was in pain (once again…) did not sit well with her.
He didn’t answer her question directly, but he smiled, and in that smile was the reassurance she needed. Elespeth didn’t ask any more questions that night, but instead fell asleep in his arms with ease--through comfort and exhaustion, instead of through her tiring body’s means of giving up for the day to restore what energy it could before more demands could be made on her damaged heart the following day.
It was still Chara--of that much, Lilica was certain. She was not well, by any means, and did not stand with the same stubborn pride that she remembered her carrying so well, but deep down, it was still Chara. I understand, her actions begged to confer, as she held the broken woman to her chest. I was there, Chara. Don’t you remember? How you loved me when I was nothing but a pale husk in the wind…?
Chara had been her pillar of strength, of comfort, and of security for so long. Now, it was time for her to return the favor. To show her that the woman she’d invested her time and her love in had, in fact, been worth that love and that time.
“I’m not in charge of you, Chara.” The dark mage pointed out. She had meant to pull away, to put distance between her and the Rigas woman in case she had come on too strong with their reunion, but found herself unable to do so, when Chara’s body didn’t appear to have the strength or will to hold itself up. So she just continued to hold her, for a little longer, content to feel her heartbeat through her gown. She was alive… that had been all Lilica had asked. And Chara had kept her promise. Not to be strong, not even to be whole… just alive. The rest, they could work out along the way. “I won’t make you go. I can only ask that you will… and I can promise to help you, in any way that I can. Just like you helped me, when I was nothing more than skin and bones and… darkness.”
At last, she managed to help Chara to her feet, and the two of them left the alley to make for the Dawn Guard barracks that had been temporarily fashioned into shelter for the D’Marian refugees--where Lysander was waiting for them. She offered only a brief smile to the man, a sign of understanding and relief that she had been successful in pulling his daughter from the clutches of her own darkness just enough to put one foot in front of the other. Enough to be motivated to make her way towards recovery.
“The steeds are strong, but the less we are carrying, the faster we can travel… although, I am not sure that you can cut corners in that respect, Lysander.” She nodded to his crutches and the heavy steel leg braces that kept him upright. “In the worst case scenario, you may just arrive shortly after Lilica and myself. As for clothing and other provisions of that sort, I can guarantee neither of you will be wanting for that in Galeyn. The kingdom has really managed to pick itself up, his past handful of months…” With no thanks to its monarch, who couldn’t pick herself up fast enough, she thought bitterly. But what was done, was done. Lilica Tenebris was still far from the leader and ruling head that Galeyn deserved, but… she was trying. Making progress, slow though it might be. And for now--for Chara’s sake--that had to be enough.
She needs a pillar of strength. So that is what I will have to be.
“There is still time for farewells,” Lilica said, glancing at the night sky. Dawn was fortunately still a ways of. “So long as they are brief. Alster and the rest of the D’Marians will not be far behind us; Galeyn is prepared to take in refugees whenever they are fit to travel. That much, I suppose, we should inform your cousin.”
So they made a brief stop at the inn, where Alster and Elespeth were both staying. Lilica had overheard talk of the former Atvanian accompanying them, due to complications that had arisen with her heart, and a dire need to be stabilized at the Night Garden. But when they caught a blurry glimpse of Elespeth’s sleeping form through the darkness of the bedroom when a barely-awake Alster answered the door, it appeared as though she’d decided to stay. Alster was not long to confirm this. “Yes; Lysander and Chara will be accompanying me, tonight.” The dark caster nodded. “I suspect that the Night Garden may be able to eventually restore ample strength and mobility to Lysander’s legs, so that he needn’t be so burdened by those metal contraptions indefinitely. “And Chara…”
The scene spoke for itself, and didn’t require any explanation. Lilica and Chara were together, standing next to one another, and the latter was by no means resistant to a make her departure, that very evening. “You still have the resonance stone, yes?” Lilica confirmed before they took their leave. “Should you see fit to contact any one of us at any time, I guarantee, someone will answer. Also know that Galeyn is prepared and awaiting the arrival of refugees whenever you see fit to send them. There is no shortage of space or shelter, and somehow, the spring has managed to yield a good proportion of healthy crops.” She offered Alster a smile, before parting with the words, “I do hope to see you there, soon. You look as though you could also use reprieve from all of this.”
The Gardeners and Night steeds were awaiting them at the barn near the inn, not far from the west-most gates of the city; five horses, and seven passengers. Due to the added weight of Lysander’s tools for mobility, they determined that it was best for him to ride alone, with someone else riding close enough behind, should he require assistance. Chara, on the other hand, would ride with Lilica. It wasn’t even something that needed to be discussed; once Lysander was secure on the heftiest of the steeds, the Rigas woman climbed on behind Lilica and wrapped her arms around her slim waist. “You certainly best hold tight.” The smile in her voice reached her lips. “This isn’t a ride you’re going to get used to the very first time. So, whatever you do… don’t let go.”
Sigrid Sorenson had never felt so compelled to stand strong, as the warrior she’d been raised and primed to be, before a single individual before. What was most preposterous, was that she felt the desire to be strong for the single person for whom it didn’t matter. Naimah was not about pretenses and masks; she, herself, was unapologetic in her identity, her chosen path, and her decisions. So what did it matter, to shed a few tears before her? Why was it so embarrassing when she knew, down to her core, that the Kariji woman was far from judging her for it?
It isn’t the tears. A voice at the back of her mind reminded her. It isn’t the anger or the sorrow. You’re not grieving for what you might lose; you are grieving because you have been found out, and called out. And now, you are forced to explain yourself, for it.
“No one was supposed to know. No one has ever known; Gaolithe has kept its dark secret, up until now.” The stricken Dawn warrior expelled a shaky, her cheeks flushed red from the force of her sobs. “You weren’t supposed to know. We were supposed to have continued on, until… until we couldn’t, anymore. I would be gone, but you… it wouldn’t matter, because you wouldn’t remember. You would still be happy. It would be as if we… as if you had never met me. You’d still have a chance to be happy…”
Perhaps, in the time they had grown to know one another, however, Sigrid had underestimated the impact she’d had on the lives of those surrounding her--Naimah, included. The blonde warrior cleared the tears from her eyes long enough to take note of the dark skin of the Kariji woman’s arms. They were still streaked with paler scars, but there were no scabs to suggest any new lacerations had been made recently. She remembered the first time Naimah had shown her the secret beneath her bandaged arms; it had startled Sigrid, to find that someone with Naimah’s beauty and survival instinct could inflict such unnecessary punishments upon herself. Now, it was not the wounds that took her aback, but the healed scars--some which had already begun to fade, no more than faint lines against her alluring flesh. Sigrid felt impelled to reach out and brush her calloused fingers against Naimah’s arms, not astounded for the fact that she had ceased her habit of self-harm (which frankly came as a great relief), but because of the implication that she was the reason for this positive change.
“I don’t want you to give your all for me, Naimah.” She whispered, swallowing the lump in her throat. “You’ve already done more for me than I can ever repay. I’d been living with a broken heart and entirely lacking the confidence to heal it… before you. You don’t owe me anything. I just want you to be happy… with or without me, a want a happy life for you. Whatever that might be…”
Sigrid closed her eyes and relished Naimah’s kiss, a conflicting mixture of relief and desire combined with the bitter edge of sadness and hopelessness all mingling in her gut. She should have walked away, then, to spare the Kariji woman from having to witness her falling apart for another moment--but Naimah had other ideas. She’d always been driven by her own motivations, always had what she needed to make up her own mind. And for whatever reason, her heart was set on keeping the Dawn warrior on this plane of existence… because she wanted to. Because she wanted her.
Naimah didn’t have to ask her twice to stay; not when it spared her from having to face the world outside with a tear-streaked face that she’d rather not have to explain. “You’re right… we still have time. We still have now.” Sigrid whispered, drawn by her enticing presence, and captured her mouth in another kiss. “Let’s hold onto now for as long as we can…”
Preparations were made as early as the next morning to send the first wave of refugees to Galeyn. It was a process that would inevitably take some time; thousands of people were, after all, without a home, and even with the aid of Night steeds and Eyraille’s rocs, only a few were able to mount at a time, and the animals only had it in them to make so many treks between the kingdom and the city in a day.
But that did not stop Alster from being on top of things. With Elespeth’s trial having drawn to an abrupt (albeit uneasy) close, the Rigas head’s focus rapidly returned to that of transitioning his people to Galeyn--anything to get the D’Marians (not to mention, his wife) out of Braighdath before what remained of the city’s aid and hospitality ran out. Elespeth’s new freedom had not cleared her name, and news of her hearing was met with mixed feelings among Braighdathians; whatever remained of the Rigas’s favorable ties with the city would not be long lived, and so the timeframe with which Alster was given to work was a tenuous one.
Elespeth didn’t even awaken to see him leave, early that morning, to help prepare some of the refugees for travel to happen in the near future. Even if she had sought him out that day, her chances (or anyone’s, for that matter) of tracking him down were slim. It was pure coincidence, then, that a familiar dainty, blonde-haired acrobat happened to cross paths with him, early that afternoon. Cwenha didn’t even deign to call his name, before reaching out an halting his hurried steps with a hand on his shoulder. “Alster Rigas… you look like you need to catch your breath.” The slight acrobat raised her eyebrows at the bags under the Rigas head’s eyes, the way sweat beaded on his brow. While it was a warm day in early summer, it was not sweltering, though she could tell from his breathing alone that his heart was racing in his chest.
“Whatever you’re doing in such a hurry, it won’t matter, in the end, if you pass out and aren’t able to do it.” Without another word, she thrust a hide-sewn water flask into his hands, and stared him down before he conceded and took a long drink. “I heard the news about your fiancee--well, everyone did, I’m sure. Or… your wife, now, is it?”
Ever with an eye for detail, not unlike Briery, it hadn’t surpassed Cwenha’s attention that a ring now adorned Alster’s previously bare ring finger. “Well, you should’ve told me; I’d have brought a wedding gift.” The blonde shook her head, pale curls bouncing off her bare shoulders. “Anyway; Briery has been meaning to tell you that if there is anything the Missing Links can do to be of help in this mass exodus, then do let us know. None of us likes to be idle for too long, and there is only so much you can do to entertain the same crowd for weeks on end. Frankly, I’m beginning to dislike the crowd that we are attracting…”
Something cold and hollow passed through Cwenha’s pale eyes, and she clasped her hands to her elbows, but didn’t go on to elaborate. “Whatever duties you are fulfilling right now, you should know well enough to take a step back before you burn out. What good will it do the D’Marians to make it to Galeyn if there isn’t anything left of their leader when they get there?” She asked, and then, on an entirely new note: “Why don’t you and your wife come and dine with us, later? I’d prefer alternate company to that mutt that Briery keeps as a companion.” Her heart-shape mouth pulled into a childlike pout. “Sometimes the summoner has been joining us, but I’ve seen less of her, of late, and she’s the only thing that keeps Hadwin in check. It would benefit all of us--you and your wife as well--to be in better company, I think.”
Little rest graced Alster before the selfish sun blared through the slats of the curtains and catapulted him into wakefulness. When he opened his eyes, his surroundings seemed...more saturated than usual. As though he were seeing the world through yellow-colored glass. It was a sickly color, and one that did not remain static. Swirls and blurred shapes danced like a blizzard of light motes in his eyes, and its persistence drove him to the chamber pot to evacuate his stomach. The bits that hurled out of his mouth taunted him with the same, sickly yellow.
With a sigh, he sagged forward on the edge of the bed he shared with Elespeth and pressed a hand over his chest. It thrummed with the speed of a hummingbird’s wings, and his stomach answered the rhythm in kind, flipping and knotting and having retaliated with bilious fluids; their exit from the body had seized the chest in a binding squeeze of pain. The contractions, a usual occurrence for Alster and his compromised constitution, clamped with more intensity against his weakened heart. By the time Elespeth rose to check on her husband, he was already gasping. When she inquired after his health, he shook his head and put on a smile.
“It’s a touch of morning sickness, that’s all. Though I’m not expecting any children,” he joked, patting his stomach. “Even with the Serpent’s blessing, I’m often having to deal with one stomach-related affliction or another. No need to worry.” As he propelled off the bed, he kissed Elespeth with an energy he did not possess and threw himself into a morning routine.
“There’s so much I need to do,” he muttered aloud, splashing water on his face with one hand, combing through his hair with the other. He yanked on his clothes with an impressive speed, considering one arm did not function with either mobility or dexterity in mind. Afterward, he stuffed a piece of leftover honey cake into his mouth.
“I have to run,” he said, but with the food obstructing his tongue, it sounded like the half-understood gibberish of a drunken fool. With a wave of goodbye, he vaulted out the door, and carried through the day ahead with the similar amount of aplomb he’d demonstrated to Elespeth.
By the halfway point, however, his energy depleted and reduced him to a shuffling lifeform with leaden eyes that refused to stay open. The aftermath of Elespeth’s trial hung as heavy as perfume in the streets of Braighdath, and every citizen that saw him out in the open behaved one of three ways. They deliberately ignored him, they affixed him with hostile stares before murmuring an off-color comment he was sure to hear, or they approached him and laid all their grievances bare. In particular, one woman and her words stayed with him all day.
“You have some nerve, dishonoring our hospitality with that display you put on. You and your wicked wife and your whole disgraced nation can rot for all I care! I can’t wait until you unappreciative lot move out of my city. I hate you all!” They were the words of a mother of three. She spat at his feet as she carted off two toddlers and an infant. Throughout her tirade, he remained calm and did not engage, but it took all his willpower not to retort on the wrongness of her argument. Elespeth was innocent; the council did not speak for justice; and Stella D’Mare was more than ready to evacuate her precious city. But worse than his desire to fight back...was his desire to apologize. I’m sorry that this happened at all, part of him wanted to say. Your concerns are valid, I know. And I’m nothing but appreciative of your efforts. Your city, your people...if not for them, we’d be worse off than we are now. I’m merely fighting for my family. Please understand.
Please…
When she departed from him in a huff, he could not help the tears of shame that welled in his eyes. He knew he did the right thing; of course he did. But to see others so impacted by the results, so hateful of him, of Elespeth, of the D’Marians who did not reflect his actions and who merely longed for home, a home...it made him second-guess his leadership position. Was he nothing but a disappointment? After all...he was all too ready to ruin reputations and start a war to protect Elespeth’s innocence. Did he have another choice? However much he tried to overcome his past, he was always Serpent Bane to someone. If not to the Rigases, than to a struggling mother and her children. Even after years of facing the insults, the torment, the thrown stones, and the crippling comments, he never developed a resistance to them--because deep inside, he deserved every dismantling word and action. But did he deserve Braighdath’s ire? Did they deserve his?
After that encounter, and the several others to come, Alster kept to the shadows when he traveled, or concealed his form with a spell. Going incognito helped the day move at a more tolerable pace, considering the work involving the Braighdath to Galeyn transfer of refugees was a tedious slog. Location zoning, overseeing the construction of a small depot for D’Marians awaiting transit, census taking to determine early eligibility, and setting up Night steed arrival and departure schedules with Galeyn officials via resonance stone...by mid-afternoon, Alster, though happier for the toils of labor than of irate civilians, had exhausted the last of his energy. Reduced to nothing but cold shivers, he draped his weight over a low-hanging tree limb, too light-headed to remain upright on his own. In an attempt to will his overactive stomach and the dashing of his heart to calm, he focused his eyes closed and, though he tried, he failed to breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. Uneven panting puttered out of him, instead.
Relax, he instructed himself, in a last-ditch effort to achieve mastery over his failing body. People can see you. Wait until you are alone…
The tapping of his shoulder and utterance of his name snapped his eyes open. His heart almost leapt out of his mouth as he whirled towards the source of the terror-inducing disturbance. All functions threatened to shut down at once, but he held firm and commanded control once he saw who it was to grab his attention.
“C-Cwenha,” he stuttered, gasping his relief--though his heart now galloped like a Night steed across the fields of a moonless night. “I...was catching my breath.” But he took the acrobat’s flask in hand and managed to still his mouth gaping long enough to introduce a refreshing draught of water into his system. With a grateful nod, he returned her flask.
“Yes.” He brought his ringed hand into view, but withdrew it the moment the tremors prevented it from stabilizing. “We did marry. I would have liked to invite more guests, but it was a last-minute affair, and the room didn’t allow for more than,” he took a needed breath, “several people at a time. And it’s...well, it’s not common knowledge. Wasn’t,” he remedied, remembering now that the entire court of Braighdath knew of his affiliations with the former accused. “A gift isn’t necessary. I’m too indebted to you and your troupe to ask for anything else in return; really. But...I’ve been meaning to stop by for a visit.” A sheen of guilt intermingled with the beads of sweat on his brow. “I owe it to you, after my behavior from last time. I apologize, Cwenha. So, if mine and Elespeth’s company tonight serves as recompense for my foibles, then,” he squeezed out a smile, “consider it done. And I’ll see what I can do about your other request--about slowing down. But,” he sighed, “with so much to do...I can’t make any promises. I’ll see you tonight, though. Take care, as well, Cwenha. And--if anyone in your audience ever gives you a hard time and they are D’Marian, remember,” a twinkle appeared in his eye, “they answer to me.”
By some miracle, Alster arrived at the inn in one piece early that evening, greeting Elespeth with a tired smile as he entered their shared room. “We’ve been invited to Briery’s caravan for dinner tonight,” he informed her, though he did not look at her as he relayed the news. The bed beckoned his attention, with its soft coating of eiderdown sheets and enticing fluffed pillows. He sat on the bed’s edge, allowing himself to experience a sliver of what he could not have, by stroking along its surface with his good hand. “If you’re feeling up to it, we should head out now. But,” he sighed, “it’s hostile out there. I don’t want to attract unwanted attention on us, so,” he lifted his hand from the bed, followed by the rest of him, “stay close to me, and I’ll conceal us from view.”
As instructed, they left the inn enshrouded behind Alster’s spell. They meandered down the city streets, keeping to the darkest paths, until they reached the guarded gate. Forced to show themselves to the Dawn warrior on duty, he lifted the shroud and secured their clearance to pass out of the city without fuss. Now outside the boundaries of Braighdath, Alster didn’t worry about reactivating the spell (if he did, he wasn’t sure he’d make it to Briery’s caravan before passing out). But they had arrived at the brightly painted wagons without the need to carry each other to the inviting fire that sparked and popped in the balmy night air. Briery stood to greet them from her position near the fire, which was busy licking hunks of meat and skewers of roasting vegetables on a spit.
“Thank you for inviting us,” Alster said, but his smile hinted at some guilt he still could not reconcile. “After last time, I thought maybe you didn’t want me around, anymore.”
“It’s bygones, Al. Plus, I scared it out of you,” a cheery voice chimed in from behind. When Alster turned around, he saw Hadwin rolling into camp, though the enormous barrel in his company was doing the brunt of the rolling. “Hope you’re in the mood for wine, because I got a great deal on this fine specimen, here.” He hefted the barrel upright and displayed it proudly beside a makeshift table where all the food, once it finished cooking, would sit.
“That’s a nice gesture, Hadwin,” even though you got it for yourself, I bet, Alster thought, “but I don’t think I’ll be partaking, tonight.”
The faoladh snorted and drummed a hand on the barrel. It gonged in protest. “Nonsense. Wine’s good for the heart, so I’ve heard.”
“Yes. In small increments.”
“Eh. It’s all the same to me.” He shrugged and flipped his attention to Elespeth. “And how’re you doing, troublemaker? I guess that’s one thing you and I have in common now, hmm? Anyway, you better have brought your appetite, because I made a gift for you and your beau, and it’s edible.”
“Edible?” Alster frowned, not sure he liked the combination of ‘made’ and ‘edible’ coming out of Hadwin’s mouth.
“It’s not ready yet. But don’t worry,” he laughed at the twin expressions of dubiousness written on Alster and Elespeth’s face. “If you don’t like it, I didn’t have a hand in cooking anything else you see here tonight. All I did was catch the rabbits--so you can rest easy. Speaking of,” he grabbed Alster’s shoulders and sat him next to Cwenha, “you’re swaying on your feet. You don’t look so great, yourself,” he motioned to Elespeth, and pointed to the empty spot beside her husband. “Better, but still shitty.” Before he left the vicinity of the fire to check on his ‘gift,’ he stopped mid-stride and looked over his shoulder. “While I put the finishing touches on my masterpiece, I could sure go for a musical interlude to keep my spirits high. Hey, Al, won’t don’t you show Cwenha what you’ve been working on?”
Alster’s face immediately turned crimson. “Working on? What are you talking about?”
“Oh, c’mon, this is a perfect time to impress your idol...or alienate her forever.” The Rigas head sank further into his seat. Hadwin chuckled and roved his eyes on Cwenha. “I caught him out here once when he thought he was alone, singing a rendition of one of your songs. It was adorable. Ah, Alster,” he cooed, when the caster deliberately avoided eye contact with everyone, “nothing to be ashamed of. And I’m sure your wife would love it, too. Besides, you always said you wanted to make it up to Cwenha, and the troupe, for being an ass.”
Alster’s head shot up at Hadwin. “You said it was bygones!”
The faoladh waved a dismissive hand at him. “Changed my mind. After you do this one thing, you’re good.”
“Fine,” he muttered. Closing his eyes, he cleared a few ragged breaths out of his lungs and began to sing. In clear tenor, he conveyed a melodically-similar tune to one of Cwenha’s most popular songs, adjusted for pitch. It mirrored her song, and perhaps that was the point; to instill a visual of looking into the calm surface of a pond to question one’s existence. The song served as a complement, a reprise, an answer, and Alster sang it with the same sonorous timbre; haunted and soulful--but with a slight uplight in the end, to indicate hope. When he finished, he opened his eyes and kept them positioned firmly on the ground. His arms cocooned around his torso, as if to shield his battering ram of a heart from bursting out of his ribcage. “I’m,” he paused, and cleared his throat, “I’m ready for that wine, now.”
Hadwin grinned. “Thought so. But first,” he fished something out of a much smaller fire, rimmed in a wall of stones. Under the red-orange glow of multiple light sources, it appeared round, golden-brown, and loaf-shaped. He set the object on the table and shed his hands of the rags he used to lift it. “It’s a specialty sweet-bread. We used to make ‘em in my neck of the woods. Primarily for weddings and festivals. And no, it won’t kill you,” he crossed his arms, “because believe it or not, I used to do this for a living. Since you fell into the snares of peer-pressure, you, my good friend, get the first slice. And the first share of wine. You have to share it with Elespeth, though. Eating it together represents a happy union or some shit like that.” After presenting Alster with the bread and a goblet full of the red swill as promised, Hadwin sidled next to Briery and answered her disapproving glance with a satisfied smirk. “What?” he whispered, so the others wouldn’t hear. “I’m sure Alster’s little tribute song made Cwenha’s night. And now our guests are more likely to help me drink the hell out of this wine. It’s a win-win. No regrets.”
“Well… I’ll try not to be offended that I didn’t receive a last-minute invitation to your big event.” Cwenha teased Alster, the corner of her pert mouth pulling upward into a grin. “To be honest, I haven’t had my nose in all of this business, lately. I only found out because Briery was concerned for you and Elespeth and pulled a few cards to look into your future. By the time she saw this,” she nodded to the ring on his finger, “it had already happened. In all seriousness, though… I am happy for you. That was a bold move, and frankly, the two of you have been through enough, in my humble opinion. So… consider this invitation to dinner a belated celebration on our part.”
When he was through with the water flask (although rehydration hadn’t seemed to restore colour to his pale cheeks), she took it back and returned it to the belt draped above her small hips. “There’s no need to keep apologizing about your behaviour, you know. Hadwin explained it all… well, as much as I am willing to believe his take on anything.” She rolled her eyes in emphasis of her strong opinion of the faoladh. “Although, it did seem too elaborate for the likes of him to make up on the fly. I’m just happy you are back to yourself. It really offended me when you couldn’t seem to care less for my performance, the night that the Eyraillian prince tried to take out the wolf man.” The pout on her lips and the furrow to her brow spoke the truth of that statement; that a part of her had been hoping her song would move him, again. When it didn’t, and when she had reflected on what Hadwin had said about her voice and its ability to reach others… she had actually begun to doubt herself. “But… it wasn’t your fault, exactly. So I won’t hold it against you. But I do expect you to come and see us, tonight. Don’t expect anything fancy--it isn’t our style. But I can guarantee good company… well, with the exception of Kavanagh.”
Her sweet smile returned as she reached out to touch his shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Rigas. Not just for your people; don’t burn yourself out before you and your wife have a chance to enjoy being married.”
Elespeth, in understanding Alster’s situation and the hefty responsibility on his shoulders to organize the exodus of his people to their new place of refuge, did not pursue him when he left early that morning. It required every ounce of willpower to respect his wishes, however, and not trail him like his own shadow. It had startled and worried her to awaken, only to find him so violently ill, that morning. While she was well aware of the congenital troubles of the stomach that he’d suffered for a good deal of his life, it also wasn’t lost on her that his discomfort had occurred the very morning after he had taken some of her heart’s debilitating symptoms into his own. Looking back on the previous night, if she had known he would be so eager to please her and accommodate her desire to stay behind in Braighdath as he organized the movement of the refugees… she’d never have denied his desire for her to go with them. Not if it meant her husband would suffer pain that he did not deserve…
But what was done, was done. And if she had decided to stay behind, then she refused to be a burden to Alster.
When he arrived that evening, Elespeth knew she was not imagining the pallor of his face or the sweat on his brow. Her husband murmured something about Briery inviting them to her caravan, that evening, but the ex-knight was more concerned with helping the Rigas mage to the bed, as he looked positively drawn with exhaustion. “That is kind of your acrobat friend… but you’re exhausted, Alster. Let’s just stay here, tonight--both of us. We can order some food from the inn, eat it peacefully up here, and call it an early night. You’re exhausted…” A gentle hand moved a lock of blonde hair away from his forehead as she took a seat next to him, “You’re running yourself ragged with responsibilities. And what you did for me last night… don’t think that I don’t know how that is affecting you, Alster. You know I can feel it…” In emphasis, she turned her scarred palm upright. “Just rest. Your circus friends will surely understand…”
But, as it were, Alster had made a promise--of course he had. The man was far too polite to turn down an invitation out of good will. He would be there; and that mean that she would be coming with him. If for no other reason than to ascertain he would be alright, and wouldn’t pass out on the way.
“I’m not afraid of Braighdath. If we’re going to leave the inn, then let them see us.” She lifted her chin defiantly; let the city try and interfere with their happiness. In her eyes, that had already won. “There’s no need for you to waste your energy cloaking us with magic. And anyway, it seems that we now have the Dawn Guard on our side... “
Truth be told, however, Elespeth hadn’t set foot outside the inn, for that very fear: that she would not be well received by the public, and she couldn’t trust those on her side to protect her from their ire. Alster, however, had been out and about all day, and had witnessed it first hand. If he truly thought there was a need to conceal themselves from wandering eyes… then she was willing to bet that it wasn’t just out of caution or paranoia. So they left, as soon as he managed to catch his breath, and made their way into the streets of the city that could no longer look at them the same way. Her husband, to his credit, came through with the his spell of concealment all the way to the gates of the city, while managed to stay standing upright. But she noticed that he did not reactive it after they passed the Dawn guard on duty, and at that point, placed a hand on his arm. He had looked exhausted, before; how he was pushing onward, still, was beyond her. “We can stop and sit, if you like,” she suggested gently, but the Missing Links’ caravan was just up ahead. And by the fire blaring in a pit, and the smell of meat and spices wafting toward them, the troupe appeared to be ready and waiting.
“Alster.” The woman who Elespeth recognized as the ringleader had risen to greet the two of them. When last she had seen her, she’d been clad entirely in gold, with heavy make-up. Now, she sported a simple grey tunic and leggings, but residual sparkle still seemed to cling to her cheeks and along her hairline. “Cwenha said she’d delivered the invitation--I’m glad you could make it. And Elespeth.” She closed the distance to clasp one of the former knight’s hands, her warm smile reaching her brown eyes. “We haven’t formally met, yet. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I can only imagine that anyone married to the infamous Alster Rigas must be a very special person, indeed.”
“The pleasure’s all mine.” Elespeth returned the smile. “Anyone Alster speaks so kindly of is also noteworthy, in my humble opinion. I regret that I didn’t get the chance to see your show in its entirety, the other day… but you and your troupe are amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed talent like yours.”
“You also haven’t had the pleasure of trying our cooking, yet.” Briery winked, and led the two toward the fire, where meat and vegetables were roasting over the tips of the white flames. “I’m happy the two of you could join us. It’s about time you left that inn and stretched your legs; and we’ve been starved for good company. No offense, of course.” She called over her shoulder at Hadwin and flashed a cheeky grin. “I suppose I should take that back--Hadwin is always an ideal source of entertainment. But, the more, the merrier; wouldn’t you agree?”
It didn’t surprise Elespeth in the least to find that the faoladh was among the troupe. After all, his close connection with the ringleader wasn’t something she’d forgotten in all the mayhem surrounding her case. However, his jovial demeanor at their arrival did unsettle her a little bit. Certainly, she and him had found far more civilized ground, of late, and he technically was to thank for pulling Alster back the person he was always meant to be, but… did that really change the fact that he didn’t like her?
“Dare I ask where you got your hands on all that wine?” Elespeth asked the shape shifter, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.
“We’re not supposed to ask questions. The less we know about where and how he acquires these things, the less trouble we’ll be in when he gets caught.” The small, blonde-haired acrobat and singer from the troupe approached the two of them. “Elespeth, is it? I have to say,” she nodded to the former knight’s left hand, “that ring certainly looks better on your hand than it does on the ground.”
Colour flooded Elespeth’s cheeks. Had she been the one to find her ring? Talk about a small world… “I, uh…”
“Cwenha.” The tiny blonde woman extended her hand in greeting. “Yes, I found your ring in the middle of uncharted woods. And I met your husband back in Eyraille. We have him to thank for the renewed vitality of our ringleader. So, by extension, you should know you’re always welcome at these caravans, whenever our paths should cross.”
“That is… very kind of you, Cwenha.” Elespeth’s lips twisted into a shaky smile as she shook the smaller acrobat’s hand. “Alster keeps good friends. I am glad to finally be meeting all of you.”
Hadwin, however, was not about to let her off the hook without a word, so she turned to address the faoladh with that same uncertain smile. “I suppose the difference between us is that I don’t go looking for trouble,” she pointed out. “But… since you did go to all that ‘trouble’ to acquire that wine, I’ll have a glass. Why not?” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug and smiled. “I’m feeling better today, anyway. Though I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit that I’m a little leary of whatever it is you’ve prepared that we’re expected to eat.” Alster must have shared in her sentiments, as he didn’t look particularly eager to partake in whatever it was Hadwin had prepared.
As they took a seat before the fire, Elespeth knew that Hadwin wasn’t wrong. Alster looked far too tired to be hungry; she wondered if coming here tonight had been a mistake. “It’s been a long… well, it’s not as though the days have been kind to us since we arrived.” She said, as a response to Hadwin’s comment regarding how terrible they both looked. “I don’t think either of us will be well until the last of the D’Marians have been seen safely to Galeyn, and us along with them. So you’re just going to have to deal with the fact we’ll be looking less than stellar, until then.”
She should have known Hadwin wasn’t one to walk away without having the last word. The faoladh didn’t take his leave of the bonfire before making a strange comment to Alster that seemed to have everyone confused except for him. Cwenha even furrowed her eyebrows, the beginnings of a glare forming on her fair face. “You can’t leave well enough alone, can you?” She snapped at the faoladh. It was immediately clear to Elespeth that Hadwin’s relationship with Cwenha was far different from that of his and Briery’s. “The poor man is exhausted. So what if he was singing? A song stops belonging to you the moment you share it with someone else. Just because he has a rendition of something he heard me sing doesn’t mean he owes it to me to hear it.”
“I was under the impression this was a casual gathering, Hadwin. As happy as I am that you are in part responsible for returning Alster to the man he once was, we didn’t come here to be reminded of our mistakes.” Elespeth sighed, dropping her face into her hands. “If I’d known you were going to single out Alster, I’d have made him stay home…”
Alster wasn’t in a fighting mood, though. For some reason--either to placate the wolf man, or to, in fact, impress the petite blonde singer and acrobat--he conceded. The small encampment fell silent as the Rigas mage’s voice flooded the still, early summer air. A beautiful and haunting melody on his lips, that even stilled the movement of bodies in nearby tents. Elespeth was enticed to close her eyes and block out everything but the sonours fabric of his song. It wasn’t the first time that she had heard Alster sing; she had vague memories of his voice lulling her to sleep during difficult times. But this was the first time she had ever witnessed him ‘performing’ his talent for ears other than her own, and… she was mesmerized. And by the look on the tiny blonde’s face, so was Cwenha.
“That was beautiful,” Elespeth assured Alster, touching his cheek as he looked down with the palpable desire to disappear. “You have no reason to be embarrassed.” She half-expected Cwenha to say something, as well, but on glancing at the blonde woman again, she seemed to have retreated into herself, sitting taut and still with her blue eyes on the fire; saying nothing, and acknowledging no one. Before she had the chance to openly ask the singer what she had thought of Alster’s beautiful rendition of her song, Hadwin came forth with a loaf of heady-smelling bread. Much though she wasn’t sure she trusted his cooking (or baking… or anything he did, for that matter), she had to admit, it smelled delightful.
Accepting a glass of wine along with Alster, they cut a slice of the bread, and as per the faoladh’s suggestion, split the piece between the two of them. It was delectable; not quite sweet enough to be a pastry, but leagues superior to an ordinary piece of bread. “Hadwin--why did you ever leave your job? I’d say you have a calling.” Elespeth was already reaching for another slice of the bread, as Briery and another man, who she’d heard her refer to as Rycen, removed the vegetables and roasted rabbits from the spits. “This is delicious… and very thoughtful of you. Thank you.”
Briery had been prepared to intervene, should Alster have felt completely bullied into singing when he didn’t want to, but thought better of it when he Rigas mage came forth and did it willingly. Truth be told… she was glad she hadn’t jumped in to save the day, even if she didn’t approve of putting Alster under pressure to perform. “You’re off the hook this time,” she told the faoladh when he called her out on her dirty look. “And only because everyone here and beyond enjoyed his talent. Though… truth be told, I wish he’d done this, sooner. For Cwenha. I could tell she was moved…”
But when her eyes roved to where the singer had been sitting, she found that space before the fire vacant. Her brows knit together with concern. “Where did she…”
Upon surveying the area, it wasn’t difficult to catch sight of Cwenha’s white-blonde hair against the dark of night. She was several paces away, toward the forest edge (which that, alone, gave Briery pause to worry, knowing that that very forest was where Elespeth had encountered a single nefarious being), and speaking with a young man--a D’Marian. A Rigas, in fact, judging by his gently pointed ears. He seemed harmless enough; sweet, even, with a handful of striking wildflowers that were obviously for Cwenha… The ringleader’s heart all but stopped in that moment. She knew precisely how this was going to end, but there was no time to interfere.
“Why? Because my song ‘moved’ you? Because of my face, my hair? Or the way I spun on the trapeze? What is the purpose of--” she gestured to the flowers, the same way one would a dead rat. “Those?”
The young man looked taken aback and confused. His eyes glanced downward at the flowers. “I’m sorry… I know these aren’t much. I just… I’ve been wanting to meet you. Since I heard you sing, but I didn’t see fit to approach you without a gift…” He somehow managed a shaky smile. “But… can’t they be for all of the above? When I saw you perform, you took my breath away. It’s almost as if… I’m sorry, I know this sounds ridiculous, but it’s as if you’re too good to be real. They--well, most of this encampment, anyway… they call you the Silver Fairy. Though I imagine fairies surely pale in comparison…”
“Well I’m not a damned fairy. And what if I didn’t sing? What if I couldn’t balance on the trapeze? What if my hair were a different colour, of if there were scars on my face?” Cwenha’s tone took on something fierce, enough that she could be heard by her troupe several paces away. It startled the young man such that he stumbled back a few steps. “You think I do what I do just to get this kind of attention? Well I’ve got news for you: I do it for the damned money. It’s a job, and it’s all a fucking act. So whatever you’ve romanticized me to be in your thick head, I suggest you get over it real fast. And take your ‘gift’ with you.”
Practically leaving steam trailing behind in her wake, Cwenha stalked away, straight into the woods, leaving the poor D’Marian behind in a miasma of embarrassment, confusion, and regret. Briery, who had been handling the vegetables, quickly handed them off to Rycen without a word, before making her way toward the rejected young man.
“I… I’m so sorry. I just…” He stared down at the flowers in his hands, his shoulders drooping, heavy and sad. “I wanted to say thank you…”
“That was a sweet gesture, dear. I promise, she appreciated it more than she lets on.” The ringleader attempted to mitigate Cwenha’s damaged and draped an arm around her would-be suitor’s shoulders. “It isn’t you. We’re all just wound up from everything that’s been happening within and without the city. Where are you staying? Let me walk you back.”
Elespeth, who had been just as privy to the scene as the others, furrowed her eyebrows in concern and glanced from Alster, to Hadwin, to Rycen, wondering if anyone had any idea as to exactly what had incited such a response. “Is… she alright?”
Rycen whistled, and placed the roasted vegetables on a large ceramic plate for those to take as they pleased. “Poor sod. Cwenha doesn’t break hearts; she tears them to shreds and throws those shreds in the fire.” He shook his head. “She’ll cool her heels and Briery will be back shortly. Help yourself to the wine, meat, and vegetables, in the meantime.”
Despite the fact that both Cwenha and Elespeth sprung to his defense, Alster shook his head and bade them stop. It was far less exhausting to concede to the request than resist it, and if the events of the last few days were of any indication, he had learned to abhor unnecessary conflict. “No,” he voiced aloud, “it’s really fine. I took the risk by singing aloud for anyone to eavesdrop. Perhaps I wanted someone to hear. For someone, even...to be moved, as I have been moved. To make up for the harm I’ve caused, for this role I’ve acquired. In the end...all I want is to heal.”
And so he sang his song of healing, one heavily borrowed from another’s song of pain. Not that his version was devoid of hardship and abuse; the scars stretched across the tune, their welts impossible to ignore. The wellspring of hope at its terminus was more of an entreaty than a certainty. Although the last note changed from a minor to a major, and uplifted the cracks like a sapling emerging from the dirt, the pain never vanished. While beautiful foliage concealed the ravages of the earth over time, the memory of damage persisted, witnessed in the shape of the land.
When he opened his eyes and returned to the bonfire, to the whiff of meats and hardy vegetables, to the gentle press of his wife beside him, he pretended, for a little while longer, not to exist on their plane of reality. He didn’t doubt Elespeth would praise his song, but for its intended audience...what if it caused her offense? What if he misconstrued its message and twisted it to fit his own perversions?
The masochistic half of him decided to lift his head and gauge her reaction. Wide-eyed shock read on her face. In the darkness, with the firelight ever-shifting its perspective from person to person, the shadows invaded her position when the flames retreated. Now, she appeared as nothing more than a moon in full wane, different than the silver coin that spun and clinked on stage like a beacon.
“I’m sorry,” he mouthed, but without a voice to word his apology, it was lost to the roar of the fire--and to the roar of a lion fast approaching. No, not a lion. A wolf. He did not come baring teeth, however, but a gift.
He blinked, in full, to the reality of his world, and noticed the plate presented on his lap: fluffy bread, encrusted with sugar, smelling of butter and warmth. Curled in his hand, a goblet of wine, sister to the one Elespeth held in hers. Following her lead, he lifted the split slice of bread and placed it in his mouth. The favorable scents that emanated from the loaf combined on his tongue; the sweet, buttery, warm fluff exploding out of a flaky outer shell that, when dissolved, added an aftertaste of salt and satisfaction. “This is...rather good,” he said, his previous skepticism over Hadwin’s culinary pursuits dissolving with every bite he and Elespeth devoured together.
“And here you were, thinking my food was poison.” With a mock look of affront, Hadwin tsked his disappointment aloud. “Don’t forget that I was in charge of feeding Teselin and Chara after I sprung ‘em from Mollengard’s prison.”
“No, no, you’re right; my apologies.” Alster bowed his head. “It’s not fair to you. You’ve done a lot for me so far. For us. And you volunteered your services without demanding compensation. And now--you bake us bread. I’d be careful were I you, Hadwin. The more you aid others, the more people are going to wonder if you’re putting up a false front, presenting yourself the way you do.” Alster took a sip of wine. On top of the bread, the drink, and whatever else he would, out of politesse, consume that evening, he was prepared to lose it all by night’s end or the morning after. Since it didn’t matter what his stomach kept or tossed, his prior sip evolved into a liberal gulp, and he was more than happy to fill his plate with vegetables and another slice of Hadwin’s bread.
“Hah.” The faoladh snorted. “And what, praytell, do I have to gain by making an enemy of you, Alster Rigas?”
“Well, earlier--”
“--Like you said, I gotta be careful how I present myself, hmm? No point in helping you if I can’t bust your balls from time to time. Otherwise, what’s in it for me?”
“Respect?”
“Can’t do what you want if too many people respect you. Makes you a slave to accountability, doesn’t it? Speaking of,” he snapped his fingers and turned to Elespeth as a belated answer to her question. “I left that job ‘cause I hated it. It was my da who threw me into an apprenticeship with a local baker as a way to ‘cull’ my behavior. To mold me, like dough, into some productive member of the clan. I bet that’s why he chose a bread shop. Cheeky fucker.” He popped each one of his fingers, as though waiting to shadow-box with his father’s memory at any moment. “I only stayed for the money, but turns out you can make a lot more of it if you’re brave enough to set aside your morals and your shame. But most important of all, it was my choice.”
No, the shadow with the cut-glass teeth whispered in his ear. It was my choice. You were never free to make your own decisions, Hadwin.
Hadwin withdrew from the conversation, from the shadow, to dip an empty goblet into the barrel of wine. He guzzled its contents, content in drinking and dipping, drinking and dipping, until Briery brought attention to Cwenha’s absence at the fire. “She didn’t go far,” he assured the ringleader, but didn’t need to specify the silver songbird’s whereabouts; within moments, they all heard the exchange in the woods between her and a smitten suitor.
Alster, exchanging a perplexed look with Elespeth, pushed to his feet, recognizing the young man with the wildflowers. But before he could wander over and intercede, the one-sided argument concluded, in a flap of agitated wings crashing into the woods. Briery was quick on the scene. Her arm about his shoulder, she led him from the woods, from camp, consoling the rejected man like a salve to ease the burn.
“That was Albireo, Glaucus’ son,” he said, to no one in particular. “He’s of my personal guard. One of the first to recognize me as a hero. He’s loyal, and refreshingly lacking the typical Rigas pompousness. I didn’t know he was trying to court Cwenha. He’s a good man. Maybe not when we were young,” he remedied, “but all that’s changed.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Hadwin whipped out his pipe and lit it by the fire. “He could be carved from a benevolent god’s right arse-cheek and sent down to do nothing but fart love, peace, and good manners. I’m with my man Rycen, here. She’ll still shred him to ribbons too small for even Briery to stitch whole.”
Alster’s eyes sagged. “I see. Is it because--”
“--She doesn’t feel worthy of love? Yeah.” Hadwin puffed a stream of smoke into the air. “Not only that, but she’s afraid, terrified, really, of anyone getting too close to her, because it means she’s gotta face herself in the process. A lot easier to hate other people and believe they’re all twisted and horrible than to hate on herself. Comes from a life of whoring. When people see you as nothing but a piece of ass to exploit, after a while, you start to believe you’re nothing, yourself. Well,” he slid the stem into the corner of his mouth and made for the woods, “might as well get her before she becomes the next juicy victim for our hungry witch to suck dry.” His head jerked in Alster’s direction. “C’mon. I’ll have a better chance of fetching her if you’re with me.”
“Even after I annoyed her with my inane song?”
Hadwin rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure you rocked her into speechlessness. Hard for her to react proper to genuine or honest gestures like that one. You just caught her off guard. Trust me, she likes you.” As he swung an arm over Alster’s shoulders and tugged him off, he called to Elespeth, “Stealing your husband for a spell. We’re going to make mad love in the woods together!” Alster recoiled under the faoladh’s iron hold. His abductor howled with laughter. “Oh come on, Alster; like you’d ever swing that way. Or to any other woman--you’re as monogamous as they come.”
He chose to ignore the wolf-man--difficult when under the clutch of his pugilist’s arms--but it helped when they saw the distinct lithe shape of the acrobat seated on a log nearby. At least she didn’t retreat far; they could still make out the fires of camp in between the trees.
“I know this is your alone time and all,” Hadwin spoke out to Cwenha first, “but I don’t respect boundaries anyway, so whatever. Let’s hang out in the murder woods together!”
“He does have a point.” Alster brought forward a small blue-light of etherea in his hands, illuminating their area in a soft, moonish glow. “It might be a precautionary act, but I wouldn’t forgive myself if something were to happen to you, under my watch. I promised Briery to support your troupe, after what you’ve done for my own.”
“Definitely a point I’m gonna enact now, by scanning the perimeter like a good watch dog. But I expect treats for this service!” With a mock-salute, Hadwin ducked out of Alster’s light source, disappearing in a trail of pungent pipe-smoke. Though the two of them weren’t ‘truly’ alone, the Rigas caster shivered in awkward discomfort, and paid an inordinate amount of attention to the light of etherea in his hand.
“I apologize if I upset you, before,” he said, moving the light away to hide the flush gathering on his cheeks. “Even though Hadwin put me up to it, part of me wanted you to hear it---because,” he told himself to breathe, “I wanted you to know how much those songs meant to me. To me, not that person who masqueraded as something else entirely. A serpent in human skin, unreachable to so many. Even to my wife.” With the return of his wobble, he asked permission before sitting on the log beside her. “You spoke the language of my pain. Thing is, it’s not exclusive to my pain. It’s sure to reach anyone who has experienced the bite of loss, or of hopelessness so severe, your only foreseeable option is death.” He lowered his head to cover the self-inflicted scars on his throat. “I’ve been there, too...many times. For most of my life, I’ve looked for ways to cease this heartbeat of mine.” When he closed his eyes, the arrhythmic beat fluttered in his ears. “Sometimes, I still feel that way. This world is...too much. Too unforgivable. Diseased...and wrong...and endless. But it doesn’t have to be unbearable.”
The digits of his steel hand creaked as he moved it to rest in the cradle of his sling. As his heart symptoms worsened, inflammation ringed around the border of his prosthesis in red-hot shoots of debilitating pain. It was nigh difficult to move it like a regular arm. “That man you rebuked...I know him. He is my trusted guard. A true gentleman. A little moon-eyed, sure, but I can’t condemn him for that; my afflictions are similar. It’s how I won over Elespeth. But I suspect he isn’t the problem. He’s just one of many who have noticed you on that stage--and you’re wondering if they actually see you for how you see yourself.” In sharing the space with Cwenha, he remembered the last time he occupied the woods at dark: when Hadwin told him of Elespeth’s attempted suicide. Later, Briery met with him to help ease his sorrows--but all he could recall was how carefully she detailed Cwenha’s own struggles with survival. Even if Briery did not inform him of the incident on the bridge, or the shadows in her eyes, he knew. Not the specifics, no; but because those elements of her sorrow were heard in her songs.
"No--they don’t see it,” he continued. “Not the version of you rife with self-loathing and despair. Even I choose to hide that side of me from the one who shares my soul. I’ve gotten pretty good at smiling. At believing there’s a solution to everything. It’s better that way. For me, that is. But now...I’m sure she sees my buried truths, because the eyes may be deceived, but a song sung from the heart...” A sigh deflated his already scrawny form. “She heard it all. Everything I couldn’t tell her. A person well-attuned to the pain of others and themselves...they may not see you, but they hear you just fine, Cwenha. I heard you. ...Do,” his tired eyes rose to meet hers, “you think any less of me for sharing my gratitude? I didn’t give you flowers, or my undying love, but it was still attention you might not have liked. It wasn’t my intention to cause you any malaise. I’m sure not everyone’s intention is to desire you, either. They might want to be in your company as a show of camaraderie, for example. In fact,” a gentle smile lifted the exhaustion off his features, “would you allow a friend, in me?”
Cwenha knew better than to run far, but she was still impelled to run. What had begun as a relatively casual and relaxing evening had changed in a heartbeat, when the shape shifter had pressured that poor Rigas caster to sing. But Alster’s heartfelt song had not been the catalyst. On the contrary, while his smooth tenor had rather taken her aback (he’d once informed her that he sang, though she had not heard him perform as of yet), it did not strike her the same way that compliments or flowers or unwanted attention often did. Hadwin had been right: her song did move people, and one of those people had been Alster Rigas. It had not only reached him, but it had resonated, and from its resonance, his own song was born. Not entirely original--but that had not been the point. From her song, he had borrowed a time signature and tempo, and a theme that complemented her own melody. Deep and sonorous, but… unlike her song, Alster’s rendition ended on a major key. Her tune spoke to pain; but his… it spoke to the resolution from that pain. From peace. Healing.
And like her song had moved him, so, too, had his song burrowed into her own heart, and for the first time since she had become a performer with the Missing Links, Cwenha was the one who needed to take a step back and process what she had just experienced. She didn’t see Alster mouth and apology; her eyes had been transfixed on the fire, at which point she felt impelled to stand and move somewhere to gather her thoughts, while the two newlyweds enjoyed some of the faoladh’s freshly baked bread.
It wasn’t cold; on the contrary, early summer had compensated for the dreadful winter they’d experienced, and the evening air was balmy and rather humid. All the same, Cwenha found her fingers shaking. For her. Had that song really been for her? Like a response to someone she’d never spoken to, or the answer to a question she hadn’t asked? Even if those words and that melody hadn’t been for her, specifically, she found herself on the receiving end of what so many people felt when she sang: like the message was for them. That their ears were meant to hear it, and that she, by association, had meant to reach toward them. Of course, that was never the intent: she had no more real interest in her audience than the dirt beneath her toes, and that was what made the profession so exhausting. All that attention, the awe and the praise and the people's’ desire to know the source of that voice, to really know the person behind it…
It sickened her. It drew her into dark places, stimulated thoughts and memories she’d sooner forget. And for that, she knew that she could not remain one of the Missing Links forever. The only trouble was… she had no other direction. And without them, she was nothing more than the body that had been used and abused before Briery had found her.
All that aside, though, she couldn’t start to believe that the power of Alster’s song was any more than his manifest reaction to her performance. She wouldn’t be that fool…
Pondering her own foolishness and visceral reaction to Alster’s song had caused her to lose sight of the real fools, however. The ones that were always hovering, always stealing glances when they thought she wasn’t looking… One of them approached her, with flowers in his hand and stars in his eyes. She didn’t have time to make a hasty retreat before the young man--a Rigas, by regal set of his features--began to profess the full extent of his admiration.
It was like a fire had suddenly been ignited at her core. Cwenha transitioned from feeling confused and petty over Alster Rigas’s unintended ‘gift’, to bitter and defensive, and full of rage. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t detect a shred of malice from this admirer, or that it seemed to require every ounce of his courage to just approach her, let alone speak to her. It didn’t even matter that she could see the damage she caused; the pain in his eyes, the way he winced at her sharp tone, the droop of his shoulders and the flush of his embarrassed face… and it didn’t matter that that damage affected her. Trust me; i’m doing you a favor. She stormed away, desperate to put distance between herself and that man--and the campsite, altogether. I’m doing you a favor. You don’t want me. Not really. You won’t like what you find if you get too close…
Tears blurred her vision, and she found she wasn’t able to go far, anyway, before she was forced to sit down and wipe them away. But more took their place, and she couldn’t even make out the forest floor, let alone the two figures who approached cautiously. Like she were some wild animal, liable to bolt (and, really, they weren’t wrong to think it). She didn’t need to take note of their features to know who had come after her.
“I’m not in the mood, Hadwin.” The singer groaned, elbows resting on her knees, white-blonde curls falling in front of her face. But of course, Alster wouldn’t have accompanied the shape-shifter, if he’d only meant to rub salt into her wounds. He was right: it was dangerous out here, alone, and she was more than likely giving Briery pause to worry. She always worries when I do this. And yet, I can’t stop… I can’t change how I feel. Even if it hurts her, however indirectly…
To the faoladh’s credit, he took his leave, realizing that his presence wasn’t going to help, and that it certainly wouldn’t convince her to come back. That was why he’d taken Alster with him. Smart ass, she thought. He knew she couldn’t treat the Rigas mage with the same acidity that came so easily when dealing with others. “I’m not under your watch, Alster Rigas. I’m not your charge.” Cwenha scrubbed her hands over her face, but remained seated. “Go back to your wife, before us circus freaks scare her away.”
He didn’t leave. He asked to sit, and she was at a loss but to oblige him, because she had a feeling he wouldn’t leave until he said what was on his mind. But she hadn’t anticipated that what was on his mind might be an apology… and somehow, that saddened her more than crushing the heart of that sweet young man who had brought her wildflowers. Of course he would feel bad. She had walked away after his song; she hadn’t even offered a response to it. What was he supposed to think? “You don’t owe me an apology, Alster.” Cwenha looked up from her hands, and focused on the soft, blue glow of etherea. “Your song was beautiful. It made me realize that… it is no wonder my songs attract the sort of attention that they do. Once you play a tune or sing for someone else, that song no longer belongs to you. You no longer give meaning to it; it belongs to the audience, and it is theirs to interpret, as they will. But that doesn’t change… it doesn’t change anything. Not for me.”
She raked a hand through her pale hair and closed her eyes, which still ran with rogue tears. Anyone not privy to the previous situation and how it had unfolded might have thought that she had been the one to have had her heart ripped out of her chest and torn up before her eyes. “I don’t think less of you, Alster; I couldn’t possibly, not after what you did for Briery. Were it not for you, one day, she’d have left us. And then I… I don’t know what I’d have done. But… I only say this because I know you. I’ve had the chance to know you. If I didn’t, and if you’d come to me with that song and no context or familiarity… I cannot guarantee that I’d have treated you any differently than that poor man.” Cwenha squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her small fingers into fists, which she pressed against her forehead. “I don’t know him. He did not seem like a bad person; perhaps he had all the best intentions at heart. But you know what? That makes it worse. The genuine ones always make it worse, because they don’t realize who--what they’re paying their admiration to. They don't realize that if they get too close, they'll realize there is no substance to me. They'll see that I'm hollow--and it is easier for me to crush their illusions, than to let them realize it on their own. They look at me, and they have no idea... no idea what I really am. ” Not even you, she wanted to add. Except… maybe she was wrong. And maybe that was why she was able to talk to Alster, at all, and not push him away like she did everyone else. This was about more than what he did for Briery… for however little or much he knew about her,
Wiping her tears on her arm, Cwenha looked at Alster for the first time--really looked at him. He was tired; unwell, stretched to his limits. It was no secret that his prosthetic arm was causing him pain. He suffered his own share of demons, and that was why he had felt the need to compose his own song. Not out of gratitude, like he claimed. Music was a language, and he had heard her message; and responded to it. Her song was one of suffering and giving up. His was one of the promise hope, if you chose not to concede to suffering.
“...I got up and left because I wasn’t sure how your song made me feel. It didn’t make me feel happy. It made me feel… exposed. Called-out. Uncomfortable. But… it is the most genuine gift anyone has ever given me. Even if you did not intend it just for me. I… I needed to hear it. Because it wasn’t a response full of ecstasy and wonderment, or any feeling of want. It was raw and imperfect; it was realistic. ” Alster’s smile was contagious, and despite that she was still shaken, and stewing in regret from her interaction with that other Rigas man, the singer managed to find her own smile to reciprocate. “You don’t need to ask for my friendship, Alster. You’ve had it for quite some time, now. The world is a dark place, and people are vile. I don’t think that I can stop believing that. I’m too used-up; too damaged, at this point. But… that doesn’t mean that I can’t believe in you.”
Her tears hadn’t dried; her spirit hadn’t lifted. All the same, Cwenha chose to make a hypocrite of herself and express her own gratitude, knowing full well that it could possibly alienate one of the only genuine men who had ever heard her song. Her hand found his shoulder, and her lips found his. The kiss was soft, and chaste, and over almost as soon as it had begun, little more than a brush of lips. The singer didn’t explain or apologize; but if she really knew Alster Rigas the way she thought she did, then apologies wouldn’t be necessary. “Don’t get the wrong idea--I’m well aware you’re married and committed. That wasn’t for you; it was for me,” she told him, before standing up and brushing debris from the log off of the back of her tunic. “We should get back before someone or something does turn up in these godforsaken woods. I doubt Braighdath will grant either of us the same reluctant clemency they did your wife if someone forces us to kill another innocent.”
That was the first and last that they would ever discuss that brief moment between the two of them. Whatever it meant to Cwenha, whatever she had sought to gain from it, was a secret that she wouldn’t share; but it had nothing to do with coveting Elespeth’s husband or ruining a newly established marriage. That much, she only hoped, would go without saying.
The others were waiting for them in tense silence when she returned with Alster--and Hadwin, who followed shortly after. Briery hadn’t touched the food on her plate and looked as though she’d been holding her breath, while Elespeth had barely been picking at her food, feeling awkward in the company of the troupe’s giant, who had come to join them shortly after Cwenha had fled.
“Relax, Elespeth; Lautim just looks scary.” The singer commented, appearing relaxed and purged of whatever fire had driven her away in the first place. “Truth is, you couldn’t find a gentler person.”
The ex-knight flushed, having remained unaware of her unease surrounded by this unique group of people who she really didn’t know. “It’s not that; it’s just the forest. Things did not exactly end well for me, the last time I ventured beyond Braighdath’s gates…” She explained, taking Alster by his good arm when he took a seat next to her again. “Is she alright?” She asked quietly, though that was not the question weighing on her mind. In a tone even softer, just a whisper between the two of them, she inquired, “...are you alright, Alster? Your song… it was beautiful. But there was so much pain in it… and if I am to blame for that, you need to let me know.” Elespeth laced her fingers through his and smiled tenderly. “I’ve made a lot of terrible mistakes, lately. I can’t pretend that they haven’t affected you. But you need to talk to me… so that I know how I can make them better.”
“Are you not going to sit for a moment and eat?” Briery, meanwhile, casually asked Cwenha when the ‘Silver Fairy’ did not take a seat. Her tone was even, but her hazel eyes still swam with an ocean of concern.
“Not yet,” Cwenha replied, just as casually. As if, a mere thirty minutes ago, she hadn’t completely lost her temper on some poor, undeserving fan. “Where did he go? The one with the flowers.”
The ringleader hesitated on picking up her glass of wine. Her posture went stiff. “He won’t bother you, anymore. I sent him back to his tent. I doubt you’ll hear from him again, so relax and join us, already.”
“Yes, well, I believe… I owe him an apology.”
Briery hadn’t yet taken a sip of her wine. Had she done so, she’d surely have choked on it. “You… want to apologize?”
“Look, don’t read into it. I was unfair. He deserves an apology. That’s all.” Cwenha placed her hands on her hips. “I know I’m a head case, Briery. At least let me do the right thing, for once, and bandage a heart that I tore to shreds.”
The golden acrobat knew well when it was safe to ask questions, and now was not one of those times. She pointed Cwenha in the direction of Albireo Rigas’s tent, watched her retreat for a moment, and then all but collapsed on the log before the fire, both relieved and confused and infinitely grateful that, for once, she didn’t have to pick up the pieces of her silver counterpart. “Whatever you said to her, Alster… thank you.” She softly expressed her gratitude to the Rigas head, before downing the contents of her wine glass in a single swallow. “Care to get me a refill?” She asked Hadwin sweetly, knowing that he would understand her desire not to be sober anymore. “And, Elespeth, please accept my apologies on Cwenha’s behalf. We are not bad people, but unfortunately, neither are we entirely without our demons.”
“Think nothing of it.” Elespeth shook her head, and tucked her short, brunette tresses behind her ears with a guilty half-grin. “No one here has a less of a right to complain about losing their head than me. Hadwin, while you’re up--I’ll take a refill, as well.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Alster said, in the least confrontational tone he could muster. “It’s the genuine ones who notice that you are not a hollow instrument meant only to play at their beck and call, but that you are full of body, soul, and personality. A disingenuous person, of those bold enough to approach, would not bother to reveal that your song moved them. They would perhaps compliment your beauty, your movements, or the quality of your song--superficial comments--but dare not reveal their vulnerability aloud. For, to react to your song so viscerally is to reflect upon one’s vulnerability. Many people don’t want the reminder of our fragile existence, and prefer to focus on the surface level. But someone who is genuine in your song’s meaning...well,” the fire in his hand flickered to some internal tempo, a harried pace like an overstimulated heartbeat, “...it takes courage to sing for an audience, but it also takes courage to praise the people we admire. Yes, there are people who use their enjoyment of your performance as a tactic to win your affections for a tryst, but I think you can see them apart for who they are, over those who genuinely heard your song. Is that what troubles you?” He tilted his head to one side, in a gesture of noninvasive curiosity. “That you want the world to see you as hollow and lacking substance?” A nod righted the tilt, repositioning his view at the smattering of stars poking through the forest canopy overhead.
“An all too common answer to human despair. The call of the void. Diminish, fade, cease. ‘I am nothing, anyway,’ one might think. ‘So release me.’” He squinted at a wedge of black splintered amongst the ceaseless spray of celestial lanterns. “I’m guilty of this reasoning, Cwenha. If you shut away from the world and alienate people who care or who may care, they can’t remind you that your pain is still there. They can’t force you to address it. They can’t force you to do anything at all. You can live on, numb, until the day you die. Choosing life is pain. I won’t argue that it isn’t. Maintaining solidity, and form, and a presence....that’s exhausting, too. Most of us feel like disappearing at some point because it’s easy, and safe. But,” the flame of etherea popped star-like sparks into the air, “I do hope you stick it out. Because you’re anything but hollow, Cwenha. You’re genuine. And I’d love to see what you do in this life. Where you go. How it all comes together.”
As she affirmed their friendship, his smile broadened. “That’s refreshing to hear. Lately, I’ve been dealing with less than savory people in my comings and goings around the city. The majority of Braighdathians, I wager, would sooner see me dead if it meant the preservation of their values. One man today told me I attract evil wherever I step--because I possess unholy magic. Who knows?” He sighed. “Strong energies do attract, malignant and benevolent alike. And if that’s the case to these sheltered Braighdathians, I am evil incarnate. If only they knew about Teselin.” The deliberate clearing of his throat urged his forthcoming rant into a full stop. Just because she acknowledged his companionship did not mean he should unload his latent frustrations on her! Yet...who could he confide in? Elespeth had suffered too much. Though against her wish of inclusion in his affairs, he wanted to prevent further upset by focusing on the positive; or, at the very least, taking unavoidable topics and putting on a positive spin.
“Anyway...it’s nice to have someone else...who believes in me. Especially now. And...it does go both ways. I believe in you, too. I know you’ll pull through, because...I shouldn’t project, but--I thought I was about the most hopeless creature to walk this earth. Yet...here I stand, a little less worse for wear than before. Don’t let my not-so-stellar health fool you. I couldn’t be happier right now. Because,” his eyes traced the curves of his wedding band, “we didn’t lose. I...didn’t lose her. Nothing else is right. It may never be right. But we’re together....and that’s how I know you’ll make it, too. After all, I always believe in solutions.”
What happened next between them took him entirely off guard. One minute, they shared a space on the log, breathing in the sweet-tinged air, the next, the humidity and heat in their vicinity drove to a staggering rise. He was made all too aware of the acrobat as she closed their space and planted a tiny kiss on his lips. In the span of her gesture, the flames of his etherea transformed from blue to yellow. The brighter color not only saturated their circle in a swath of daylight, but brought attention to the burnished red of his entire face.
“Cwenha, I--” but he paused, and heard her reasoning. It made sense, and hearkened him to a time when Chara, fully aware that his devotion resided in Elespeth alone, had kissed him. At first he thought that she chose to express her unrequited feelings, heedless of his love for another--a gesture well-within the means of the oft-selfish Chara Rigas. But maybe...she wanted to kiss him to know what it was like to kiss him. To pretend, if for a moment, of a universe where they were together. Curiosity fueled the action; and just as he never faulted or judged Chara for the kiss, he saw no need to condemn Cwenha for the same. Whatever her intentions, he could tell they were essential to her own healing, and he accepted it.
“I understand.” In unison, they stood from the log. With care, he jutted his right arm from its sling, leaving a space wide enough to accomodate her arm. “Care to take hold of me as we remove ourselves from these woods? You may snort at my gentlemanly request, but I assure you,” he gave a self-deprecating laugh, “I think I may require your balance. I haven’t yet recovered from earlier today, I’m sorry to say.”
After enlisting Cwenha’s help, the two of them emerged from the woods, with Hadwin greeting them on the other side. For once, the faoladh refrained from off-color comments, keeping conversation light as they meandered back to camp. When they arrived at the caravan, it was as though a stultifying blanket had been thrown over the group, threatening to snuff the fire and with it, any nuances of a good time.
“What a tragedy!” Hadwin stomped his way into the scene. “I’m gone not even fifteen minutes and you’ve all petrified yourselves to stone? Should’ve known this would’ve happened. But I’m back now, so,” he slapped his hands together and bounded towards his station between the wine barrel and the food, “nothing to fear; all’s right with the world, again.”
That’s usually when something goes wrong, Alster thought. For all the man’s bombast, however, his announcement to make merry worked, somewhat; tension dissipated and conversation flowed easier between all parties involved. He equated it to snapping someone out of a hypnotic trance, or jostling an oversleeper from their bed.
Elespeth, who hadn’t moved since he left, ushered him to his spot with the gentle tugging of his good arm. “I think she’ll be alright,” he assured his wife as he settled beside her. “And…” he trailed off, frowned, and avoided her concerned eyes. He knew she would address the pain behind his song, but didn’t imagine she would take such quick initiative! “Don’t worry about it, El. Everything affects me; I’m an emotional sponge.” He shot her a perfected smile and squeezed her hand. “We’ll talk about it, later. Now isn’t ideal.” But, he wondered; if she broached the subject again, would he keep to his promise, or conveniently forget? Because...no matter how gently he worded his worries, they amounted to base accusations: You’re a liability, Elespeth. I need you somewhere far from here. Far, and safe. Braighdath won’t protect you; you’re too exposed and vulnerable, as you are. And I don’t know for how long I can handle my own responsibilities if I have to shoulder your condition, but you’ve left me no choice. If I leave it alone...your health will worsen. I already feel...that it is.
Leave, Elespeth, he yearned to shout. I need you to leave.
But he didn’t.
Luckily, his attention pivoted to Cwenha, whose discussion with Briery piqued his interest. She wanted to locate Albireo Rigas for an apology? As the circus ringleader instructed her on where to go, Alster couldn’t help but beam an encouraging smile in her direction. While possible she was embarking on the journey out of guilt, he wondered if he’d gotten through to her at all. Briery seemed to think so, at least, as evidenced by her emphatic expressions of gratitude. “I don’t think I said anything special...but I’m glad I could help.”
“Told you she liked you,” Hadwin winked, before handing Briery and Elespeth refills on their wine. “What about you, Al? Going to go carousing with us, or are you content to watch?”
Alster lifted his goblet and handed it to him. I oversee the lives of thousands of displaced persons. I’m losing traction in a city that is more than eager to sever our alliances for good. I’m tired, I’m in pain, and tomorrow, as with every day for as long as I carry this position, will be a long and neverending spiral towards the merciful arms of sleep. Yes, Hadwin...please, fill my body until I can no longer think straight. Instead, he said, “Just this one. I need to rise early, tomorrow.”
But ‘just one’ turned into two, then three, then four. At some point, Alster lost track of how much he imbibed, but midway through his reckless consumption, he’d stopped caring. His vision took on a fuzzy twinge along the edges. Not unpleasant, though; it reminded him of a comfortable, fur-lined hood, drawn up around his face to provide insulating warmth, stray tufts of fur tickling his eyelashes as it moved against the wind. Immediate pain abated. Immediate worries washed from the shoreline, bobbing far past the horizon. At once, all avenues seemed possible, and consequences were an afterthought.
By this stage of Alster’s inebriation, Briery, Elespeth, and he assumed Hadwin (for he had downed the most wine), ostensibly accompanied him to the land of limited inhibitions. One could never tell with Hadwin, though; the man seldom acted sober. But the faoladh slurred enough of his words to indicate a fair level of intoxication.
When he excused himself to urinate in the woods, Alster leaned in close to Briery, Elespeth, and Cwenha (who had long-since returned from her mission to apologize), and lowered his voice into a hushed whisper. “It’s time for revenge,” he said. “On Hadwin. I think it’s about time he’s given ample payback for all the grief he’s put us through. Is everyone on board?”
The majority present at the campfire nodded their cooperation. “What he seems to value most is that tongue of his. He loves to waggle it, doesn’t he, and say whatever it is he’s thinking? So what if it...stopped waggling? I think it’d give everyone a much-needed reprieve!”
At Hadwin’s return to camp, everyone was sticking out their tongues and stretching them as far as they would go. “Ah,” he mused, taking a seat beside Briery. “Tongue acrobatics. Is this a flexibility contest?” He nudged Briery. “And you’re losing?”
“We’re trying to figure out who has the longest tongue. So far, no one’s been able to touch their nose with it,” Alster said, shrugging in defeat. “But we think that you can do it.”
“Naturally,” Hadwin grinned. “It’s a wolf trait. Big, slobbery, canine tongue. Like this.” And he demonstrated, with his tongue clearing past the tip of his nose.
“Huh. I wonder if there’s any trick to it.” Alster shuffled close to Hadwin, and with the finger of his good hand, touched the underside of his tongue. Suddenly, reams of hairstrand-thin light shot from Alster’s hand, and like webbing from a spider’s spindle, coccooned around their prey, fusing together tongue with nose in an inescapable mummification.
“What the fuck?” Hadwin attempted to say, but it sounded more like garbled nonsense.
“What?” Alster slipped back to Elespeth’s side. “We can’t understand you. Have you been drinking too much?”
The faoladh buried his fingers between the threads in an effort to snap them, but they stayed firm. “Haha. Cute,” he said, to the best of his ability. “So when does it wear off?”
“Still can’t understand you.” Unable to control himself, the Rigas caster erupted into sound laughter. “Though I’d say it’s an improvement!”
“This is really uncomfortable, y’know.” But in spite of his compromised position, Hadwin ended up laughing, as well...insofar as his shoulders rolled and his eyes crinkled.
“Of course I worry about it, Alster. I worry about you. Just like you worry about me.” Came Elespeth’s soft reply. Alster was a lousy liar, both in words and demeanor. The very issues that he brushed aside, or of which he tried to make light or explain away, were generally the most noteworthy issues, given her experiences with her husband. The way he acted so easy-going, and the fact that he accepted a pewter goblet full of wine was enough to convince her that her suspicions from the previous night were perhaps more than just paranoia. He had too much on his shoulders, he wouldn’t slow down… And when he finally succumbed to it all, she wasn’t convinced she’d have the strength to hold him up.
Just as his strength, she knew deep down, was buckling under her weight.
They would talk later. She would hold him to his promise. But right now, he appeared more interested in forgetting about what ailed him--and hadn’t he deserved it? Between the harrowing journey to Braighdath, to losing touch with her, to losing her entirely, for a time (and himself along with her), only to have to fight for her in a case that never should have come to pass… Wasn’t it about time he caught a reprieve?
He didn’t have just one, though. One drink quickly turned into another, and then another, and all the while Elespeth managed to sip slowly on the single glass Hadwin had fetched for her. It had occurred to her to follow suit, at one point; that it might be nice to forget about her troubles. But she was quick to recall that the last time she’d sought to drown her worries in wine, it had done just the opposite… And, not only that, but it wouldn’t be a wise move, for someone who was fighting a heart condition, that could become debilitating, if she wasn’t careful. So the ex-knight took it upon herself to remain sober while everyone else lost themselves in alcohol and bantering conversation. Well, everyone except for Cwenha, it seemed, who on returning from the tent of the man she’d turned down, sat next to Briery and remained relatively quiet.
Elespeth’s concerns for her betrothed abated just a little bit, when a mischievous glint twinkled in his blue eyes, and he leaned in to conspire revenge on the faoladh. She was momentarily taken aback by his zeal to make mischief; even if she was all over the opportunity to stick it to Hadwin (who so delighted in sticking it to everyone else, even if he had been rather helpful, of late), she had never known Alster to be so bold. But even if she hadn’t agreed to play along, in the end (which, of course, she did), Briery, Cwenha, and even Rycen and Lautim (well… the giant never said as much, but his knowing smile said it all) had enough zeal to compensate for her hesitation.
“Are you kidding? I have been dreaming of the day that mutt gets what he deserves.” Cwenha beamed, leaning in with just as much mischief. Better it be up to Alster than to her, however; Elespeth wasn’t sure that putting the lovely singer in charge would have resulted in anything benign. “What did you have in mind? And keep your voice down; that son of a bitch has impeccable smell and hearing.”
They all listened carefully as the Rigas head lowered his voice and proposed a scheme that promised to cease Hadwin’s excessive talking. Even Briery, who was probably the closest to the faoladh, had to admit that it was a genius, albeit harmless idea. Provided that Alster was the one casting the spell, and wouldn’t leave the shapeshifter without the use of his tongue indefinitely. “I think you’re onto something, there. He may be clever, but Hadwin has also been known to be gullible,” the ringleader commented with a chuckle.
“In my opinion, that is going way too easy on him.” Cwenha countered with a pout. “But I’ll take what I can get. He deserves to be the uncomfortable one, sometimes.”
“Sheesh. I feel like someone’s gotta speak in that poor bastard’s defense,” Rycen commented for the sake of argument, but instead of being that very person to advocate on behalf of Hadwin, he turned to the giant standing behind him. “What about you, big guy? No one’s got a softer heart than you. Care to break consensus with a few words?”
But of course, it was all a ruse: Lautim never said a word, and never had, in all the time he’d been part of the Missing Links.
And so it was determined that they’d have a little bit of fun at Hadwin’s expense, and proceeded to make fools of themselves by trying to touch their tongues to their nose when the faoladh returned. “Now, not every muscle in my body can stretch and bend like elastic,” Briery countered to the wolf-man’s teasing comment. “Can’t be good at everything, right? But you, on the other hand…”
Alster finished her thought for her--and Hadwin took the bait. Before he had a chance to consider what was happening, the faoladh’s tongue was stuck to his nose, rendering any and all protests completely unintelligible--and hilarious.
Cwenha was the first to lose her head to hearty laughter, practically doubling over at the sight of Hadwin, for once helpless to flap his gums. Briery was soon to follow suit, but took a moment to be captivated by the smaller woman’s peal of laughter. Truth be told, she had never seen Cwenha laugh so hard, not with such reckless abandon… Silly though it all might have been, it sparked an ember of hope. Especially considering that just a few hours ago, the silver acrobat had been a victim of her own self-loathing and despair. Seeing her truly and unabashedly delighted… it was refreshing.
“Careful, Hadwin; you might pull a muscle trying to talk with your tongue fused to your nose, like that.” Elespeth commented, unable to keep her wide and amused grin at bay. “Might be best for you if you just stop talking, altogether. I know that’s a difficult concept to comprehend, but it’s not like we can understand you, anyway.”
They had their fun with the shapeshifter for a good period of time. Of course, Alster never intended to keep Hadwin in that state for long, but he was cheeky enough to want to make the faoladh sweat it out for a while, and endured for just over a quarter of an hour before his conscience gave in, and he released the now not-so-jovial man’s tongue from its captive spell. He even had the goodness of heart to offer him a fresh glass of wine to whet his palate, since his mouth had no doubt gone dry, thanks to the Rigas head’s relatively harmless prank. It warmed Elespeth’s heart to see her husband genuinely enjoying himself (and at Hadwin’s expense, no less); this was the most fun Alster had had in quite some time, and he and Hadwin were somehow getting along, despite their relatively rocky history. Yet somehow… somehow, she couldn’t quite buy into it. Not that carefree ruse that Alster was putting on, with the help of the alcohol in his veins. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he was drunk, and she was the only sober element in that gathering (for even Lautim, in spite of his size, was looking decidedly more unsteady on his feet).
No--she was not the only sober one, the former knight was quick to remember, when Cwenha materialized beside her in Alster’s temporary absence.
“Let me guess; he’s not one to so easily get piss drunk, am I right?” Elespeth’s dumbfounded expression was all the answer she needed. The ‘Silver Fairy’ rolled her shoulders back. “Look, I don’t know you well; but I know Alster a bit better, so I’ll tell you this for his sake, because I doubt he has the spine to come clean to you: he’s not doing so well. Got the weight of the world and then some on his shoulders. The worst part is, he’s the type who likes to keep it all inside, isn’t he? And it’s eventually going to erupt. And when it does… it won’t be pretty.”
Heat flared in Elespeth’s cheeks, and she had to remind herself not to feel affronted by the woman without an obvious filter on her mouth. She’d all but torn that Rigas man to shreds; these observations, though they were none of her business, were benign, in comparison. “I know he’s not alright.” She said, staring into the fire to avoid meeting Cwenha’s crystalline eyes. “Neither of us is. We’re working through it. It’ll be alright, in the end.”
“But what will it take to get there? Look, I’m not trying to be a nosy son of a bitch. I’m telling you this because he let a few things slip, when Hadwin hauled him over to bring me back to camp.” She lifted her slim shoulders in a shrug. “As someone who lives in a constant state of shadows, I know them when I see them. And I think you deserve to know.”
“Thank you for your concern. But you can’t tell me what I don’t already know.”
“So then you know you should be getting your ass to Galeyn--the safest place for an unpopular woman with a bad heart--as fast as possible. You’re just choosing not to do it.”
The heat in Elespeth’s cheeks intensified. She didn’t need a mirror to see that she was red in the face. “You have no right to--”
“Look, I don’t care what you do. It doesn’t concern me. But you know as well as I do that Alster is going to crumble under all of this pressure. And you alone have a way to take a little bit of that weight off. Trust me, I know what it’s like to choose the selfish route; I’m selfish more often than I’m thoughtful. But…” Her gaze followed Elespeth’s, which had trailed to Alster trying not to look embarrassed by something Hadwin had said with his newly restored freedom of speech. “If I were in your shoes… I think I’d choose not to be unselfish. Your husband has given away more of himself than he possesses, and all for you, and for a future for the two of you, together. I think you know he deserves that reciprocation.”
Knowing that she had long overstayed her welcome, the silver acrobat rose from her seat and went to fetch a slice of Hadwin’s bread when he wasn’t looking (for she was not about to offer him a compliment if he caught her enjoying it). Alster returned to his seat shortly after, swaying on his feet as he made a remark about how he should’ve kept Hadwin’s tongue stuck to his nose for a little while longer--and then got up again tor refill his empty goblet.
Expelling a shaky breath, the former knight also got to her feet and did something she hoped she wouldn’t regret: that being intentionally seeking out Hadwin.
“Alster’s starting to regret he didn’t keep you tongue-tied for longer,” she teased, crossing her arms over her chest. But her joviality was short-lived; because Hadwin, in his ever-knowing way, called her out on her own facade before she had a chance to figure out how she was going to broach the subject she’d approached him about in the first place.
“Look at him.” She gestured to her husband, who was downing the last dregs of wine. She’d lost count of how many he’d consumed. “He never drinks--and when he does… it’s never like this. I know something is wrong. I know he’s overworked and overburdened, but… but I have something to do with that, don’t I?” Elespeth clutched her elbows and fixed her gaze on her feet. “I know the last time I asked you about his demons, you chose to be vague, but I need to know now… I need you to tell me what you see. Is my being here, when he wanted me to travel to Galeyn… is it breaking him? Am I breaking him?”
The truth was, she didn’t want the answer to that question--because she already knew it. Cwenha had been right: deep down, she knew her refusal to leave for Galeyn had caused unnecessary stress on her husband. In her mind, her refusal to part from him had been a decision she’d made for them; to stick it out with him through thick and thin. But that did not mean that it hadn’t been selfish. It did not mean she hadn’t turned a blind eye to the logistics of her staying in Braighdath. You’re doing it again. What you did when Haraldur wanted to send you away to heal. A familiar accusatory voice chimed in at the back of her mind, completely uninvited. She thought she’d rid herself of that voice; evidently, she hadn’t. Look where that got you. Look at the mayhem is caused… and you’re doing it all over again. Not only will you be your own downfall--you’ll be Alster’s, as well.
“...I see.” Hadwin, of course--not one for holding back--confirmed her suspicions. Remaining here, in a city that loathed her presence, she wasn’t a support for him. She was a burden and a liability. “Every foreseeable thing has torn us apart, from the very beginning. For once… I just wanted for us to be in the same place, at the same time. To face these things together… but I only have myself to blame. For my heart, for my shoddy attempt to defend myself at my own trial. I’ve made awful decisions. And I cannot avoid the consequences, if it means Alster will go down with me…”
She had no reason to explain herself to Hadwin. Like Cwenha, he probably couldn’t care less, and anyway, they were all just excuses. But hearing a confirmation of her fears, of what she’d suspected but hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on… Can I do this? Do I really have the strength to walk away, then all I want to do is adhere to Alster’s side?
The trouble was… she wasn’t sure she had much of a choice, anymore.
“The person I was when you met me--that person was the result of missing him. Of hating every second I spent, without him. So needless to say, Hadwin, you haven’t met the best of me, yet.” Elespeth blew a rogue tress of hair from her eyes, and ventured a particularly unconvincing smile. “You never know; maybe, someday, you will.”
Venturing back over to the campfire, where Alster was fighting just to sit up straight, the ex-knight gently took him by his arm and helped him to his feet. “It’s getting late; we should be getting back to catch what little sleep we can.” She urged him gently, with a soft smile. “This was… entertaining, to say the least. But I’m ready for a little peace and quiet; and we could both benefit from some sleep.”
Alster Rigas was not a good drunk. The definition of ‘good’ fused with ‘drunk’ was not a common combination of words, regardless of person, but he was not good in terms of demeanor. Everyone expressed their own patterns and habits; emotionality, moodswings, aggression, sudden risk-taking, or quiet contemplation. For a man so mindful of his mistakes and conscientious in his dealings with others, it made a logical kind of sense for an inebriated Alster to present as rebellious and prone to mischief--traits not usually favored in one’s drunken alter ego, let alone in society as a whole. But where could a gentile man like Alster Rigas, pressured into a leadership role and forced to shoulder the hatred of yet another city, find his solace? Through his wife, yes, but she belonged to the vicissitudes of his daily struggles. She, so enmeshed between the threat of Braighdath and the exodus to Galeyn, reminded him only of the work ahead, and not the reprieve he desired to have, with her at his side. Where, then, could the overworked Rigas Head obtain a measure of peace?
Through drinking. And as he was not a ‘good drunk,’ his method of coping, exfoliated to the surface with help from his intoxicating catalyst, was through small acts of retaliation. Hadwin, therefore, served as his target. His only ‘safe’ target. Frustrations bounded and rebounded in his head, but he dare not unleash his potential energy on Elespeth. Even with his judgment impaired, his cardinal rule remained thus: Never harm Elespeth. The rule counted double, now, considering the complexity of recent events.
Instead, he aimed true at the faoladh, fired, and met his mark. A little victory. Never intended as a malicious retort, no; he needed to preserve his energy for the true source of his bubbling resentment: Locque. Fortunately, Hadwin, though literally tongue-tied, thought little of the gesture. With grace, he accepted his role of jester, and it occurred to Alster that it was likely one of his preferred cards in a gambling deck, anyway. The Ace of Spades, the Jack of Hearts...and the Joker.
Casting a mock look of betrayal at Briery for laughing, Hadwin shrugged, made do with his compromised speech, and, like a dog vying for attention when his barks fell on deaf ears, he pawed, jumped, and rammed his way into relevancy. Briery, by curse of proximity, received the brunt of his non-verbal ferocity--and the spatters of drool dribbling from the corners of his wrenched-open mouth. By the end of a quarter of an hour, Hadwin proved that he didn’t need speech to be heard...or annoying.
When Alster dispelled the threads of light attaching his tongue to his nose, Hadwin snapped his mouth shut, reveled in the regeneration of saliva, and downed a goblet of wine given by the Rigas caster as a peace offering--after first assuring that he did not bespell the drink.
“Well, I think I learned a valuable lesson, here.” Hadwin swished the dregs of his empty cup. “Talk less, headbutt more. I mean,” he gave everyone a skeptical glance, “you all know that I’m a wolf, right? I can’t talk when I take on the fur. So I know how to verbalize my needs just fine without uttering a word, thank you very much.” He raised his empty cup in Lautim’s direction. “Am I right, big guy? You speak with the clarity of sages. Words are like blood. The more you say, the more you’re running your veins dry. Before long, you’re ashen and face-down in the dirt--nothing but a desiccated corpse. Metaphorically, of course. It sure explains lawyers. Ran out of blood to spill long ago; now they’re just spouting piss and bile.”
“So what’s your excuse?” Alster said. “You haven’t stopped talking since I’ve released your tongue. If you’re so convinced that words should be used sparingly, are you going to practice what you preach?”
“Nope,” he answered, blithely. “Cuz I passed that threshold long ago. No more blood. I’m a shit-spewer, wouldn’t you agree?”
There was a consensus around the fire. Yes. Though the faoladh’s rhetorical question rang true, to Alster, perhaps it spoke of a broader truth. The implication was there; if blood represented passion, the hue of one’s labors, to exhaust oneself of it meant a death of the spirit. Did Hadwin believe that nothing existed within him but refuse, despite his good and useful acts as of late? I’m overthinking it, he chided himself. I’m only resonating with his throwaway comment because I don’t want that outcome for me. Exsanguination of all that I am. I have too much to live for. I can’t allow any aspect of me to fade, or else…
The Serpent…
I’ve never left, It seemed to echo from some far away cavern. Your body...I am more than happy to make use of it whenever you require rest. Your world fascinates me too much. I must explore it.
Rigel, he pleaded with the more desirable presence accessible in his head, lend me your strength.
It was doubtful that Rigel Rigas’s strength resided at the bottom of a barrel, but Alster wished at its well, and dunked his cup for its healing red water. It was where he lingered when Elespeth called Hadwin to her side for advice on her straying husband.
“Ah, figured it was a matter of time before you came to beseech my impeccable know-how. So we’ll cut the crap. This is about Alster, isn’t it?” Hadwin said, dismantling her lead-in remarks and heading straight for the punch. “Not like you’d have any other reason to approach me--even when all I’ve done lately is stick my neck out for you. And for him. But,” he sighed, “it doesn’t matter, anyway. We run the same circles. If I didn’t help, your friends would’ve snapped my neck, instead. My friends, too,” he said, as a thin reference to Briery. “So I guess my neck was always on the line. Consider me a free resource. I’ll tell you what you wanna know.”
With Alster’s back turned to them, and his fixation reserved for the barrel alone, Hadwin led her from the fire to a private space behind the caravans.
“Short answer is yes,” came his blunt response. “Long answer--you’re not the only yes. Far from it. What isn’t breaking him? That’s the real question.” He half-sat, half-leaned against the wheel’s axle. “He’s giving more than he’s getting back. I suppose that’s always been his MO, but he’s worried he can’t cut it like he used to. The city’s breaking him down. That, and his inherited set of responsibilities--including ones of his own creation, like throwing himself head-first into Sigrid’s drama, for one.” He rubbed his shoulders against the rough-hewn wood of the caravan. “Yeah, he roped me into that one, too. Squeezed me for some details so he could address her fears. Then, there’s you. He’s worried mad; doesn’t think you’re safe here. You’re brittle; liable to snap. Can’t defend yourself. Can’t do anything, really, but sit in bed, even after he took on some of the burden of your heart condition.”
A small tsk clicked out of his mouth. “It’s fucked, anyway...your heart. I think he knows it, too--which was why he absorbed as many of its impurities as he could handle. A temporary fix, till you get proper treatment. And of course he won’t say it, because he refuses to upset you, but yeah, you’re making it worse for him by not getting the hell out of here. But not only that,” he ticked off another finger to count the number of Alster’s grievances, “he’s anticipating Atvany’s retaliation after your little slip-up at the trial. And then,” another finger popped up, “there’s the matter of the Serpent. Still haunting him with the fear he’ll collapse to Its influence again. Yup, the man’s desperate for a break so he won’t break. That’s why he’s bobbing for fermented grape skins in that barrel--and I don’t blame him. Best thing you can do right now is to seek treatment in Galeyn.” He rolled into a shrug. “But I probably shouldn’t be repeating the cygnet’s advice to you. We’re supposed to hate each other and all--but she hasn’t reserved any hatred for my bread, so I’ve done something right.”
Electing to show a different kind of smile, one not toothy or ironic or full of shit-eating satisfaction, but almost...encouraging, Hadwin pushed off the caravan and laid a hand on Elespeth’s shoulder blades, pushing her forward and back to the fire. “Nothing to it, El. Go and you’ll feel less shitty--and I’m not just talking about your heart. It’ll give less for that voice inside your head to yammer on about. Still active, hmm?” With one parting pat, he released the warrior, sending her on her way into her husband’s embrace--or whatever his impaired mobility was capable of producing. “Let me one day see this strange being you keep referencing. I’m beginning to think she’s a myth, Elespeth.”
The ex-knight reached Alster in time to address his new form, which was doubled over and hurling the contents of his stomach in the grass. When at last his episode cleared, he gazed at his wife with foggy-eyed confusion as she grabbed his arm. “Hm? Where are we going? Back? We can’t, yet. I made a mess. That’s not--I should clean it.”
“Exert your energy cleaning one puke puddle and you’ll be puking over what you just cleaned,” Hadwin retorted. “You’re close to a black-out. Here.” Standing on Elespeth’s other side, the faoladh provided another steadying crutch for Alster to lean. “Better I come along, too. I’ll get you through the back-ways; it won’t look good for people to see him like this.” He tilted his head at Elespeth. “Or for people to see you at all.”
Once they convinced Alster to leave, citing that if he did not return to the inn by now, he’d be shirking his responsibilities for the morning, the Rigas Head stated his farewells to Briery and the rest of the Missing Links; heartfelt, yet sleepy and slowing to a crawl of barely connected words.
On the path to Braighdath, they needed to stop several times for Alster to vomit, or to catch his breath. With gradual pacing, they made progress, weaving through the streets with only Hadwin’s night-vision and sense of direction to guide them (the Rigas caster having far exhausted any attempts at magic). After a long and arduous process (that thankfully did not attract the company of passersby), they arrived at the inn, nearly dragged their sagging load up the stairs, and hauled him on the bed. With time to spare, too; Alster, as though by the bed’s decree, sank into sleep at his immediate contact with the pillows.
“Well,” Hadwin stood back and planted his hands on his hips, “good news is, he can’t possibly have anything left in him to puke. Bad news, he probably does; wait ‘till the morning. Doubtful he’ll keep anything down when he wakes; not even water. Best to let him sleep it off--but he won’t. Good luck...with everything.”
With a nod of goodnight, the faoladh closed the door and exited the inn. Now that he wasn’t encumbered by two other bodies, he glided down the dark streets whence he once traversed, and popped into the main thoroughfare to greet the guard posted at West Gate.
“Quick in and out, like I said,” he explained to the guard, with a wink. Well-accustomed to the loose man’s antics, the guard rolled his eyes and raised the gate, freeing the way to the outskirts outside Braighdath. But he was not long in his travels before a familiar scent clogged all other olfactory information entering his nose. Rowen.
Altering his route, he first checked his surroundings for any late-night walkers. None. Then, following the scent, he crept into the D’Marian camp and peeked his head inside the tent wafting with his sister’s residual odor. She was here, not even an hour ago. The trail was too fresh.
As was something else.
After ascertaining no one else’s presence inside, Hadwin pushed into the tent. At his feet, a body lay sprawled, riddled with stab wounds, every forced-open orifice running gouts of blood into an ever-growing puddle. The copper tang of it intermixed with the faded essence of the person responsible. She had done it.
“Dammit, Rowen,” he cursed under his breath. “Not again.”
And for the third time in two weeks, he mopped up the blood, swaddled the limp woman in her sheets and woolen blanket, carted her to the woods via an underground passageway (good thing he’d “befriended” the man at the wine cellar)...and buried the body.
“Am I really that predictable?” Elespeth sighed with a forced smile and shrugged her shoulders at the faoladh. “To be honest, I wouldn’t have asked, but… our blonde-haired friend that tore that Rigas man a new hole with her words alone inadvertently tore me one. Or, maybe it was intentional. She seems… the spiteful sort.” She cast a glance at Cwenha, who now seemed to be arguing with the man called Rycen over something trivial; or, more likely, he was just trying to get a rise out of her. What was it like to be around someone so flammable? “Alster spoke with her. He won’t talk to me--but he spoke with her. She said he alluded to everything that was crushing him, right now, and that I… am among those things. The worst part is, I know she’s right. But I also knew I wouldn’t fully come to believe it unless I heard it from you; after all,” that failed smile turned into a half-smirk, “you’re not known for your subtlety.”
And she was right: he didn’t hold back. Hadwin unloaded the full extent of what he saw in Alster that the Rigas mage tried so hard to hide from her. In the end, it came as no surprise, and yet offered no comfort that she was not the only factor in the decline of his mental, physical, and emotional stamina. “But I can defend myself,” she argued, all the while knowing it didn’t matter. Not to Hadwin, and not even to her, because she knew it was a lie. “And we don’t even know anything about Galeyn. Just because it appeared to have helped Lilica, does not mean that it can help me. After all, it didn’t seem to do anything for that summoner’s brother. According to Alster, he is worse off than before. I know he doesn’t trust Braighdath, but… wouldn’t my leaving be just as severe a gamble? If my heart really is failing the way I think it is…”
Elespeth didn’t finish the thought; she couldn’t, but what would have followed was undoubtedly obvious to someone like Hadwin, who could see through the layers of a person’s skin, all the way down to her fears. If I’m not going to recover… I don’t want to be distance away from my husband. I want to spend every second of every moment with the person I love, if… if I don’t know that it’s only moments or days that we have left, together.
“I suppose there is no way to convince him otherwise, though. Not if he needs something to believe in. Even if my chances of getting better are unrealistic…” She was caught off guard by Hadwin’s casual mention of hat destructive voice that still dictated her thoughts and decisions. One that she thought she’d silenced, in letting Alster back into her life, and in letting herself be a part of his life. “...I don’t know that my leaving will do anything about that,” the ex-knight commented on that vein. “Keeping out of Alster’s life did not silence that voice. Neither did returning to his life. There is always something it has to say… but, if I leave, it’s not going to be for me, anyway.”
Regardless of what she decided right now, one thing was obvious: and that was that Alster needed to get back to the inn. He was so far gone, hardly able to discern his surroundings or what was happening... Her heart hurt for a whole new reason, seeing the state her husband was in. So desperate to find reprieve that he was willing to completely lose himself in wine… “Let’s get you back,” she said gently, taking one of his arms as Hadwin so kindly took the other. “You need rest--and water. Lots of a water. Hadwin, if you know of a means to get through the city without being seen… lead the way. Though let it be known,” she raised an eyebrow at the shapeshifter. “You offered. Everything you’ve done, for me and for Alster, I never asked of you. But I--we appreciate it, all the same.”
With Alster’s near deadweight between the two of them, the fact that he needed to stop several times to be sick over and over, and their altered route, it took nearly twice as long to make their way back into city than when they’d arrived at the Missing Links’ campsite. Even with Hadwin’s help, not to mention the fact that Alster was not particularly heavy, Elespeth worked up a sweat helping him back to the inn and up the stairs. Her heart protested something awful, hammering painfully in her chest with the overexertion. She wondered if it affected Alster, as well, but her husband was too far gone to notice, even if it was. As soon as they helped him to bed, where they watched him fall unconscious almost immediately, the former knight immediately took a seat herself, perspiration glistening on her brow. He’s right, she thought with dismay, looking down at her trembling hands. I can’t defend myself. I can’t help Alster; I’m nothing but a burden. I’ve been nothing but a burden since I was injured in Stella D’Mare… I wish I could change that. But I don’t know that I can, anymore…
“He is going to be a total wreck, in the morning; he won’t even be able to perform those duties that have been depleting him, so. I tried to convince him to stay in, tonight...” She sighed, and placed a hand on Alster’s arm. “But… maybe it’s for the best. It might force him to take a day for himself, to recuperate. Thank you, Hadwin.” Her own exhausted face turned to the faoladh with a wan smile. “You know, I like this side of you; your potential to reach out and be helpful. I think I am beginning to understand just what Teselin sees in you.”
She sat in silence for some time after Hadwin took his leave, and listened to the quiet hush of Alster’s breathing. Laboured enough not to be restful, but slow enough that she knew he wasn’t conscious; at least, not for the moment. “...I meant it, you know. I meant it then, and I meant it now.” It was doubtful that he could hear her, but that was what made it easier for her to say; and what made confronting any of this easy, at all. “When I said that I would be your sword and shield, Alster. I meant what I said. But I didn’t realize at the time… that I couldn’t live up to that. Not in the state I’m in. I’ve only become a burden. I know you would never call me that, and I thought, somehow, that by staying behind… that by staying with you, I’d be helping. But the truth is, I can’t even help myself. Not even at my own hearing. I practically handed the council of Braighdath the reasons they were looking for to condemn me. Because no matter how long it has been since I stood for a kingdom with its coat of arms on my shield… no matter how I try to put my past behind me, I cannot stop being a knight. I cannot stop wanting to fight and be there for the people I love. Even if it kills me… or them.”
Her thin fingers brushed the blonde hair from his forehead as her lungs expelled a shuddering sigh. “It’s hard for me to stop, Alster… you need to know that. I want to believe that my standing here will benefit you. But I know… I know that it won’t. It won’t help you, and it won’t help me. And yet, I still know that I’ll never be able to find the strength to walk away from you and this accursed city… unless I do it right now. Before you wake up; because I know as soon as I hear your voice… I won’t be able to find it in myself to leave.”
Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. This felt like betrayal; and in a sense, maybe it was. Stealing away in the middle of the night, without ever having had that conversation with Alster. When he might wake up, and perhaps not even remember what had happened the night before… She didn’t want to leave him. More than anything, she wanted him to wake up and to tell her that he needed her here, that he couldn’t stand the thought of parting from her again, when they couldn’t seem to spend more than moments together in-between life tearing them apart. But she knew that those words did not exist for Alster; and that the longer she stayed, the more weight he would be forced to carry… until his back broke under the full extent of all of his burdens.
“I know my ring is supposed to protect me from death. But don’t know that Galeyn can help me, Alster… I really don’t.” Those rogue tears finally found their way down her cheeks in tiny rivers, and her voice trembled with the effort to hold back sobs. It was better that Alster wasn’t awake to see her like this, coming apart at the seams. “But if it will help you to believe that it can… then I’ll leave. I won’t make you tell me that I need to. And if this doesn’t pan out for us…” Her hand rested on his cheek for a moment. “Then at least I’ll know I did everything I could for you. For us.”
Elespeth lowered her body to plant a lingering kiss on his cheek. “I always thought that I would die a knight, and nothing less. But whatever happens to me… all that matters is that I’ll have belonged to you. That is the only thing that matters.”
Taking a deep breath to compose herself, the former knight stood from the bed, and glanced at the sword cropped up in the corner of the room. Her sword, the one that Alster had enchanted to suit her alone. Even if those enchantments had been removed, like he’d done when he’d let the Serpent govern his body and decisions, it was still her sword, and a relic of the warrior she’d once been that she still held dear. But… there was no use for it, where she was going. Not in her condition.
So it was with only the clothes on her back that the ex-knight of Atvany left, late that night, stepping out of the inn without looking back. She did not go far before she ran into a familiar figure on patrol, in the evening. Someone she had not thought she’d see again. “Sigrid…”
“Elespeth--what are you doing out at this hour?” The tall Dawn warrior furrowed her brows, astonished to see the likes of Alster’s frail wife out and about long after dusk… and alone. “You should know it isn’t safe for you to be out here. Not all of Braighdath is on your side…”
“I know. I’m leaving for Galeyn. The Night Steeds have been making their rounds back and forth, have they not? It’s faster… and probably safer than attempting to travel during the day.” Elespeth hesitated. She hadn’t intended to explain herself further to the woman who had seemed to entirely shirk their friendship; but… Hadwin had mentioned something about Sigrid’s ‘drama’. Something that Alster had also gotten himself involved in, though he hadn’t spoken to her of any of it. Whatever was the case with Sigrid Sorenson, she had a feeling that the Dawn Warrior’s harsh words might have served an alternate purpose, than to merely hurt her feelings.
“Alster isn’t well, tonight. He partook in too much alcohol, and I… I won’t be here when he awakens. Can you relay a message for me? He’ll listen to you. And this…” She spread her arms, indicating her departure. “I don’t think it can wait until morning.”
When Alster awoke late the next morning, Elespeth was nowhere to be found--but he was not alone in the room. Sitting on the bed opposite his own at the other side of the room was Sigrid, an ordinary sword strapped across her back, knee-high boots still covering her feet. She didn’t show and signs of reacting when the Rigas head leaned over the side of the bed to vomit into the bedpan. “Elespeth was right; you’re looking worse for the wear.” Came her off handed comment. When he regained enough composure to ask of his wife’s whereabouts, an uncomfortable look befell her otherwise stoic face.
“How did I get roped into this…” Sigrid raked a hand through her blonde hair, which had come free of its rope braid in the front. She couldn’t be bothered to fix it, presently. “Elespeth left for Galeyn last night. She told me to relay to you that the reason she didn’t wake you is because she was afraid she’d change her mind and elect to stay, even with the poor condition of her heart. I agreed to stop in throughout the night to make sure you were still breathing.”
Standing from the bed, she poured a cup of water from a decanter sitting on the bedside table, and offered it to the miserable man. “I don’t know why I’m helping you, after you had the gall to get all up in my business--and then rope Naimah into all of it.” Her blue eyes were cold and accusatory, but also… something else swam behind them. It was the stirrings of hope. “She’s now dead-set on figuring out how to circumvent Gaolithe’s curse, thanks to you. And I agreed to let her do it. But Alster… if anything should befall her for trying to help me, because you had to light that fire in her…” She pressed her lips together and looked away from the Rigas mage. “I don’t know that I’ll be able to forgive you for it. For now… just hydrate yourself and get some rest. I’ll have plenty of opportunity to be angry with you, later.”
Alster’s dreams presented as a slew of incomprehensible information raining on his lap from an ever-expanding storm cloud. Tidbits from the last week, the last several weeks, and especially the last year expounded their abstract memories on him like eager firecrackers exploding without an inciting fire. Pop, pop, pop! Into his face, the overwhelming colors and noise of his life invaded, ceaseless in exuberance. He saw all significant events overlap. Look at everything that happened in a year! The dream screamed. Messino’s camp. The bake of summer in the barren fields. Meeting Elespeth. Her blood mixed with his blood. The oath. Her capture. Their escape. Death. Bodies succumbing to shadow serpents, to a mystical bird of white smoke. The Serpent. The buckling of the city. His arm. Elespeth.
Elespeth.
Elespeth…
He woke with a start--a motion he instantly regretted. With a gasp and a moan, he shuddered his eyes from the aggressive dominance of the morning sun bursting through the open window. An attempt to return his head against the pillow, however, met with failure. A familiar, nauseating sensation bubbled and rose to float effervescently between his brain and his eyes. A stale, sour odor burned in his nostrils. His stomach contracted and his chest threatened to squeeze out the remnants of his consciousness. With only seconds to spare, Alster swiped the chamberpot from the floor and poured out a stream of foul liquids. Rancid wine, and what looked like lumps of potatoes. Expelled of his burden (for now,) he set the pot to the ground and allowed himself a few breaths. That’s when he noticed Sigrid---and Elespeth’s notable absence.
“You must tire of watching the aftermath of my poor decision making,” Alster managed, with a self-deprecating smirk. “It’s been twice now, hasn’t it?” Clutching his head with his good hand, he made an effort to sit up in the bed. “And...I’ve overslept. Where’s Elespeth?”
But he already knew the answer before Sigrid voiced it aloud. For, why else would she and she alone be sitting in his room, when she was all too keen on avoiding him--and everyone? And why would his dreams focus on their memories of the past year, only a year, but such a long, noteworthy year? That year held a lifetime, and it dominated with Elespeth’s face, her touch, her soft words, the tears he shed for him, always for him, the sacrifices she made for him…
And that was why she had gone. To Galeyn, like he wanted. But not like this. Never like this!
He sat up so suddenly in bed, he was forced to retrieve the chamberpot for the second time. “No...why would she?” His eyes caught her discarded sword, propped up against the window. “And without her sword. Without an escort...she--dammit, I would have made the proper arrangements! I can’t believe...saying nothing to me. I...I didn’t get to say goodbye. I didn’t get to tell her how I really felt.” He rammed a weakened fist into his lap. “To have...this be her last impression of me, I...No. I wasn’t supposed to…”
...Break.
His eyes misted with tears, but he closed them in an effort to trap their moisture. He could fall apart on his own time, but not before company, especially one who expressed her disdain for him and for the situation Elespeth foisted on her. So, he blotted at his face with the edges of a blanket, gratefully accepted the water Sigrid offered, and sipped its rehydrating fluids with as much grace a hungover, distraught man could muster.
“Thank you,” he said. “For staying the night. I didn’t expect to see you again, after what I did.” He placed the empty cup on the table, and tested his feet on the hardwood floor. “But let me be honest here; it’s not like your ‘business’ is a mere personal matter that would have resolved itself, given time and healing. This has to do with magic; so yes, it’s my business to know. As I’ve expressed to your city’s court, I am Rigas Head, and I must ascertain any and all magical threats or curiosities that could affect me and my family. So I’m sorry I involved Naimah, but,” he wobbled to his feet, “are you certain she would have stood aside and done nothing? She was going to wrench the truth from you, Sigrid--with or without my help. She was planning on doing it that evening, in fact. All I provided her was information she was already determined to glean for herself.”
He gripped the windowsill in his teetering and precarious balance. The effort drew extra pallor on his ashen face and his breaths shortened in staccatoed gasps. “I’m tired of all the blame, Sigrid. Our actions don’t stand alone; neither do the consequences. So no, I did not light her fire. I gave her an opportunity; she did the rest. And I see that it’s helped; you don’t look as resigned to die.” He took a moment to concentrate on breathing and standing, breathing and standing. His stomach roiled and raged in protest; he cradled it with care. “But you came here and you said what you needed to say. You’re free to leave. I’m in no mood to argue, or to receive yet another complaint from an enraged Braighdathian for all I’ve done wrong. Please,” he nodded to the door. “I have a long day ahead of me, and the days to come. I’ll pass along any research I find to Naimah, so you won’t ever have to deal with me again. That’s what you wanted...right?”
The pep from last night, his smiles and assurances, or even the smooth patience he’d offered the Dawn warrior during their last encounter had fizzled to nothing but doleful stares and numbness. With Elespeth gone, why bother putting on a front? Yes, while he wanted her to go, too afraid of what lurked in Braighdath’s shadows, and the havoc an untreated heart condition would wreck, he...wished for her to stay. If only conditions were ideal…
But they were not. Now, she was gone. Chara was gone. Sigrid resented him, Haraldur continued to isolate everyone outside his island of Forbanne, Teselin preferred her own company, and he was too ashamed to make a reappearance at Briery’s caravan, after his reckless behavior from last night. He...was alone.
And the walls of that dark, windowless room threatened to box him inside, where whispers of his mother seethed; Stay in there forever, for all I care.
The suffocating room of his nightmares. Always waiting for his return. A deserved fate, for one so punished as he. And once he escorted Sigrid outside his chambers and closed the door, the loneliness invited itself from where it lurked out in the hallways. How he hated it so much!
I’m so sorry, Elespeth, he thought, crouching before his chamberpot to vomit out the water he just drank. I hurt you again. I hurt us. I already miss you. You’ve always made me stronger.
Please be well. And I will do my best in your absence.
A fortnight had passed since Elespeth’s unsanctioned departure to Galeyn, and Alster, as before, threw himself into his duties. So much needed doing, and to expedite the mass shifting of D’Marians to their new home, he welcomed volunteers outside the Rigas household. Equally as eager to leave as their now-alienated hosts and the hostility that permeated from the city walls, volunteers numbered in the hundreds. Working under his and the council’s instructions, D’Marians built temporary structures as waypoints for the Night steeds and their passengers, dismantled and packed away parts of camp, and provided assistance in the painstaking and tedious work of the census.
Before leaving Stella D’Mare to the ravages of Mollengard, Chara Rigas had conducted a survey of the citizens; more an accountability list, akin to keeping an inventory on provisions and food. Along the arduous journey to Braighdath, Alster and his section commanders updated the list as people fell ill and died. Now, the survey was in desperate need of an update, as he and the council had shamefully fallen lax in the constant amending to their dwindling population. It was a disheartening practice, to tally up the dead and assign numbers to names, but a necessary one. Galeyn, in order to accommodate their influx in population, required an up-to-date account of D’Marian arrivals. Of course, the final result would always end up an approximation. Not every citizen kept in upstanding visibility to the ruling family. Some simply had no records to show. Stowaways and ne’r-do-wells existed among the crowd, dodging the numbers and incriminating paperwork to keep their criminal acts clandestine. It was a mathematical impossibility to name everyone. Yet, Alster Rigas was all for trying. Whatever would help to facilitate his reunion with Elespeth.
“This is a curious finding.” A councilman passed a page of parchment to Alster. As always, they conducted their business in the back table at the inn, shuffling and sorting through numerous reports from volunteer surveyors. “You know how we could not account for the whereabouts of six D’Marians? They were never reported as dead, but missing. According to reports, two out of the six had abandoned their tents, and those who shared a space with the remaining four claim they never returned, one night.”
“Hm.” Alster squinted at the page. “And Galeyn has not reported any unplanned arrivals in their roster?”
“No, Lord.”
“Perhaps they took their leave, or applied for Braighdathian citizenship,” one councilman suggested, with a snort.
“But the connecting thread here is that all six of these missing people disappeared in the night without a word to their comrades. They took nothing with them. No luggage, no money, no food.” Alster shook his head. “Something’s not right. The fact that this has happened to six disparate people, over the small window of a month, cries foul play to me.”
“Are you suggesting they were murdered, Lord?” Another councilman tilted his head in curiosity. “Do you believe our witch in the woods is responsible?”
Alster’s frown deepened, matching the furrow on his brow. “It could be. There isn’t enough evidence to launch a full-on investigation, but...least we can do is search the woods for bodies.”
Three more times, it happened. Three more bodies to bury--each case, proving more difficult to dispose of, undetected. A body gutted in the middle of camp. A man pinned to his bedsheets, beside a sleeping child. A smeared blood trail in broad daylight. Hadwin knew she was doing it on purpose. Wanted to see him undertake new and more difficult challenges, curious to see when he’d withdraw his helping hand...or get caught red-handed.
And if he was right, if she was testing him, what was the correct answer? To leave her alone? To assist? To stop her? Or...was she luring him, either to watch from afar in anticipation for the kill, or to frame him for the murders and allow Alster Rigas to dole out the punishment? For, they both knew that, if he were apprehended, he’d confess to the murders in her place.
Because Hadwin Kavanagh, in the eyes of the person he cherished most, was predictable, and a fool. A sad sack of a person, manipulated by his loyalty. Yes, he would do anything for her. ...And that was the problem.
Now, Rowen had stepped up her game. She’d done the deed inside the walls of Braighdath. He was looking at her handiwork. Male, middle-aged, his face a rictus of terror. Gutted--her preferred method. Except, this time, she’d strung out the man’s innards and fashioned them around his neck, to resemble a noose.
The man was councilman Thuban. Dead in an alleyway. In daylight.
“Fuck. Shit.” He clawed a hand through his hair. Rowen Kavanagh had graduated, all right. From nobodies in the D’Marian encampment, to the man who’d condemned Elespeth Rigas and dragged her husband into the fray. This...was a political statement. And it would royally screw Stella D’Mare.
“I didn’t like how he looked at you.” The once timorous timbre of his favorite sister oozed confidence. She stepped out of hiding, warm dagger pulsing in her hand. Her hair, matted with blood. Skin and clothes shiny with its slickness. “Like dirt he wanted to clean. He was a cheater. And I know you wanted him ruined, too.”
“Rowen,” Hadwin growled, “do you understand what you did? What this means for--”
“I don’t care,” she said, in a singsong voice. “I didn’t like him. Clean him up, if you can. But I wouldn’t. He’s not worth the risk.”
“Dammit, Ro; I’m right here,” his voice pitched, almost plaintive. Desperate. “Let’s get out of here. You can do whatever the hell you want to me, but we need to go now.”
“Would you? Would you, really? Drop everything and leave with me?” She cocked her head to one side, looking unconvinced. “You’d leave your young charge, your replacement sister?”
“Yes! Now let’s go--” He stopped. Froze in place. Sniffed the air. Whirled around, and saw…
“Teselin.” He ground his teeth. Looked back over his shoulder. Rowen was gone. Just the two of them, in an alley, with a high-profile dead man. “No...Kid, you shouldn’t be here.” He raced toward the summoner, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders. “You’ll be in deep shit if you... Get out!” He snarled in her ear; a rough, pained whisper, and pushed her to the mouth of the alleyway. “Get the fuck out, I mean it! I’ll deal with this.”
Sigrid had anticipated the Rigas head’s shaken reaction upon realizing that his wife was not only gone from their room; she was gone from their city. This factor had very nearly been the variable that had encouraged her not to comply with Elespeth’s wishes. The conversation between herself and the failing warrior the night before was still fresh in her mind.
“You’d leave… now. With no preparation, no warning… and no weapons?” The Dawn warrior had frowned her disapproval, her mouth puckering as if she’d tasted something sour. “I know you are not so daft as to follow through with a plan like that, Elespeth Rigas. Alster knows nothing of this: you do know that he is going to be startled and hurt? That he will blame himself for your absence? That he will mourn that he could not, at the very least, see you off?”
“I know, Sigrid… I know. This is wrong of me. It is the wrong way to do it.” The ex-knight wore such a visage of defeat on her face, it struck a familiar chord in Sigrid. It connoted the same feeling that had suffocated her when Teselin had shared with her the truth of Gaolithe’s curse: a feeling of being resigned to one’s fate. To one’s own death, even… “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave so badly that I know if I do not do it right now, while I have the courage and the strength… I won’t find it in myself to do so in the morning. I should have gone when Lilica arrived; Alster asked me to. I refused, and I thought I’d refused out of love and concern for him. Because I believed that somehow, my just being here would benefit him, but… but I was selfish, Sigrid. I did not stay behind for him. I stayed behind for me, and… and it is destroying him. He worries for me, every day, every moment that I remain, and it is destroying him.| Tears had escaped her green eyes. She’d hastily wiped them away, but not before the observant Dawn warrior had taken notice. “He lost himself in wine, tonight. So desperate for an escape, a reprieve… please, Sigrid. I need you to do this for me. I know I have no right to ask this of you; you don’t owe me anything, and you must resent me, but…”
“I don’t resent you, knight.” Sigrid’s interruption came soft and earnest. It was enough for Elespeth’s tired eyes to widen in surprise. “What I said to you before… forget it. All of it. I am amidst my own demons, and I thought that pushing you away might make things easier for me… but I was wrong. Let’s just say, your husband is a stubborn and resourceful man.” A half-grin had tugged at the corner of her mouth, and she laid a hand upon Elespeth’s bony shoulder. “I’ll do as you ask. But first, let’s arrange your travel. And, Elespeth? Do not underestimate the power of the Night Garden. Whatever has happened to your heart, know that mortality within the Night Garden is a rare case. It will take care of you… so now is not the time to give up. Do you understand?”
“I will admit, I tried to talk her out of it.” Sigrid said to Alster, as she rubbed the back of her next. “About leaving in the dead of night. But ultimately, I found her reasoning was sound. She knew she needed to leave; she knew that the courage and strength she found to do so would not endure. So she did what she thought was best, at the moment she thought she could do it. You needn’t worry, though.” The Dawn warrior paced the length of the room, hands clasped behind her back. “I ascertained that she did not travel alone. She was escorted by one of the Dawn Guard, who was himself not without weapons. The Guard and the steed returned some hours later, and reported she had been delivered safely. Where she is now, no harm should befall her--whether it be her heart, or otherwise.”
She’d owed it to Elespeth, she’d realized--and to Alster. To see the former knight off safely, and to shoulder the burden of having to break the news to Alster, though he’d likely have figured it out without her help. Sigrid had failed to see to Elespeth’s safety, before; she wasn’t about to let that happen again. “I wish I could tell you why she made this decision, Alster. But I have a feeling it was to spare you having to tell her that you’d like to send her away… perhaps she didn’t have it in her to have that conversation. And she thought… that this would be easier. Either way,” she sighed, realizing there was nothing she could say that would lift the gravity of this event. “I know that she did this for you; not out of spite, and not out of some unsound ideation that you’re better off without her. You might not have had a chance to see her off… but I have a feeling that ‘goodbye’ was not what she wanted to hear. Not when she intends to see you again.”
But she was right; it didn’t matter what she said, and not because she couldn’t offer comfort, but she’d already succeeded in burning the bridge that led to Alster. The Dawn warrior didn’t argue when he saw her out--however, the Rigas mage was not alone with his sorrows for long. Not a quarter of an hour later, Sigrid returned, with a vial of pale blue liquid in hand. She did not wait to be invited in, or even knock on Alster’s door before she saw herself back inside his chamber. He looked as though he had just finished dressing in something more presentable… and it had taken him this length of time to do it.
“I figured I’d repay the favor. You were all up in my business; so what better place for me to be than in yours?” Sigrid set the vial next to pitcher of water at Alster’s bedside. Her expression wasn’t as guarded as before; in fact, it was soft with the shadow of regret. “...maybe you’re right. Naimah already had the fire in her to confront me when she wanted to; you just gave her a reason to do so. I wrongly underestimated her agency… or, more likely, I overestimated my ability to lie. Either way… you’re not to blame. And I haven’t any right to hold what you did against you.”
It had been too long since she’d smiled or laughed for genuine reasons, so the smile she offered the Rigas head felt tight and unpracticed; but it was a smile, nonetheless. “It wasn’t my wish to never speak to you again. None of that… was what I wanted. I thought it would be easier to come to term with the fact that I’d be forgotten, if I didn’t leave any friends behind in this world. But I also did not investigate the possibility that there might be… I don’t know. Some way to cheat old magic? Naimah certainly seems convinced that I can be saved. I don’t have the heart to convince her otherwise. So…” She took a seat on the bed opposite that of Alster’s and sighed. “I’ll understand if you’d rather send me away; I deserve it for the way I treated you and Elespeth. But if you’re open to some help in coordinating the relocation of the D’Marians, I’d be more than happy to have a distraction from that wretched sword.”
The Dawn warrior gestured to the small vial she’d placed on the table. “I can tell you’re not going to heed my advice and rest, today. So if you intend to throw yourself back into work, you can’t do it while feeling like absolute shit.” Standing again, she poured him another glass of water, and dumped the contents of the vial into it, tinting the water the faintest hue of blue. “This will replenish all of the nutrients your body is lacking in its current state. It isn’t magic, but it’ll help keep you focused and hydrated. But regardless of how you’re feeling…” She met his eyes to better convey her apology. “You don’t need to face any of this alone. I wish I’d realized this sooner, myself.”
While Teselin had kept quiet for a while now, had kept her head down and managed to keep out of trouble, she was not unaware of the dark happenings taking place in the city of Braighdath--or more specifically, the dark entity responsible for these occurrences. And it had nothing to do with the sorceress called Locque.
Rowen Kavanagh had stealth on her side. She knew how, where, and when to hide, and if she didn’t want to be seen, she could as good as make herself invisible. But despite having been in her presence only twice, the young summoner was as sensitive to auras as Hadwin was to scents. And she could identify the stinging chill of Rowen’s infected aura in the sea of a million people. Of course, the moment she’d suspected the girl’s presence, her first thought had been to warn Hadwin: to encourage him, no, beg him to leave. Except… all too soon, she’d realized he was well aware that his sister had found him. That she had somehow made it into Braighdath, and that she was responsible for the D’Marians that were going missing, one by one…
She discovered this the night she’d spied Hadwin disposing of a body; one she’d known hadn’t been his doing, because the faoladh had no reason to pursue senseless murder. Her heart had sunk so deep into her chest that night that she feared she couldn’t feel it beating anymore. Hadwin knew Rowen was around; and he was covering for her. Protecting her, despite knowing that her greatest desire and boldest pursuit was to end his life. Not knowing what to do, or how to protect someone who clearly didn’t care to be protected, she’d fled to her hideaway in the alley, that night, where she’d spent most of her time in the days that followed. But she still kept tabs on Rowen; tried to discern a pattern, to detect who the young killer would go for next, but there was seemingly no rhyme or reason to her kills. And while it occurred to her to warn Alster, she was also well aware that by doing so, she’d forever alienate Hadwin, who still held his depraved sister dear to his heart. Loving a twisted sibling was not something she could fault him for; not when she was devoted to an older brother whom she knew had also ended lives.
Do Teselin kept tabs, but she kept quiet; all up until the day that Rowen decided to pursue higher stakes, and take the life of the man who had lost his wife at Elespeth’s hands: the councilman who would’ve seen fit to end the ex-knight’s life and withdraw any future aid for the D’Marians. And while Elespeth’s absence of two weeks would surely absolve her of any suspicion in this case… the safety of the D’Marian’s within and without Braighdath’s walls would only be further compromised. It seemed that Rowen was through with hiding. She wanted her work to be noticed. And she wanted to see how her brother would clean up the magnitude of this mess…
She’d found the man first, dead and gutted in an alley earlier that morning, and had immediately set out to find Hadwin. To confront him about covering up for Rowen, and to advise him to leave as soon as possible. But in her search for the faoladh, she came full circle back at the scene of the crime. Rowen was there, but she was quick in her retreat, and Teselin had no intention of making chase. She could still sense the bitter presence of Hadwin’s sister in her wake, like a chill that would not pass. Why she insisted on toying with Hadwin, instead of doing away with him, as was her wish, was beyond her. Killing her brother wouldn’t suffice, it seemed. Now, she felt the need to toy with him… to make him suffer.
It needed to stop--she needed to stop. But short of killing her (which was something Teselin could never do; never again, if she could help it), the young summoner was helpless to be of aid. But the time for standing back and letting it unfold was over; standing near the dead body of a city politician in broad daylight could certainly put an end to keeping to the sidelines.
“I’m not leaving.” She breathed, her dark eyes both sad and afraid. You’d leave your young charge? Your replacement sister? Rowen’s cruel words still rang in her ears… and yet, she felt nothing, because of course she’d expected Hadwin’s response. Of course he would leave her for his family, even if it meant his death; family was everything. At least… she used to believe that. There had been a time when she’d have dropped everything to find Vitali, regardless of who it affected. And now… Now, she knew she couldn’t leave for Galeyn without Hadwin.
“I’m not leaving,” she repeated, with a little more power behind her small voice. “We are. Please, Hadwin… let’s leave for Galeyn. I know what Rowen has been doing, and she’s doing it to get your attention. You can walk away… you know she won’t get caught. Not unless she wants to.”
Teselin hardly budged when he shoved her; as if her tiny form could take on the strength and weight of lead if she willed it. “I can’t lose you.” Her voice broke, then, and tears gathered in her eyes. “I know you want to help Rowen. I know--and I understand! But you cannot help her if you’re dead. You can’t help if you don’t walk away from this…” She reached for his wrist and clasped it with both of her hands. “We need to talk to Alster--and to Sigrid. I won’t ask you to tell them this is all Rowen’s doing… but please, just walk away. Let the city deal with this; tell them you found this man like this, and come with me to Galeyn. The Dawn Guard is actively regulating any and all entry into that place; even if she does follow, it won’t be easy for her. There’s no reason for you to stay here, anymore… please, Hadwin.” She drew air into her lungs and expelled it in a shaky breath. “...you don’t need to face this alone. I don’t want you to.”
Teselin wouldn’t budge, even as she strained against the force of his push. And really, what did he expect she’d do!? Of course she’d hold firm against him. She, too, was a fool, throwing her lots in with the wrong people. Not that he’d given her a choice, given how aggressively he’d committed to her from the start. Was he that desperate for a ‘replacement’ sibling? So eager to start from scratch and do right by her, as penance for the life he destroyed?
Lives, the shadow with the glass teeth corrected. You’ve destroyed lives, Hadwin. If you never existed, I’d be alive, and Rowen…
No, he interjected, and for the first time in months, stared down the shadow that so loved to stare him down. Rowen needed me. No one else gave a shit!
You needed her. And look how well she turned out! Now, you’re needing this broken young girl who cries for you. But who do you need more? And can you live with your choice?
“Teselin,” his arm loosed on her shoulder, but his fierce-set eyes met her tearful brown ones. So much fear, as usual. And as usual, one of her most prominent fears flew at him like a gut-punch, the images so palatable, a simple set of words accompanied their vision. I don’t want to lose you.
Moments later, her words confirmed her fears. I can’t lose you.
It would be better if she didn’t care. As he’d mentioned to Alster before the man went black-out drunk, too much respect impinged on freedom. Restricted movement, and limited decisions. Because you had to make decisions with others in mind, if you wanted to keep their trust. Teselin...respected him. Trusted him. What shallow faith remained in her was reserved...for him.
What could be said for Rowen? No doubt she was watching his interactions with the summoner from afar, anticipating what he’d say or do next. If he agreed to leave with Teselin, he’d be making a choice. The replacement sister over his real sister. By doing so, by saying ‘yes,’ it meant taking one step away from Rowen. Abandoning her to her fate. Allowing dangers to befall her, empty of his protection.
But didn’t she already abandon him? After all, she wanted him dead. Though, he didn’t mind the price; premature death for one of his self-destructive persuasion was an eventuality. Every swing of his fist and swig of a flask prepared him for the end. One day closer. It tasted as sweet as honey wine. Release. No more shadows whispering his guilt-ridden fears. No more nightmares replaying the night the shadow’s desire overtook his will, and he submitted, as he did to the dozens of men and women who violated him, before. You are mine, that sultry voice hummed, always. Never forget where you belong. But despite the shadow’s possessive claims, her ‘always’ transcending life itself, he believed in death’s offer: ultimate freedom. From her. No more seeking fights and relishing arguments, of drinking and smoking himself to a stupor, of constantly bouncing from distraction to distraction in his efforts to ignore the cloying truth that every day threatened to throttle him until he crumbled like white chalk. He was poison, better off dying from its self-inflicted dose than allowing others to breathe in his toxins and suffer the same fate. Yet, he was selfish, and force-fed his sickly-sweet miasma on Briery, and on Teselin. If he died, now...how would it infect them? Most importantly, how would it infect the fragile girl before him, bereft of all hope? In this extremely rare case, might he be better off alive, than dead?
You’re repeating history, Hadwin, the shadow seethed. She’ll fall, just like Rowen. You know this! And you’ll be the responsible one.
I know, he thought, resigning to the heartfelt words of the broken girl who needed him so much. But it doesn’t matter. I’m a fool. Always fucked to repeat the same mistakes.
“This is too tough a position to be in, you realize that. But...you drive a hard bargain,” he said, managing a tilt of a smile, despite the waver in his voice, or the conflict in his stricken eyes. His hand traveled from her shoulder to her cheeks, and he knuckled away her tears. “I can’t say no when you put it like that, waterworks and everything. Gods, I’m such a sucker.” He forced out a self-deprecating laugh and took her hand. “C’mon, squirt. What’s done is done. Can’t say I didn’t try, right?” Glancing over his shoulder a second time, he added, for Rowen’s ears, “But I’m not done trying. I walk away a loser, but I haven’t exhausted my love for abysmal odds. I’ll be back to play again, I promise you that.”
Together, they crept out of the alleyway, searching both sides of the avenue to ensure safe passage without detection from the more astute passersby. Once they cleared the street that harbored the dead politician, the tension trapped inside Hadwin’s chest eased by degrees, and he found he could breathe again, without shuddering.
“Well,” he spoke through the silence, eager to place some distance on their macabre encounter, “that left me a shivering, frightened mess of a person. I’m supposed to be the calm and collected one, here.” A sigh stripped away his faux cheer. “Sorry you had to see that. But I’m impressed by your guts. You didn’t balk or anything. I’m...I’m gonna make it up to you, okay? For,” he paused. For what I said, about leaving you behind. “We’ll go to Galeyn. Really--” he drew out a grin, “it’s about damn time. I was ready to check out that place weeks ago. Not sure I’m hot on their cuisine, though.” He scrunched his nose in distaste. “No meat at all? Bleh. I’m a majestic beast. Once that kingdom’s done with me, I’ll be reduced to some scrawny thing, and that won’t do.”
Relief replaced the remnants of his trepidation as they cleared far away from the murder site. Halfway across town, and with the inn in sight, Hadwin slowed his steps, then stopped, a thoughtful expression wrinkling his brow. With their hands still linked, Teselin pulled up beside him, concerned for his sudden brake. “I...I’m a little squishy right now,” he ventured, with a shaky smile. “Wound up with sentimentality or some shit. It’s not a good look for me, but I bet you don’t care. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is…” He swept the tiny girl into a hug, heedless of the people who saw them in midst of a vulnerable moment. “I appreciate you, kid. Every bone of your body. No matter what happens...remember that, alright?” He released her from his soft grip, and painted on another grin. “Well, enough of that, else I’m gonna be doing nothing but drinking my liver to oblivion for the rest of the day. Let’s go and let Alster know that he’s fucked all the way till kingdom come.”
On that particular day, Alster was conducting business separately in his room, keeping in contact with several sources via resonance stones to delegate from afar. Owing to his poor constitution, which had grown steadily worse, he took Sigrid’s advice and opted for recuperation in the safety of his chambers. Since the Dawn warrior offered her apologies and her assistance in the facilitation of workflow, she was his frequent visitor, and a helpful liaison between the D’Marians and Braighdath. Sometimes, she acted as his runner, relaying information from the inn to the Night steed depots outside the city, if a matter needed handling in person. He was thankful for the company (the only true company he saw nowadays) and repaid her by focusing his spare time on researching the elements that comprised her cursed sword, and the lore surrounding its legacy. But out of respect for Gaolithe’s intended victim and her sensitivity to the subject, he never discussed it to her face; he passed along his findings to Naimah, instead.
However, in light of recent discoveries, he’d placed his research on hold.
“I don’t understand it,” he expressed to Sigrid, pacing his room in a poor attempt to exercise. He tried--and failed--to debrief from the slew of nonstop news and updates vibrating from the stones, but the lull did nothing to still the rapid beating of his heart. “My guards uncovered three bodies buried in the woods. They fit the descriptions of the missing D’Marians--and they’re certain they can find the other three bodies. But if this is the work of Locque, it doesn’t fit with her methods. I’m aware that this is all speculation on my part, but I can’t tie in a connection between this latest discovery and what happened with Elespeth. I don’t think she’d bury her victims. She’d display them, proudly.” He pinched his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Do you think she’s controlling somebody else over the long-term? Even so...why target regular citizens? Why bury the victims? It doesn’t make sense.”
A brusque knock on the door rattled Alster out of his out-loud ramblings. “Come in.”
Hadwin stepped through the open threshold, followed by Teselin. He gave a curt nod of hello to Sigrid, but didn’t deign to voice his acknowledgment. “Wish I could roll on in and shoot the shit,” he bumped the door closed with his hip, “but I’ll cut straight to it. We’ve got an issue. Your favorite councilman’s been gutted like a fish out in some back-end alley.”
Alster did not quite comprehend the news. He gaped, also resembling a fish, and tried to deconstruct the loaded message, one piece at a time. “...Councilman Thamon? He’s....are you telling me he’s dead?”
“‘Fraid so.” He motioned to the summoner. “We found the body. Fresh kill. Happened not an hour ago, I’d wager. Got his innards all pulled out and wrapped around his neck like a noose. Someone’s setting you up, Lord Rigas. Or some crazed vigilante is trying to right the wrongs of this city’s broken system. Whatever the case,” he threw up his arms, “it’s one hell of a dilemma.”
Alster stumbled against the edge of the bed and took a seat. Though he weighed little, the cushions beneath him seemed to sag into a severe depression. “First the bodies in the woods, now this. I…” he shook his head and focused on the positive. “...I’m glad Elespeth isn’t here for this. At least they can’t blame her. But...will they pin it on me?”
Hadwin turned away, rummaging through his pockets in search of his pipe. When he whirled back around to face everyone, the bowl smoldered its pungent drug in the air, its embers burning in his eyes. “The bodies in the woods. Who were they?”
The Rigas Head raised his head. “What?”
“Were they D’Marian?”
“Yes. No Rigases, but….six of them were missing, over the course of a month. Three were found in the woods. Murdered. ...Gutted.”
“Like a fish, right?”
Alster nodded mutely, too shocked and overwhelmed to reason out the latest crop of bad news.
“Well,” he blew out a puff of smoke, “you’ve got your case, then. Serial murders, the majority of them, D’Marians. All kicked the bucket the same way. Death by evisceration. Including--our newest victim. You’ve got an alibi, and a witness; been here the whole time, right?”
The wilted thing before him nodded again.
“And what sicko leader would murder six of their own citizens just to get away with murdering one sour-faced councilman for the sake of revenge?”
“Apparently, this one,” Alster muttered. “Most of the city doesn’t think well of me. I don’t doubt they’d believe I’d arrange a set of serial murders with no apparent rhyme or reason and blame them all on Locque. She’s the perfect scapegoat, now, and I’ve already used her to try and exonerate Elespeth. No matter the strength of my defense,” he closed his eyes and sagged his head, “it doesn’t look good for me.”
“Why would she bury them, then?” Hadwin rolled back his shoulders. “If the council wants to argue that you’ve set this all up, you, acting as Locque, wouldn’t bury the bodies. That humanizes her. And if you say this has been going on for a month, well...timeline checks out. This predates Elespeth’s little puppet murder.”
Alster sighed and bobbed a nod. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Well, I’d like to say I’d help more, but,” he squeezed Teselin’s shoulder, “this scamp wants to see her brother, and I promised I’d go with her. Things are getting dangerous in Braighdath; I don’t mind it, but it’s not a good mood for Tes, here.”
“Of course.” Alster’s dreary eyes locked on Teselin. “I’ll make those arrangements for you tonight if you’d like. I’d feel safer knowing you were in Galeyn, too. Please, take care.” He nodded up at Hadwin. “You, as well. I’ll look after The Missing Links in your absence.”
“Pretty sure they can look after themselves but...much obliged.” Before he exited with the summoner in tow, Hadwin glanced over his shoulder. “Just get out of here as soon as you can. No need to salvage any connections with this place. You got the right people on your side; that’s what counts.”
The overworked Rigas Head forced the smallest of hopeful smiles. “Thank you. It’s easy to think the worst, nowadays, so I appreciate your common sense reasoning ...I’m sorry about your tongue.”
With a wild, energized cackle, Hadwin stuck out the tongue of note. “That came out of nowhere, Al. Hah, think I’d still be alive if I couldn’t survive a little tongue-lashing? Psh. Besides, you made Cwenha laugh, and you didn’t have to chop off my balls to do it.” In farewell, he mock-saluted to both Alster and Sigrid. “Don’t let any bastard swords or bastard politicians break you two, alright?” And then he slammed the door, in typical loud, brash Hadwin fashion.
In preparations for the evening’s departure, the faoladh needed to make another stop. Since Teselin wouldn’t part from his side (and he was reluctant to do the same), he took her to Briery’s caravan. It was midday when he poked his head around the campsite; luckily, the ringleader was milling about outside, loading up some fabrics and other materials into the storage area behind the womens’ caravan. He grabbed some bolts and buntings, and kept in step behind her, threatening to step on her heels as she moved.
“I’m sure you’ll miss this,” he said, stashing his load of materials in the corner. “Of course, I speak of my charming idiosyncrasies.” He jerked his head towards Teselin. “Me and the kid are heading out to Galeyn tonight. It’s,” a sheen of solemnity crept into his usual, devil-may-care attitude, “getting unsafe here. And it’ll be better for her.” And me, he thought. I’m the real reason we’re running away.
Because that’s what you do, the shadow teased in his ear. You run.
“Don’t know your future plans or anything, but,” he dropped to a dangerous whisper, “be careful. Death’s becoming a statistic, around here.”
Leaning back on his feet, he induced an amused laugh. “Aren’t I fucking hypocrite? I’ve never listened to that advice in all of my days. But I mean it.”
And to show how much he meant it, he pressed a sensual kiss on her lips. It, like everything else he had done lately, was laced with desperation.
