It had not taken long for Sigrid and Naimah to catch up to Vega that evening, offering to assist her in the search for the wounded Missing Link. As the Dawn Warrior had expected, the peculiarly quiet princess welcomed their company, and together they set off to find Cwenha. Sure enough, as Alster had mentioned, she was there at the fountain toward the East gate, passed out and smelling of alcohol… but she was not alone.
The Forbanne soldier who presented himself so formally took the princess off guard, and it was a moment before she could find the words to respond. “There is no need for formalities, here; in fact, it would be best for you to just call me Vega.” She explained, although it did not appear to put the soldier much at ease. “And what might I call you?” A stupid question, she realized all too late. He was Forbanne; they did not have names. And he had yet to choose one, it seemed.
“I… I do not know,” Vega responded in turn to Naimah’s question. She was not familiar enough with the Forbanne as a whole to understand what it looked like when (or if) they finally found their autonomy. Regardless, this young man’s pledge was genuine; there was no pretense with the Forbanne. Nodding to the soldier, the pregnant Skyknight took a step forward. “Continue as you were, soldier. I trust whatever orders my husband has given you are steadfast. However, this girl you are guarding is a friend, and she is in need of medical attention. I would request that you relinquish her to us, so that a healer might see to her injured foot. I can promise you, her safety is our first and foremost concern.”
The soldier complied, on the condition that he help carry Cwenha to the infirmary, and Vega saw no reason to refuse him. After all, he was easily the most qualified, even in light of Sigrid’s presence. The Dawn warrior stepped aside to allow the Forbanne soldier gingerly pick up the slight, silver-clad acrobat, taking care to support her bruised and swollen foot. “Thank you for your cooperation,” she said to him, before she and the other two women departed with him for the infirmary. They were relieved to find that there was ample space for the injured girl, who had not awoken from her alcohol-induced slumber. When she did wake, it would be to more than just a sore foot.
“I don’t know if my husband has told you this, soldier. But know that you are valuable, and your help is valued.” The Skyknight princess put a hand on the Forbanne man’s shoulder in gratitude. “And I prefer to address those of value by their name. The next time I see you, I want you to have decided on a suitable name for yourself. It doesn’t have to even be meaningful; just something that we might call you. A name that you have heard before, with a sound that resonates with you.” As if hearkening the conversation he’d had with Cwenha just hours earlier, Vega smiled and encouraged him the same way the young acrobat had. “If you cannot think of one, then come back to me, and we can find one for you together. Or, if not me, then maybe her.” She nodded to the sleeping woman in the infirmary bed, whose brow remained creased with worry, even in the arms of slumber. “I assume the two of you must have spoken, if you chose to take it upon yourself to look out for her. In fact, it might be a nice gesture to check in on her in the morning, if you have time. I have no doubt that her troupe will also see to her well-being, but this is how you make friends; by showing up once in a while.”
They parted ways with the nameless Forbanne, then, and Naimah’s following question left Vega just as perplexed as the Kariji woman. “I do not know, to be honest. I’ve only spoken with a few of the Forbanne, and only in passing. That this man knew who I was, and that he pledged himself to me so freely… he is different from the others. I expect he is one who can and will make a full recovery and come back to himself, with the right company and encouragement. Just like Haraldur did.”
Her husband’s name passed her lips on a sigh, and the princess’s posture visibly changed at that point, appearing more shrunken and slow. “Well, thank you both for helping me see to that young woman’s safety. I have no doubt that she is in good hands.”
“Well, since everyone seems to have something to say to you, tonight,” Sigrid stepped in, concerned for the shadows that darkened the princess’s face. This was not the woman she remembered, one so alight with fire now barely smouldering like coals following a rainstorm. Before Vega could walk away, the Dawn warrior blocked her path and took her hand as she knelt upon one knee. “Know that you have my sword as well at your beck and call. And that so long as I stand, I will not let any harm befall you or your children. I so swear.” Regardless of how involved Haraldur chooses to be, she thought, but did not add.
The corner of Vega’s mouth twitched into a grin. She shook her head at the Dawn warrior’s all too familiar antics. “You do know I’m married, right?”
“And I am most happily involved with another beautiful woman. Don’t flatter yourself, Vega; not everything I say to another woman’s benefit is flirting!”
“No, you’re right. I’d know if you were flirting; you’re absolutely horrible at it. Luckily for you, the beautiful woman on your arm does not seem to mind.” She winked knowingly at Naimah and chuckled. “Sorry to cut these festivities short, but the more pregnant I get, the more quickly my feet get swollen if I remain standing for too long. I am going to call it a night. The two of you best enjoy yourselves.”
“...what? I wasn’t flirting!” Sigrid found the need to defend herself after Vega took her leave, and she and Naimah made the way back to the revelries. “That woman terrifies me too much to even joke about it anymore; I was hoping to bring some of her old self back since that awful Clematis healer extinguished it. I’ll happily get on a knee and profess my dedication to you in front of everyone, if you want--but,” she smirked, “I can’t guarantee that I won’t embarrass the hell out of the both of us.”
Concerned for the impact of Elias’s words, and whether Vega had been serious about severing them from their duties of providing her prenatal care for her children, Daphni was not about to leave the situation from the previous evening to fester as it did. She’d had no luck tracking Vega down after the fact, that evening, and assumed the princess must have retired early. But as soon as the sun rose the next morning, the Sybaian healer hauled her Clematis counterpart out of bed and explained that they had some work to do. This bitter tension between him and the Eyraillian princess could not continue, for a number of reasons, and for that, she was finally putting her foot down and forcing intervention before anything else escalated.
“Come on; we are going to do some damage control.” She vaguely explained, as she urged Elias out of bed. She was already dressed in her Sybaian robes, and looked uncharacteristically impatient. “This unnecessary tension between the two of you isn’t helping anyone: not you, not her, and certainly not me, either. And I am not going to let any more negative discourse drive the Eyraillian princess into making any more decisions that might endanger her life or the children’s. So we are going to clear this up now: for the sake of the twins, if not for her own sake, if you really care so little for the mother.”
Perhaps it was her forthcoming conviction that took Elias off guard and convinced him to agree, but the Sybaian healer was happy to find no resistance from her partner and counterpart upon her suggestion. As soon as he dressed and prepared himself, they left their shared chambers and made directly for Vega’s room. Daphni knocked on the door, but did not speak up, for fear that the princess would not welcome them inside if she knew who was at her door. After hearing a hesitant ‘come in’, she opened the door to a curious (and worrying) sight. The bedroom appeared to have returned to a state of disuse, the bed tightly made, everything tucked away cleanly as if awaiting the next occupant. The Eyraillian princess had not brought with her a great number of belongings, but no trace of her (save for the woman herself, who was packing her clothes into a large, leather bag) was left in this room. Vega did not look up as they approached.
“Vega,” Daphni ventured carefully, sensing unrest in the woman’s aura (which was commonplace, these days, but she was not about to be brash and take any chances). “What… is this?”
“What, the room? I’m giving it up to a more suitable occupant.” Vega explained, as if it were not lofty decision and had little bearing on her life. “Don’t look so concerned, this has been a long time coming. It’s too big for me, to be honest--yes, even when I’m living for three. And it… was never used to the extent that I had intended it.” Her voice had taken a quiet drop, then, and it didn’t take a Sybaian healer to understand what she meant. That the palace room was never supposed to be for her, alone. But the other occupant for whom it had been intended… well, that had never come to pass.
Daphni had suspected the absence of her husband would weigh on the princess’s heart, but she could not deny that heartache alone was what had incited this decision. She was too observant for that, and frankly, not stupid. “You are changing to a smaller room, then?”
“So to speak. I am preparing to move from the heart of the kingdom, within the next day or so. There are yet cottages unoccupied in Galeyn’s rural settlements. I’ve already been invited to stay with a lot of broken families, but,” she shrugged and rested one hand on her protruding stomach with a half smile. “We don’t want to burden them. So we’ll dwell among them instead, for a little while.”
“Wait… so you intend to inhabit the outskirts?” The Sybaian healer could not disguise the alarm in her voice, and without thinking, she gripped Elias’s arm, as if afraid she might fall. “But that is beyond the reach of the Night Garden, according to the Gardeners. If you leave, you cannot hope to benefit from it, that far out…”
“I am not worried for me or my children, Daphni. Both of you have said yourselves that my pregnancy has progressed with the normalcy of any pregnancy, and myself and the children are healthy. There are expecting mothers all over this plane of existence who have safely given birth without the reassurance of some magical healing garden.” Vega pulled the drawstring on the leather bag and tied a knot to keep it secure. “Besides, I am no so foolish as to move out to the farmland where that wretched necromancer now resides; I’m sure I won’t be too far beyond the benefits of the Night Garden. I just do not see a reason to remain within the palace when there is nothing more I can contribute here. After all, there is nothing left to sort out among the Galeynians and the D’Marian refugees, so my work here at the palace is effectively done. I think some place a little quieter would be beneficial to me and the children… not to mention safer, if this sorceress really means to threaten Galeyn. Contrary to what some people believe,” she leveled her eyes on Elias, “I am not denying my title and laying low to avoid responsibility. I am ascertaining that if this sorceress does show up, that I am not so easy to find. The Rigas star seer warned me that she may use me and the children as a means to control and influence Haraldur… and I will not put him--or us--in that situation. Say what you want, but I am looking out for my safety.”
There was logic to the princess’s plan, that much could not be denied, but she could still sense the resentment the red-haired woman held toward the Clematis healer, who had done more damage than good the night before. She would not leave that unaddressed. “Vega. What was said yesterday…”
“It’s fine, Daphni. You don’t need to explain.” Vega acted unbothered by Elias’s words, but the Sybaian healer nonetheless was not fooled. “Elias made himself very clear--as did I, I believe. I maintain my decision to seek prenatal care from alternative healers. But I would like you to know this, all the same.” Turning away from her packed clothes, the princess fixed her blazing, blue eyes on the Clematis healer. “You are wrong. I did not run from Eyraille to find something better; I do not disregard or hate it like you claim. The truth is, I love my home… even if it cannot love me in return. I always have, and I’ve always saw its brimming potential, though it has yet to live up to it. I love its mountains. I love the rocs. I love the festivals, and its determination. Its zeal to never give up. There is so much I love about Eyraille, and so many reasons why I plan to return, even despite that it has never really accepted me as a representative of its monarchy. And that is fine: I have long since come to terms with that, since my decision to abdicate the throne so many years ago. But I’m not an idiot; and I also understand why my leaving Eyraille incites your anger, so.”
The lines that formed between her brows eased ever so slightly, and tension eased from her shoulders. “I know what happened to your home--both of your homes. And I don’t discredit what that must have done to you; no, I cannot empathize, but I can understand. The refugees in Eyraille’s mountains have also lost their home, after all. I know what I have. I know my privileges, and I did not leave my home to shirk any of that.”
“Forgive my asking,” Daphni interrupted gently, “but, Vega… why did you leave, knowing the risk you took? Knowing how that would look to your kingdom?”
“I don’t think it matters what answer I give you. You both have already decided to hold me in contempt. Again, I don’t blame you; that is your choice to make.” The princess explained, folding her arms atop her belly. “But, to clarify… it had more to do than removing myself from the toxicity of my court. I am sure those dwelling with the walls of Eyraille’s palace will change their minds once the children are born, but you yourself told me that worry and sadness are not good for the children. And I knew… despite the risks, I just knew we would be alright. As ridiculous as it sounds, I… had a dream. That my children were born here.” Vega’s voice softened, and she looked past the healers, her blue eyes unfocused. “Prior to contacting Haraldur, I dreamt that I left Eyraille, that I came here, and that my babies were born here. For weeks, I brushed it off as just that: a dream. But the more I thought about it, the more it felt like a sign. That for whatever reason, I needed to be here. But, that aside,” she turned her attention back to Elias. “I think you should return to Eyraille, when you see fit; the both of you. Not for me, but for yourselves, and the kingdom. It can benefit from your expertise. It goes without saying that your knowledge and methods of healing are far advanced from what my kingdom practices. Galeyn, after all, is at no shortage of capable healers and healing sources. Eyraille does not have to stop being your home just because you harbour hostile feelings toward me. And if a home is what you seek, you will find it there. There is so much to love about my kingdom; give it another chance, give it more time, and you will come to understand what I mean.”
Lifting the leather bag over her shoulder (it was not heavy, only packed with a few maternity gowns), the Eyraillian princess stepped away from the healers and toward the open door. She didn’t get a chance to leave before Daphni reached out. “Vega… you are not alone. I know it may seem that way. After last night, I realize it might feel that way, but you aren’t alone, here. If we have let you down… I am so sorry.”
The princess paused in the doorway, staring thoughtfully down at her feet. It would only be another few weeks before she wouldn’t be able to see her toes, anymore. “You did not let me down, Daphni. Neither of you did. You are healers, and you adhered to your duties, just as you should have. But… there are different ways of being alone. I think you know what I mean. When… I first told him I was pregnant, I said that I could not do this alone.” It didn’t take a genius to know she was referring to Haraldur. Her voice caught on the last syllable of her last word. “And yet… I do not seem to have a choice, after all. I can only look out for myself and my children as best I can, despite less than ideal circumstances. Galeyn has been kind to me in a way that Eyraille did not know how to be, just yet. So here, among people who create a warm environment… for now, this is our best chance.”
She left the healers without another word, then, her aura still heavy with sadness and regret, but her will no less determined. Whatever they thought of her choices, Daphni could not deny that Vega was telling the truth, insofar as she--given her circumstances, and the reality she faced, which was so far from what she had hoped for--was doing what she truly thought was the best for the three of them; for her children, and herself.
Pass through the long, pearl-white corridors of Galeyn’s palace, the Eyraillian princess turned a corner toward the infirmary, where she almost collided with a familiar figure. “Ah--you, again, soldier. I am glad to see you heeded my request. Have you checked in on your silver-clad friend? Has she yet awoke?” Vega offered the young Forbanne soldier from the night before the warmest of smiles. “I don’t expect you’ve thought of a name yet? Well, keep thinking, and keep searching. Oh… and there is something I would like you to do. Bring a message to your commander. To my… husband.”
She lowered her voice ever so slightly, and placed on hand on her stomach. Tears moistened her eyes, but they did not fall. She thought she’d heard his voice, last night… It made her think that he had a right to know. “Tell him… they are a boy, and a girl. Kynnet and Klara. See, they haven’t been born yet, and already they have names. There is no reason why you cannot have one, too.”
Nodding her gratitude, she turned and resumed her trek down the corridor, only letting those tears fall free of her eyelids when she was alone, and safe to quietly weep in private.
The events of the previous day had exhausted Elias; between the antics of the man-wolf and the choice words he’d exchanged with Vega Sorde, the Clematis healer wanted nothing more than to recuperate in relative solitude for the next week. Unfortunately, he shared private quarters with Daphni, and she was not so eager to simply move past burned bridges. While he was more than ready to find an alternative route, one that avoided the red-headed disappointment of a princess for the rest of his life, the Sybaian healer refused to resume the newly-established humdrum of their Galeynian routine until they sought an audience with Vega. Naturally, he resisted. It wasn’t any of his business to peer in on the woman he’d slighted (for good reason!) to gauge the extent of his verbal damage. As he’d already established among his peers, colleagues, and patients, he did not bandage emotional wounds. Daphni was more than capable of addressing a person’s non-physical needs in his place. Oftentimes, her presence served to counter his tendency to spout judgemental diatribes and off-color complaints. Their balancing act was a staple of their professional (and personal) relationship; over the months, Elias could even sense something of an increase in his emotional intelligence (though he seldom practiced it).
That said, he did go a little overboard in regards to Vega, but like before, Daphni would always step forward and mend the situation for him. Yes, he understood why his presence was required, but he was not ready to apologize. He would only worsen the situation by accompanying Daphni; it was far more suitable if she made the trip solo. But what if she apologized on his behalf? He didn’t want that, either. Elias rarely rescinded his words, and he meant what he said. And so, with a begrudging sigh, he agreed to join the Sybaian on her deescalation mission--in part to ascertain that she would not misconstrue his intentions with the hopes of pacifying the lonely princess, in part for her health, which was always so emotionally reliant.
“Fine,” he’d grumbled, as he swept off the bedsheets and prepared his morning routine. “For the sake of those unfortunate children, I will comply.” After washing up at the basin and donning his red jerkin, he waved for Daphni to lead the way through the palace corridors. When they’d arrived at Vega’s door, they entered to find a tidy room, removed of any personal effects or hints or recent habitation. At first, Elias thought she was planning on traveling home to Eyraille. His tongue tingled to speak his inner musings aloud, but he silenced the urge. He at least had to make an effort at civility. As Vega explained that her new destination was to take her further from Galeyn’s center, instead, he shrugged, a reaction decidedly opposite of his healer counterpart.
“It matters not to me where you choose to run anymore,” he blurted without thinking, but at Daphni’s sharp nudge to his ribcage, he sighed, and tried again. “Removal from this palace is a fairly detrimental idea,” he supplied, in an attempt to sound as impartial as possible. “Of course, there are pros and cons to consider. You’ve mentioned the pros; quiet, safety in obscurity, the benefits of a rural environment...but therein you face your cons. I do not recommend isolation so far into your pregnancy. You will require assistance, especially as you face your third trimester. If you are insistent on exploring this path, I implore that you take a few Gardeners with you, or invest in a good village midwife. At the very least, remain in close communication with the palace, be it through resonance stone or a similar method.” As a preface, he added, “This is my professional opinion, completely free of bias. Considering the events from yesterday, however, you are free to ignore my advise. I am no longer your attending physician, after all...and I have said all that needs saying. So who am I to pass further judgement on your decisions? If the star-seer senses discord among your domestic affairs, then I suppose it is your prerogative to conceive of the proper preventative measures.” He spoke with eloquent aloofness, a departure from yesterday’s rumble of accusations. If Daphni wanted professional and impartial, then he would act out the role with no implied emotion.
However, it was difficult to maintain his unfazed stance when Vega had affixed him with eyes still hurting, still reeling from yesterday’s exchange. He cooly stared back at her, crossing his arms over his chest. “So then I stand corrected. It is not how Eyraille will interpret your actions, though. The words I said--might as well be true, in the eyes of the people you have effectively abandoned. However much you claim to love your home, you did not formally request leave of your country through the correct channels. You worried too many people in your unsanctioned flight, and worsened your situation, upon your eventual return. And that...that is something I cannot abide by. But yes,” he nodded, maintaining his coolheadedness throughout his response (it was the least he could do for Daphni), “I have made no attempts to disguise my disgust over your departure, and in fact gave you a reason for it, last night. I have lost too many homes to simply stand by and remain unaffected by your impulsive decision to leave yours. One that so celebrated your marriage with hoots and hollers and earnest well-wishers. Of course I would find your actions hypocritical; that you should stay for the good times, and leave when the water grew too hot for you to bear.”
He quietened when she opted to explain just what drove her to take a reckless excursion to Galeyn, and what she revealed nearly soured his expression. A dream. A mere fanciful dream had incited her to endanger the lives of her children and further besmirch Eyraille’s reputation. While he couldn’t altogether discount dreams of a prophetic nature, hers sounded more like petty wish-fulfillment, the unconscious mind’s attempt to justify such a trip. “I will say this much, Vega,” he said, choosing to ignore her dream nonsense. “You sure chose a roundabout way to provide your children with a stress-free environment. Be that as it may, they are healthy. Yes, it is against all odds, and to this day, it baffles me how they have persevered thus far. But,” he conceded, “whatever the case, however misguided or foolhardy, you seem to be acting in their best interest. I am in no way condoning anything you have done--far from it--but I will give you the slightest benefit of the doubt. I trust you will carry these children to term, and nurture them as well a mother should. I do suggest you heed my earlier advice, though; whether or not your husband accepts his responsibilities as the father, you must not embark on this endeavor alone. And hence,” he moved aside from the door in preparation for Vega’s exit, “I have exhausted my clemency. Go now, lest I say something undesirable to you.”
As her dejected form slipped through the doorway and trudged out of sight down the palace corridors, Elias’ close-bodied posture unstiffened, unraveled, and he looked to Daphni with a weary, almost hesitant look. “I tried. I tried to ease the tension, Daphni. You will have to give me that much. In exchange, I’ll admit this much to you.” He glanced down at his hands, precise, unfaulty tools of the trade, indiscriminate and helpful to all that required their service. “...I felt that. Her sadness. Her defeat. Her well-intentioned bullshit. Yes, I allowed myself to empathize, and yes, frankly, I am a little peeved that I was made to go through this experience.” He closed his eyes and dropped his hands. “It’s far easier to hate and resent than to understand. But above all,” he hesitated, “I see that she is trying, for her children. She will not abandon them as my mother had abandoned me. I extend that hope to the father. Perhaps I will even dust off my priestly duty...and pray for them.”
The Forbanne soldier had returned to the palace the following morning for his shift, except that he chose to make a detour to check on the safety of the young not-clown named Cwenha. When he reached the infirmary, the Gardeners informed him on her status; still asleep, but her foot was well on its way to a full recovery. In keeping with Sir Vega Sorde’s suggestion that he visit her, he requested to stand by her bedside. And so he did, in silent vigil, for as long as he assumed was apt enough to constitute a visit from a...friend? Was friend the next logical step in human interaction after conversation? Were they friends, now?
In heading out the door, he stopped at attention when Sir Vega Sorde made an appearance out in the hallway. “Sir Vega Sorde,” he said, with a fist-to-chest salute and a waist-deep bow. “...Vega,” he corrected, remembering her name request from last night. “Yes, I went in to see her. She is asleep, but when she is not asleep, we will be friends. That’s how you said it worked. I visit her and there is friendship.” He stared at her lips, confused by the wideness of her mouth. It looked like a grimace of pain, but apparently, normal people grimaced at each other when they felt happy and that grimace was called a smile. He tried to grimace back at her, but he didn’t know if he was supposed to--or if he even did it right.
But she didn’t seem to care, because she started talking about his name. The soldier slapped his halberd on the marble floor and stiffened back to attention. “Yes, you have given me orders to find a name by this morning, Sir...Vega. You told me that I have value. Commander Sorde tells us we are not disposable, and our lives matter. He taught us to say ‘I.’ Both of you say that I am a person who has meaning. I want a name like that. A name that means ‘valuable.’”
“There is a name like that, in my language,” an approaching voice said. Naimah greeted Vega and the Forbanne soldier, both of whom were still standing by the open doors of the infirmary. “Though I do not mean to pry. I am merely passing through on my way to the bathhouse, but...if you so choose it, soldier, you may use this name. Kadri.”
“Kadri.” The soldier tested it on his tongue. “Kadri.” He rolled it around the inside of his mouth, tasting it.
“Yes. It means ‘value.’”
The soldier looked to Vega, waiting for approval.
“Do you like it?” Naimah tilted her head, searching for the Forbanne’s genuine response that was independent of Vega’s influence. “It’s your decision. Not Vega’s.”
Finally, the soldier nodded, touching his fingers to his lips as he muttered the name over and over again, reveling in the buzz it formed between his teeth. “Kadri. Yes.” He tried for another ‘grimace’ they called a smile. “I am Kadri.”
“Pleased to meet you, Kadri,” Naimah dipped into a curtsey. “I am Naimah.”
The soldier named Kadri had widened his dark eyes; they shone in brown flecks, in sparkles of...delight. “Kadri. Yes. I want to tell my new friend. To tell Cwenha.”
“Well,” the Kariji woman chuckled, “I shall leave you to it, then. I must go and get myself clean. Vega,” she eyed the bag in the pregnant woman’s hands, but did not inquire about it. Instead, she dipped her head and shared a parting smile. “I will be seeing you. If you should have a run-in with Sigrid, do let me know if she chooses to ‘flirt’ with you again. I must know the details of her failures, so I can mention them to her and watch her face turn red. It is quite endearing.”
Once Naimah had gone, the Forbanne soldier, revived in purpose after the selection of his new name, listened to Vega’s request, nodding with an energy that fast approached enthusiasm. “Yes, they have names, too. I--Kadri--and them.” He pointed to her pregnant belly. “Kynnet and Klara. I will tell him, Vega. And I will tell him my name, too. I am Kadri.”
Fist to chest in a goodbye salute, Kadri excused himself, walking with brisk purpose from the palace entrance to the encampment on the hill. And when Haraldur heard the news, and after he dismissed Kadri from the tent, he slumped over the tree stump that acted as his seat and pulled out the necklace from beneath his shirt. In his hand, he gripped his wedding ring so hard that it left an imprint on his palm. Closing his eyes, he brought the fisted hand to his lips. “Kynnet. Klara,” he whispered aloud. Tears streamed down his trembling lids. “You’re real. A miracle…”
And if they were a miracle, it was possible. It was possible for him to find a miracle. Break free. Be free. Family. Children. He was so close. So close…
I will fight for you, he thought, in a flash of determination. I will fight. And make my way back to you. Please don’t give up on me.
Don’t give up…
Alster had emerged from his and Elespeth’s quarters that morning, fresh-faced and prepared to conquer the day ahead, when he encountered Vega in the hallway. She carried a brown bag, and her red, bleary eyes suggested she’d been crying. He slowed to a stop beside her and slowly, so as not to startle her out of a trance, rested his good hand on her shoulder. “Vega. Hey. Are you alright? I heard about what happened, yesterday...between you and Elias. Is there anything I can do?” He eyed her bag, mouth puckering in suspicion. “You know what?” He smacked his lips and offered her a smile in its place, “I could use some help today, if you’re interested. I’m going on an excursion out of the heart of Galeyn, in search of the most ideal plot of land for the upcoming D’Marian village project. We’re looking to build on a hillside. Better yet, a mountain-side. I could use your Eyraillian expertise on this matter. Would you like to join me?”
“Vega.” Alster turned around to see the Forbanne guard from yesterday trotting down the corridors. Upon nearing her, he halted and swept into a bow. “I--Kadri--have a message to relay.”
“Kadri?” The Rigas Lord transferred his smile from Vega to this Forbanne soldier--Kadri. “Is that your name?”
“Yes, Lord Rigas,” he bowed, eyes of reverence trained to the ground. “I have been named today. No, I gave myself a name.”
“I’m glad to hear. Oh…” he looked between the soldier and the princess and waved his hand to continue. “Don’t stop talking on my account. As you were.”
“Yes. Vega,” he pivoted on his polearm, dark eyes still turned down in reverence, “Commander Sorde replied to your message. He says, ‘Thank you.’ He also mentions that he trusts me enough to give me this opportunity, but that it’s my choice and your choice. Vega...would you allow me to become your personal bodyguard?”
While she had been anticipating rebuttal, it was a pleasant surprise for the Eyraillian princess when Elias offered… well, a practical opinion, rather than a judgmental one. It was an angle she had considered, actually, and despite what he had said to her the night before, these words were ones that warranted respect. “No, you’re right. I should not be far from the reach of the Gardeners or the Night Garden itself, this far into my pregnancy; and I do not intend to be. I am merely removing myself from the palace, from the spotlight of this kingdom. But just beyond the palace, there are quieter residences, and none are too far from such valuable resources.” She had already been in touch with the Gardeners, in fact, who had promised to recommend a reputable midwife to assist her as needed. Vega had yet to follow up with them, however, as she’d only been turning this decision over in her head now and again. It wasn’t until last night that she had finally reached a conclusion: that she could not stay alone in this room any longer.
“I realize how my departure will look in the eyes of my kingdom. But there was no way around it; no one would have granted me permission to leave. Not either of you, and certainly not my brother. I love Eyraille, but this decision… it was not about the kingdom. It was about my children, and my future. While what I did was not right by Eyraille…” The princess placed a hand on her stomach and looked down at the children who were not yet born. The future she had yet to know. “But it was right by the children. And right now, they must be my priority, above all else. Perhaps you will not forgive me my choices, and perhaps Eyraille will not, either. But if I was right--if this is where my children need to be born, and if they are born healthy and with a bright future ahead of them… then I will have no regrets. I know that all of this, everything I am doing, every decision I have made must seem ludicrous to you now, but when you are parents...” Not if, but when; Vega must have had faith that the healers’ endeavours to mutually conceive the child they desired were not so farfetched. “Perhaps then, it will make sense to you. The risks you will be willing to take for reasons you may not fully understand, for the future of your children.”
“Vega… I realize we are in a position where we can only respect your decision.” Daphni managed, before the princess disappeared through the doorway. “If you prefer the expertise of other healers and physicians, then by all means, pursue what you feel is best. But if for any reason, they are unable to assist you in specific ways, or you seek help of any kind…”
“Don’t worry; I know where to find the both of you.” The Skyknight flashed a weak smile. There wasn’t enough hope or joy in her to sustain it. “Have a little faith in me. I know when to reach out for help when I need it. Know that the health and safety of my children are my utmost priority. Above Eyraille, above myself… I will see to it that they have their best chance.”
The Sybaian healer had not anticipated that this conversation would undo the damage that had already been done. It was entirely unrealistic to believe that they would walk away from this all in complete agreement. While she had hoped the princess would change her mind insofar as allowing them to continue to attend her as her physicians, something crucial had still come of these efforts: that being Elias was finally beginning to understand why the princess had made the decisions she had. Or, at least, he now understood where the drive to act on those decisions had come from. “Elias, I couldn’t be happier with you.” Daphni divulged at last, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Even if all that has come of this is that you can understand… then that is enough. To someone without insight, Vega Sorde is a reckless, impulsive, and selfish individual with little regard for her kingdom and the unborn lives that are her responsibility. It is so easy to view someone in such a light and to pass their decisions off as ill-informed. It is so much easier to judge and blame than to understand. But that isn’t the reality, here. The Eyraillian princess is not without her character flaws, some more pronounced than others, but… believe it or not, she is a strong woman, who is going above and beyond her means to try and stay strong.” Her hand slid from Elias’s shoulder, and she clasped her elbows, something akin to guilt written on her features. “And… she’s is good. So good that she even had me, fooled, for a while. Keeping her emotions so carefully in check, trying to remain unaffected by the circumstances that surrounded her. Despite her lack of support she finds within her kingdom, from her husband, I see now that she is trying to be strong for her children. She is trying so hard not to give into despair, so she surrounds herself with those who can help keep her head above water. Because she is afraid of what will happen to her and her children if she gives in to that despair…”
The healer looked up from her feet, and reached for one of Elias’s hands; for him, and for her. “This is a start. Showing her understanding like you did is the single best thing you could have done for her. I don’t feel quite so distraught over how the rest of this may unfold for that expecting mother… Thank you.” She sounded almost out of breath, and frankly, looked as exhausted as someone who had just been running for their life. The physical effects of others’ potent emotional auras were nothing to scoff at when it came to an already afflicted Sybaia. “If not for what you did for Vega, then what it did for me.”
“Ah… so you did heed my advice and check on her.” The Forbanne soldier from the day before was something of a welcome distraction, from the situation she had just left behind in her own room. Truthfully, the man’s innocent was endearing to her; and while there were a great deal of problems she could not solve, lending him a bit of advice was not so beyond her reach. “Be mindful that friendship does not happen overnight, though. And the girl with the broken foot… well, she has her own troubles, and it may take some time for her to see you as a friend. But kindness and good intentions do win out in the end, so if you are respectful and consistent, then she very well may be your friend. I think a decent friendship would be good for the both of you.”
It brought the distraught princess all the more of a reprieve from the darkness dwelling at the back of her mind when he we on to say that he had, at least, given thought to a meaningful name. That he was doing his best to understand what it meant to be an individual, and that the value of his life was inherent. Alas, he had not come to any conclusions as of yet… but someone was helpful enough to step in.
“Naimah.” Vega greeted Sigrid’s lover, who was indeed so much more than a pretty face. The woman was kind enough to offer the nameless soldier an option for a name of his own; one that literally, in her language, meant ‘valuable’. She listened as the soldier tried it on his tongue, but couldn’t even determine if he liked it or if it was right to take it without the word of someone of authority--at which point, he looked to her, the one which of the three of them held the most authority. But the princess only shook her head, an indication that mirrored Naimah’s words: it was not up to her. It was not up to anyone to decide but for him. And for someone who was not used to make decisions independent of someone else’s will or ideals, it came as no surprise that it seemed no easy task.
When at last he seemed to settle on the decision, the princess offered him a warm smile. “It is a pleasure to know you, Kadri. Do pass on my message to your commanding officer. And be sure to inform him of your name. Perhaps Cwenha will be awake by the time you return; you can then tell her your name, as well.”
Vega was still smiling when he took his leave, but that smile faded with each passing step as she resumed her pace down the corridor. Much though she wanted to draw strength from the happiness and success of those surrounding her, and the kindness and acceptance that Galeyn offered her, with each day that she drew closer to the end of her pregnancy, the more her grip on fragile hope was beginning to grow slack. She had told herself that she could do it; that she could hold her own in spite of Haraldur’s absence. When that hadn’t been possible in Eyraille, she’d heeded her dream and come here, to a place where there were no venomous echoes of her name in the halls. And, for a while, she’d thought this had been the answer: a place with kinder people, with a garden that may be able to ensure the health of her babies, and… Haraldur. Haraldur would be here, and that would be the missing piece to give her the strength she needed for her body and mind to be an optimal environment for her babies.
Except… Haraldur wasn’t here; not really. She hadn’t seen him in days, hadn’t spoken with him. He had too many battles to fight, internally and otherwise, to be involved with either her or the children. All she wanted was to see him, for them to promise one another that it would be alright--that whatever it took to fend off this sorceress who may yet threaten Galeyn, they would have a family and be a family when all was said and done. But she didn’t know, anymore. She did not know what their vows meant to him, what the ring around his neck meant to him, or whether the children insider her were a blessing more than they were a burden to him, as something else to worry about.
And now she was walking away from Daphni and Elias, two people who had seen fit to follow her all the way from Eyraille… because she had finally come to terms that she would need to bear this alone, because she had no choice. No amount of kindness or well-wishes from well-intended strangers and friends could fill the festering void in her heart that Haraldur had left in his absence. And if she could not stand strong among other people… maybe it was only alone that she would find the means to do it. Just the three of us, she thought, with her free hand on her stomach, we can figure this out together. I’m not really alone; not ever really alone, with the two of you so close…
“...Alster.” This was the second time in twenty-four hours that the Rigas mage had caught her lost in her own thoughts, her feet on the ground but her head somewhere else entirely. She didn’t even have time to hide the fact she had been crying. “No need to worry about me; everything is as it would be. Yes, Elias had some choice words for me, but I cannot fault him his sentiments. I up and left my kingdom in the middle of the night, several months pregnant, without telling anyone. I was bound to upset a few people.” The princess smiled, but it was tight and humourless. “I wouldn’t blame you, you know, if you thought me foolish and reckless for my decisions. What kind of mother puts herself and her children at risk because of a stupid dream?” Realizing he did not have enough context to understand what she might have meant, Vega shook her head. “It just so happens that I planned on traveling a little ways beyond the palace today, anyway. I am no expert when it comes to planning a dwelling, but it would not be my first time lending a hand in that area. If you need help…”
She turned her head at the sound of an all-too-familiar voice. The Forbanne sol--no, Kadri. He was Kadri now, and hadn’t she just spoken with him less than an hour ago? “Kadri. What brings you back to the palace so soon? Is… was there a problem with my message?”
Quite the opposite, it turned out; according to the soldier, at least, it seemed to have been rather well-received. Although, as she had not been there when he’d delivered the message, she could only read so much in a second-hand ‘thank you’. What Kadri had to say next, however… it certainly was not something she had expected to hear. “My… personal bodyguard? And you say my hus--your commanding officer suggested this?” Was this a sign that Haraldur was eager to ensure the future of their family, or… merely to ensure the longevity of her and the children? Once again, these were questions she could only speculate, since she’d had no contact with her husband in almost a week. But be that as it may… Kadri seemed eager and hopeful for her answer.
“I cannot guarantee that guarding me and my unborn children will provide you with much excitement, Kadri. Truth be told, I can be rather dull.” The Skyknight princess flashed a half-smile, although she was beginning to expect that the soldier did not quite understand what smiles meant. “But, it just so happens that I plan on relocating from the palace, today. Not terribly far, by a little ways from the heart of the city. It will just be me, and my unborn children, and I’m not going to be as quick on my feet in my third trimester, so it would be helpful to have someone look out for us in light of the threat of that sorceress. So… why not?”
Vega nodded her agreement, despite that she had such a vague idea of exactly what Kadri thought to protect her from, aside from a sorceress who had yet to show her face. Those were details that could be hashed out later. “I am going to accompany Alster for the time-being, so I think I will be alright. But when I return later to my new residence, Kadri, we can discuss the details of your… well, guardship, I suppose. In the meantime, why don’t you go and check on Cwenha again? See if she’s awake? She might be happy to have a visitor. Remember, friendship takes time; I’d like you to tell me about it, later.”
After parting with the Forbanne soldier, Vega left the palace proper with Alster, to a carriage that was waiting outside. Since the sun had only risen some hours ago, they would be traveling at an ordinary pace with the steeds, but it wasn’t more than an hour outside the heart of the kingdom by carriage ride, at most. “I’m glad to see that the D’Marians are settling here so well. They’ve really to the land, and Galeyn has opened their arms to them.” She ventured, as a means to prevent any awkward silences, or to return to the gravity of their previous conversation, before they’d been interrupted by Kadri. “And all under your leadership, I might add. I hope you know that you deserved that celebration, last night. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer, but know that if there is anything I can do to help you, I’d love to make myself useful. After all,” she leaned back against the cushioned seats of the carriage and folded her hands below her bellow, “I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be of use to anyone. I almost can’t see my feet, already.”
The only reason that Cwenha did not wake up with the same anger with which she’d fallen asleep was because of the pain--all of if. The pain that pounded in her head like hammers and nails in her temples. The pain of her stomach turning over and over, empty albeit for the wine that still sloshed around. And the dull ache in her foot, which appeared to have been secured with tight bindings and a paste that had hardened to what felt like stone, and smelled peculiarly earthy. Between feeling more under the weather than she could ever remember feeling since becoming a part of the Missing Links, and being told by a number of white-clad Gardeners that she was to stay off her foot for a week if she wanted to ensure a full recovery, the silver-clad acrobat felt far too numb to keep up with her anger.
Which was perhaps a good thing, considering the onslaught of visitors that chose to check on her recovery, including that… who was he? A man with whom she only vaguely recalled having a rather ridiculous conversation. She’d been lying upon the fountain ledge, her broken foot in the water… “...you. Weren’t we talking last night? ...why were we talking?” Whatever they’d prattled about, in her injured state, he was very eager to tell her he had a name. Slowly, but surely, a few small details waded through the fog of her mind.
“You. You… had no name, last night. Is that what we were talking about?” Cwenha propped herself up on her elbows slowly, squinting against the harsh morning light spilling through her windows. “Well, good for you. I’m so glad that you have a goddamned name. If only we could all derive joy from something so ridiculous…”
“What’s ridiculous?” Not far behind the Forbanne soldier (evidently called Kadri) came Briery, looking far more bright-eyed and well-rested than she. And, trailing the ringleader…
“...really? You had to bring him?” Cwenha groaned and tried to roll onto her side to turn her back to Hadwin, who’d followed Briery in like the obedient mutt that he was. Unfortunately, her immobilized foot prevented a suitable slight to the faoladh. “Is this punishment for fucking up our routine?”
Briery shook her head, arms folded casually across her chest. She neither oozed sympathy nor resentment. Rycen had been right about one thing: Cwenha’s decisions were her own. “Of course not. We heard you were in good hands last night, so we decided not to butt in and give you your space. But we wanted to make sure all was well, this morning; one of the Gardeners said that you’ll be back on your feet--both of them--in a week. If we were anywhere else, that would be unheard of; you’d be off for weeks. Consider yourself lucky.”
“Briery… I’m sorry. My head wasn’t in the game. But…” Cwenha groaned and gestured accusingly at Hadwin. “Did you really need to bring this mutt along to rub it in?”
“We just thought you would like the company, since you’re cooped up. But it appears you already have company. Who is your friend?” Briery nodded to Kadri. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Briery Frealy. You aren’t by chance the fellow who was keeping an eye out for my friend here, last night? Because if that is the case, I owe you my gratitude.”
“Foolish and reckless--maybe. But,” Alster held up his steel prosthesis, a monolith shining in the sun-lit halls, “keep in mind you’re standing before a man who’s made his share of foolish and reckless decisions, too. You’ve caught me in the middle of one, if you remember.” Lowering his arm and tucking it into his sling, he sighed over his regretful actions of the past, and of one in particular, which nearly ended his life all for the sake of a sacrificial ritual with a questionable success rate. “All things considered, Vega, you’re here now, and your children are thriving. So it’s not the worst of outcomes. On the contrary; we’re all in this country together, operating under common goals. You’re never far from a friendly face or a supportive hand.”
At her agreement to accompany him, he smiled his appreciation at her. “Any help at all is welcome, Vega. You’ve had past experience in organizing refugee villages in Eyraille, whereas I haven’t the slightest knowledge in constructing a town from the ground up. Rest assured; no heavy lifting is required. We’re just roaming around some areas by carriage and checking out a few prospective sites.” Electing for a self-deprecating chuckle, he added, “I’m by no means fit or able-bodied enough to pull a few weeds from the ground, let alone assist in heavy labor of any sort.”
Their conversation had added a third party when the Forbanne named Kadri showed up to report a response to a message Vega had relayed to the soldier not long ago. Bristling with an energy foreign to a group of well-disciplined soldiers, Kadri seemed almost impatient in awaiting her answer. “Yes,” he said. “Commander Sorde says he can’t come in person to do it, himself, because it’s dangerous, so he sent me as a...uh,” he struggled for the word, “proxy.” But he said that if you agree, I have to dress different and blend in as a Galeynian. So I’ll need ‘lessons,’ he said, to act ‘normal.’ Or else I don’t speak at all and pretend to be a mute.”
“You must be the best candidate for the job, if your commander is entrusting you with the position of watching over Vega,” Alster said in an encouraging tone.
“Yes, Lord Rigas. I learn quick, Commander Sorde told me so. And,” he rested his attention on Vega, brow twitching with confusion, “people are not dull or sharp, are they? Mollengard says that we are weapons but I can’t use a whetstone on my arm to sharpen a dull edge. But you could, Lord Rigas.” He pointed his halberd towards Alster’s prosthesis, resting in its sling.
“So I could.” Alster twitched the fingers of his metal hand, imagining fierce claws spiked on the ends.
“Is that what you mean, Vega? You need a whetstone for something you need to sharpen?”
“Something like that, Kadri. Not a real one, though.” Alster scratched a finger beneath his chin, contemplating how best to explain metaphors to a literal thinker. “Think about taking a whetstone to your mind. When you sharpen your mind, you’re more alert, aware of yourself and your surroundings. When your mind is dull, you’re tired, and it’s difficult to concentrate.”
“So Vega will be tired. I understand. She is pregnant.” He nodded at Vega. “That means you will need a sharp person to be your guard. Like me, Kadri. Until you can be sharp again.”
“So that’s what the bag is for,” Alster glanced again at the luggage she hefted in her hand. “You’re leaving the palace? I--” stopping his tongue, he shook his head. There was time to discuss Vega’s future plans later, particularly during their carriage ride through Galeyn countryside. “Well, we should be off, Vega. The coach will be wondering what’s taking me so long if I keep them waiting.”
“I am coming along.” Kadri lifted his halberd and followed them towards the palace entrance.
“There won’t be enough room in the carriage, Kadri,” the Rigas Lord said, with a head-tilt of apology. “But Vega is right. We’ll be fine. Go and visit Cwenha. If you’re concerned over Vega’s safety, don’t worry.” He raised his shoulders to his full height, which wasn’t impressive, when he still stood not much taller than the Skyknight. “I’m a powerful caster. She’ll be under my protection.”
His show of bravado seemed to mollify Kadri, for he stopped pursuing and thew his hand to his chest in a farewell salute. “I will abide by your order, Vega. I will go to see Cwenha, and then wait for your return.” Dismissing himself, the guard wandered off, and sure enough, headed straight for the infirmary.
Stepping outside the palace, the two were shown to the carriage parked outside the main entrance. As they climbed inside, with Alster extending a hand to help navigate the steps, the interior was, as he’d stated to Kadri, large enough for only two people. A close of the door and a flick of the steed’s reins and the carriage jerked forward, jostling the two occupants until the steeds gained speed, and the ride equalized into relative smoothness.
“I would disagree with you, but you’re correct on a few points.” Alster sat back against the plush cushions. “Compared to Braighdath, yes, the D’Marians are largely relieved to be removed from that toxic, suffocating environment, and grateful that their long travel days have come to an end--for now. But they’re wary. Braighdath, too, was kind to them in the beginning. Who’s to say that Galeyn won’t turn on them,” he cast worried eyes to the window, “by first turning on their Lord?”
“I know I shouldn’t think that way,” he dismissed, with the wave of his good hand. “Not after yesterday. All those kind words and gestures of gratitude. Galeynians showed such genuine kindness, and made me feel so welcome. But to say that it was my leadership that contributed to harmony between the groups...is a lie. Attribute the credit to Chara, and Lilica. I’m merely just trying to keep my head above the water, and hope that no one else drowns in the process. But I appreciate your words, all the same. And,” he smiled, to offset his dissenting speech, “your attendance at my party. I know it didn’t end well for you, but nonetheless, I hope it brought you some semblance of joy while it lasted. We need all that we can get. It’s been hard...for everyone.”
He rested his head against the window and looked out to the rolling countryside, all wistful hills of green and flowering fields of lavender. “I wish...I could spend all my time with Elespeth. She’s stable, her heart, but it saps so much of her energy, and she’s restricted to the Night Garden, relying on it to,” he hesitated, “to survive, at the level of health she’s at, now. I want to spend my time with her, helping her find a cure, or, failing that, to be at her side, and ease her pain. Ease the hopelessness I see in her eyes whenever she thinks I’m not looking. I can’t stand it, knowing all she’s suffered over these last few months. And still, there’s little reprieve for her. Little I can do, but wait and hope. And I,” he let out a breathy sigh, “I’m sorry for broaching such a heady subject at all. I only bring it up because I imagine you feel the same way. About where you are. Your future. Your husband. And I wish I could ease your burden, too. But know this,” he locked oceanic blue eyes with mountain blue eyes, “I will do what I can for you, Vega. It might not be much, since I’ve been stretching myself so thin, lately, but I can lend an empathetic ear. And a warm hand.” To emphasize, he pressed his flesh and blood hand against her arm.
“I’ll need your support, too. I imagine the worry over your spouse keeps you up at night, as it does for me. There’s no shame in giving voice to our fears, especially when they’re so relatable. We fear their loss, after all. And,” his elbow nudged her the bag, which she’d rested on the seat between them, “if you’re leaving the palace because you don’t want to be a burden to others, please reconsider. But if you have your reasons, I hope you’ll keep in touch, and keep me abreast of your location. Though, I can’t help but wonder,” he shot the Skyknight a playful but sly glance, “if you agreed to join me on this carriage ride so you could search for a new place to live. Far be it from me to stop you from using this convenient resource. ...I’ll let the coach know, Vega. We’ll look together. You know--while we’re stuck together on the road.”
Heeding Vega’s orders, Kadri returned to the infirmary to see if Cwenha had awakened from her alcohol-induced slumber. When he walked through the open threshold, announcing his arrival with a subtle dip of his head, he noticed that the eyes of the not-clown had opened, and she was grasping her temple and moaning to herself. He stepped forward, halberd still in hand, and posted himself beside her bed like a decorative suit of armor displayed in a king’s armory. “Cwenha,” he said, stamping his feet and his polearm in a ceremonial show of acknowledgment. “You are awake, now. And in pain. I tried alcohol for the first time at Braighdath, and I woke up, and my head hurt, and I couldn’t remember what happened. So I will refresh you.” His entire body shifted, eager to blurt out his name. “You met me yesterday. I am Forbanne but I have a name now. My name is Kadri. Kadri means ‘value,’ because I am valuable. Vega tells me that I am, and Commander Sorde tells me that I am, so it has to be true, though other officers and masters told me I am a piece of shit that a even fly wouldn’t lay larvae in.” He waited for her response, and her answer seemed to brighten the darkness in his eyes. “Thank you for being glad about my name, Cwenha. Glad is happy, and I don’t know if I’m happy, but if other people can be happy after hearing my name, then that’s exactly what I want my name to do. And if it’s ridiculous, then it is funny, and I’ll make people laugh instead of killing them all the time.”
“Oh, what ever-loving crap. This guy is adorable.” Kadri looked over his shoulder. Hadwin, who had joined with Briery, strolled into the area where the silver-clad acrobat was resting. “Who’s your friend, cygnet?”
“Her name is Cwenha,” Kadri said. “Names are important. We can’t get them wrong. I am Kadri.” He bowed to the Missing Links ringleader when she introduced herself. “And Cwenha is my friend. That has to build over time. Vega says so.”
“So precious,” the faoladh laughed in full-on amusement. “He’s like an attack pup. He’ll tear apart the flesh of his enemies on command, but he’ll go on chasing butterflies in the meantime.”
“Cwenha, my name is making people laugh,” he stated, proudly.
“Looks like you found a real winner here, Cwenha,” Hadwin said, exaggerating the syllables in her name. “But really, now?” He nestled closer to the acrobat, knowing she was effectively immobile on the bed. “Thought we came to an understanding ever since I smashed my hand against that tree and you watched me go through a fit of madness. Maybe I should’ve stayed mad longer.”
“Do I have to injure my hand for friendship?”
“For Cwenha? Hah!” He snorted into the very hand he’d rammed into a tree. “‘Cwenha’ and ‘friend’ are two terms that don’t go together. Better off referring to her as a rage goblin. But sure, keep her company and see what comes of it. You’re inoffensive enough. I bet you could even improve her mood.”
“Is that true?” Kadri asked the bedridden acrobat.
“Well, it won’t happen anytime soon, my friend. Not with me in the room. Isn’t that right?” The faoladh opened his mouth, displaying an infuriating grin. “Oh hell yeah, I’m here to rub it in. Literally. Here,” he pulled a small tin from his belt pouch and set it beside her pillow. “Bumped into Elias earlier. He says this salve’s good for when your foot gets itchy. Also handed us a bag of some good ol’ hangover tea. A Gardener’s back there brewing it; should be ready in a shake or two. So sorry I went and touched it; might’ve poisoned the medicine with my grubby little fingers. Well,” he threw his hands into his pockets and stepped out of the acrobat’s vicinity, “we’re out. Just a quick pop into this room, y’know. Enjoy your convalescence, Cwenha, dear!” And with a wink to Kadri, he, along with Briery, filed out of the infirmary, leaving the two in each other’s company.
“Do you want me to kill him?” Kadri, without preamble, implied emotion, or hesitation, floated the question in his monotonous soldier’s cadence, moments after the two visitors departed. “That man is Hadwin Kavanagh. Commander Sorde tried to kill him because Captain Solveig wants him dead. He hasn’t told us to kill him, and he’s withdrawn his order to restrain or capture him. But I can kill him for friendship. I am sure Commander Sorde will be pleased, too. But,” his brow wrinkled in conflicted knots, “he called me ‘my friend.’ Am I supposed to kill friends?” He tightly gripped the shaft of his halberd, as if fighting the urge to follow the faoladh down the hallway. “I don’t know when to be a normal person and when to be Forbanne.”
Kadri had a point; or rather, her husband did. If this young Forbanne soldier in reform was to guard her, and she intended to temporarily shed her identity as a princess, then it would not do to have someone who was obviously guarding her life at her beck and call if she was to pass as a commoner. It would be suspicious enough to find a heavily pregnant woman (the only pregnant woman, to her knowledge) in a kingdom that had been asleep for a hundred years, to begin with; at best, she herself would have to try and pass as D’Marian. As for Kadri… “We will see if we can work on helping you learn to conform to Galeynian customs, Kadri. At the very least, we can even use the excuse that the spell that kept this kingdom sleeping had detrimental effects on you, if your behaviour appears out of place. But for now--Alster is right. There is no room for you in the carriage, and my life is not in any immediate danger for as long as I am with the Rigas Lord. He can hold his own, and then some. But I promise to check in with you later--alright?”
With a final smile, she laid a reassuring hand upon Kadri’s shoulder before departing for the carriage with the Rigas caster. “Right now, I would like your charge to be Cwenha. I don’t imagine she is very mobile at the moment, with a broken foot. If she permits it, look out for her, just for today. Can you do that, Kadri? We shall reconnect later to discuss the details of your… well, your assignment.”
Climbing into the carriage with someone who also harboured troubles on their mind was oddly reassuring, Vega found. But then, she had always found Alster’s presence to be particularly reassuring. When it came down to it, it was no wonder the D’Marians had thrived to their fullest extent under his leadership; after everything he had been through, everything he had experienced and overcome, the man was the embodiment of temperance. “I think the Galeynians are more than happy to have you here, Alster. I wouldn’t worry about the sort of revolt you experienced in Braighdath.” The Skyknight princess leaned across her seat in the carriage to rest a reassuring hand on his own flesh and blood arm. “From what I understand--from second-hand accounts, of course--a large aspect of that revolt had to do with the way the city is governed. By cutthroat council pushing their own agenda to save face, isn’t that right? Here in Galeyn, the citizens are still trying to find their previous grasp on life, and are looking up to Queen Lilica to facilitate that process. Believe me; having worked closely with them in tandem with the refugee D’Marians, the last thing they want to face is conflict. And even if that sorceress does find her way here to stir up trouble, the kingdom is already aware, and preparing for that potential mayhem. You won’t be held accountable to blame.”
Vega withdrew her hand and leaned back against the carriage’s cushioned seat when slouching forward proved to be too painful for her lower back. As her pregnancy progressed, so too did these daily discomforts. She dreaded the day that it would be too much of burden to so much as walk around her new home. “And, forgive me if this comes across a harsh, but I think others will agree it is high time you put an end to denying yourself credit for your accomplishments. Yes, Chara and Lilica played a part in this favourable outcome, and I know you never really wanted this leadership role. But, all the same, you led these people here from Stella D’Mare. And they owe you more than you think; you can’t discredit the fact that it is your light they have been following, considering the turn-out for your celebration, last night.”
The princess went quiet when Alster began to divulge his concern for Elespeth; a concern she’d always known was lurking in the depths of his mind, but which he hadn’t addressed to anyone verbally, save for perhaps the healers. He was terrible at hiding his feelings, in any case. “I know. I see it in both of you; the concern, and that you are fighting to keep hope… but if anything can help Elespeth, then it is Galeyn. She is in the right place, and as long as she draws breath, there is hope. Additionally, I… may have recently relieved Daphi and Elias from their duty attending to me… for reasons that might be obvious.” She hazarded a humourless grin, but her shoulders drooped a little. “For that, they should be able to focus the majority of their time and attention to Elespeth’s condition, now. Between them, the Night Garden, and all of the dedicated Gardeners, I am sure that you will find a solution. And I mean it; I’m not saying it to placate you.” Her smile turned genuine, then, in recognition that she was not the only person faced with troubles and obstacles. “You are not bothering me with your honesty, Alster. I am happy that you feel you can talk to me this way. It isn’t lucrative to keep those feelings to yourself. Gods know if anyone deserves a reprieve, it is you and Elespeth. And you’re right; I can relate. Perhaps not in the same way, but… we are both worried for our spouses. The difference is, you are at least able to keep Elespeth within your sights...”
Vega turned her gaze down toward her belly, a crestfallen countenance shrouding her otherwise radiant face, realizing her own hypocrisy. For all of the advice she gave Alster, she wasn’t one to follow it, herself. “I appreciate your offer, Alster, but I would not dream to ask anything of you in the position you are in, even if there was something you could do to help me. But there… isn’t, really. The truth of the matter, what it all boils down to, is that I need to see to my health and that of my children. And it is something that… ultimately, I must endure alone. Galeyn has its own issues to continue to work out. You and the D’Marians are busy with matters of settlement. Even my husband is unable to remain a stable figure in my life, right now. So… I thought it would best to leave the palace. So that I can face and come to terms with what is coming. There’s no sense in staying in so large a bedroom if it is only me occupying it; even with twins inside of me. It’s just too big…”
She trailed off thoughtfully for a moment, and refocused her gaze out the window of the carriage, watching the palace disappear behind them. “No, you are partially right. I do not wish to be a burden upon anyone. But my confidence has been floundering for months, and I also need to realize for myself that I am strong enough to do this, with or without Haraldur’s help. He has become very involved with the Forbanne and their rehabilitation, Alster; if I am being honest with myself, I do not know what to expect of our future, anymore. But regardless of the future between him and I… these children deserve their best chance. Galeyn has been good for them. I figure somewhere a little quieter, and a little more inconspicuous than a room at the castle, will be good for the three of us.” She folded her hands across her stomach, though at this point, it was difficult to close her fingers around the continually growing mound. “My kingdom is no doubt livid about my impromptu decision to leave; the Sybaian and Clematis healer have made no pretense about their disappointment in the way I put myself and the children at risk. Haraldur is likewise upset and feels betrayed at what I did, and I cannot blame him. He will not even talk to me directly--instead, he sends an envoy who barely knows how to be human to deliver messages between us…”
Realizing that Kadri did not deserve the brunt of her sadness and frustration, Vega promptly extinguished that diatribe before it could become more than it was meant to be. “I cannot blame anyone. I had this curious dream that my babies were born, here… and, foolishly, I chased that dream. I realize that justifies nothing. But so far, we are well, and if Galeyn continues to benefit the health of these children, then I will stand by my choice. I will have no regrets. Not when the well-being of my children is infinitely more important than my standing with Eyraille, with Haraldur… with anyone at all. So, yes. The three of us… we need a little bit of quiet.”
Vega turned her attention from the window and smiled at Alster, when he voiced his suspicion at her eagerness to accompany him, today. “But, of course that is not the reason I agreed to join you! Do you really think so low of me, Alster?” She was only teasing, of course, and nudged his shin with her foot in case he was sensitive enough to take the comment to heart. “No, franky, I just… it would be nice for a distraction. I’ve already found a quiet little home not far from here. It’s a small house that will suffice for my stay, here; if we have time afterward, I’ll show you, myself. Doing my own cooking and upkeep will be a great way to keep myself busy, now that I am not needed to quite the same extent with the D’Marian refugee affairs. So keep to your intended course; I am more or less here for the company. Although I apologize for not being the most uplifting of company, right now…” The Eyraillian princess flashed her own shy smile, and tucked her crimson hair behind her ear, a gesture that came across as almost nervous.
“I realize you want to spend your every waking moment with Elespeth. And I think you should; the both of you draw strength from one another, and neither of you should be alone. I never see the two of you stand as tall as you do in one another’s space. But, if you ever feel inclined to visit… you know you are always welcome.” In that final offer was a small, almost indiscernible plea. That, despite realizing his time was best spent with his failing wife, she hoped she would see him from time to time. Genuine friends these days were more difficult to come across than she cared to admit.
I must be selfish to the end, the princess thought, bitterly disappointed in herself as soon as those last words passed her lips. I know I have to be alone; I need to come to terms with what that might mean, for me. This is what I need. But… it is not what I want.
“Kadri. I am pleased to meet you.” Briery was poised enough to know when to bite back her surprise--and what a surprise she’d encountered. Not only was Cwenha evidently acquainted with someone aside from her close-knit Missing Links family, but the… disposition of her new acquaintance was far from what the ringleader ever would have expected. How or why the poor, innocent man had not found himself on the receiving end of the Silver Fairy’s wrath was beyond her.
...or, was it?
A slow, secretive smile graced her face. She knew exactly the reason this ‘Kadri’ had survived Cwenha long enough to know her name: he didn’t look at her the other way men did, because he didn’t know how. To him, a Forbanne reaching for a humanity he might have never known, had bigger fish to fry than romantic interest. And no one would ever appreciate that more than Cwenha.
“Your name isn’t making people laugh.” Cwenha groaned, and shook her head gently at Kadri. She pressed a hand to her throbbing temple when Hadwin invaded her personal space. “That guy is an absolute imbecile, and he laughs at everything and everyone to make himself feel better about his own miserable life. What are you even doing here? Briery, I have a hard time believing this isn’t punishment if you brought him here.”
“It wasn’t intended, but he was the one to run into the healers. And believe what you want, we were both concerned about you.” The ringleader’s winning smile faded along the edges, ever so slightly. But that microexpression was all Cwenha needed to know that Briery’s thoughts were serious. “You were injured, and you left on your own. Anywhere else, Cwenha, and you would be off your feet for longer than a week. You’d beat yourself up for every day that you couldn’t perform--I know, because I did the same, when my disease left me bedridden. So, no, while this isn’t punishment… perhaps it should be.”
The silver-clad woman stared down at the sheets covering her legs, her expression sobering at the ringleader’s tone. “I let you down, Briery. I’m sorry.”
“No, you didn’t let me down, Cwenha. You let yourself down. So pick yourself back up, and make it right. Kadri,” Briery nodded at the hopeful Forbanne soldier. “I assure you, Hadwin is… somewhat exaggerating about Cwenha’s disposition. I have worked with her for a very long time, and she might be… fiery, but if you stick around, and give her space when she needs it, you might just be happy to get to know her.”
Between Briery’s somewhat patronizing comments and Hadwin’s… well, presence, Cwenha had easily gone hot and red in the cheeks. Kadri had no idea just how appropriate his offer was. “I am afraid to say ‘yes’, because if I do, I think you’ll actually go and do it… and the Briery will never forgive me.” She sighed, and picked up the tin the infuriating faoladh had left behind. It hadn’t come to her attention that her tightly-wrapped foot was, in fact, beginning to itch, until the bastard had drawn attention to it. “For now, don’t… don’t kill anyone. Okay? You don’t kill friends. And the last thing we need is for any more murders, after the shitshow in Braighdath.”
The singer lapsed into silence, then, and a sorrowful realization dawned upon her: that perhaps this man, who didn’t even have a name until this morning, was not the only one who had no idea how to carry a conversation. Who didn’t really know how to be human… “...as much as that man is an aggravating piece of shit, he isn’t wrong, you know. I’m not… much of a friend. I don’t really know how, either. Not so different than you. I don’t know when it is safe to not be angry. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this, because there is no way in hell you can understand. Maybe I’m still drunk…”
Leaning forward, Cwenha rested her head in her hands and dug her fingers into her unruly, blonde curls. “I don’t have your answer, Kadri. I don’t have my own answers, either. But if you want my advice, being human should always come first, before you even consider being Forbanne. But that’s just my take. If you ever figure it out for yourself…” She paused, and then smiled, in spite of herself, “let me know, will you?”
“Of course. You speak sense, Vega.” Alster bobbed along in the affirmative at the mentioned differences between Braighdath and Galeyn. “I’m acting on preconceived biases. I don’t have a very good reputation when it comes to inspiring; among Andalari, Stella D’Mare, and now, Braighdath, I’m lambasted as a demon more than I’m lauded as a saint. And while I don’t want to think the worst on the continuous evolution of my public image, sometimes I can’t help it.” He shrugged, half in apology and half in futility. “I’ve been known as Serpent Bane longer than I’ve been known as Lord Rigas. It’s a difficult adjustment. From one pariah to another, right?” He twitched a smile. “Nonetheless, since returning here to Galeyn, my anxieties have lifted, somewhat. Especially after yesterday. I see now that my self-conceptions differ from how the Galeynians perceive me. Perhaps one day, the majority of D’Marians will follow suit. If not, well...I know I have strong supporters, and that’s what matters. Leaders shouldn’t rely on being unanimously beloved, anyway. It’s an impossible ideal. There will always be naysayers. Detractors. People who lust after your blood and demand your death--like those in Braighdath, who call me a murderer. Yet,” his smile turned ironic, “despite my self-doubt, I want it. Universal love. Even if I must give everything away to achieve this lofty goal. Or, well,” his dreamy expression crashed back down to earth, “I wanted it. But then I chose Elespeth. And though I realize I can’t do all, be all, because by extending my selfless love to everyone, I can’t dedicate my selfish love to her, I’m still willing to push my resources as far as my love-restricted heart can go. In other words, Vega, I want to help. It’s not an imposition for you to ask anything of me. It may not be within my power, but know that I will always hear you out, however ludicrous your request.”
The carriage darkened as the coach entered a dense forest road, the trees too tall to see through the window. For the season, the glass panes had been removed, allowing a refreshing cross breeze to pass through one side to another. He closed his eyes, imagining the wind that ruffled through his sandy blond hair to be from the D’Marian seashore; briny and sprayed lightly with ocean spittle and sun. “I have faith we’ll find a solution. Because I refuse to entertain the alternative. Not because I can’t handle it, but because I’m worried for her longterm well-being. I know how much it kills her to remain idle and bedridden all the time. She is a warrior who prides herself on independence and a physically active body. I’ll love her no matter how much she transforms, but it’s easier for me to accept those changes. Not so for her. Not if it so horribly impacts her way of life. And herein is where I can say I relate to your situation, Vega.” He opened his eyes, removing an errant strand of hair that whipped into them.
“When Elespeth rejected my love on the grounds of not deserving me, I didn’t...I didn’t want to be me anymore. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. So I retreated, and became something else to help mitigate the pain. Haraldur’s withdrawal must affect you in a similar way, and so I understand that you believe the best solution is also to withdraw and handle this pregnancy alone.” He shook his head. “But don’t do what I did, either. Don’t lose yourself--for I’m afraid that’s the path Haraldur has taken, as well. I had to watch him every day of our travels to Galeyn as he struggled and fought with his identity. It’s not that he’s chosen the Forbanne over you, Vega. In his extreme vigilance, I believe he’s decided that to protect you and others from the monster he sees in himself, he must stay in isolation with his fellow ‘monsters.’ But the more he isolates, the more he’s convinced of his status among the Forbanne. However,” he paused to remove his prosthetic arm from catching the splotch of sunlight that invaded the carriage, “I do see it as a positive sign that he’s allowing this Forbanne guard to associate with people--most of all, you. Kadri mentioned a ‘proxy;’ perhaps he really is serving as Haraldur’s proxy. His stand-in. I may be speculating here, but it looks to me that your husband is so desperate for hope, that he’s using this man to reach you. One day...when he’s comfortable, and not fearing the worst case scenario all the time, he may do so. But for now, the answer may very well lie in that guard, and his humanity.”
With a simper of apology for ranting far too long on a subject that might have been too sensitive for Vega to stomach, he leaned out the window, catching the hint of blue that denoted a lake in the approaching distance. “It looks like we’re nearing our first stop, Vega. We’re making good time--so I don’t see why we couldn’t add another stop to our itinerary. I’d love to see your new home.” Turning away from the window, he gave the Skyknight a gentle smile. “It’s best I know where it is, too, so I can visit you on my off hours. There’s no way I’m letting you withdraw, Vega Sorde. Even if it’s only my company you see. I,” the corners of his mouth drooped with the haggard lines of regret, “I tried to reach him. On the road. And I failed. I couldn’t...Not when we were so busy relocating D’Marian refugees. But he was too worn out to care, and I stopped trying. But you...you’re right here, Vega. Stay here.” He looked to her with earnest eyes, eyes so filled with the sins of his past and the amends he yearned to make. “You’re not alone.”
After Alster and Vega visited three promising sites for the future D’Marian village, they settled on option two as the most viable candidate. It fit all three criteria; on a hillside, off the main road, and facing a lake. No body of water could supplement the ocean, and no hill was a suitable replacement for Stella D’Mare’s limestone-carved cliffsides and grandiose slopes, but the land would make for a suitable home for those refugees in dire need of familiarity. Moreover, option two happened to sit within a twenty-minute carriage ride of Vega’s new living quarters, a quaint cottage nestled in a sparsely-populated village.
“This couldn’t be more convenient,” Alster said as they toured the inside of her utilitarian, one room space. “You’ll be close to the D’Marian village, once it’s erected. Easy for me to visit you, too, whenever I want to check on the status of the project. Which will be often, I assure you.”
They returned to the palace shortly before nightfall. When they decided to check in on Cwenha at the infirmary, it came as no surprise to see Kadri standing guard at the foot of her bed. The two had seemed to exhaust their attempts at communication, but neither had appeared to mind. By the untroubled look on Cwenha’s brow, and the serene stillness of Kadri’s informal pose, they were enjoying the silence.
“Cwenha,” Alster greeted the acrobat with a smile. “How is your foot? If you’re looking to shorten your stay here,” he cast furtive glances at the Gardeners before dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “I can stitch your bones back together with my magic. It’s an instantaneous procedure. You’ll be strutting about the palace by morning, guaranteed.”
“No more injury, then. This is good,” Kadri informed the girl who was not a clown. As tirelessly explained to him earlier, she was called an ‘acrobat.’ A type of performer in the circus. One who swung through the air and did all sorts of aerial tricks. “Then I will get to see you spin in the air with your friends.” As if reminded, he spun towards Vega and presented her with another bow; he had bowed to her upon her arrival, and he bowed again, for permission to speak. “I made a friend, Vega. It did not take long at all. He told me I was his friend.”
“It’s Hadwin, isn’t it?” Alster deadpanned, more of a statement than a question.
Kadri raised a curious eyebrow. “How did you know, Lord Rigas?”
“He,” Alster tried not to laugh, “likes to make ‘friends.’”
“And now that he is my friend, I can’t kill him. He laughed at me and called me ‘adorable.’”
This time, Alster did laugh, a quick sputter of amusement. “I have no doubt in my mind that’s exactly what he said.”
“I will have to leave my friend, and Cwenha,” Kadri said as he saluted to the Skyknight. “I am ready to serve you, Vega. Command me and I am yours. While Cwenha told me I should be human before Forbanne, this is an order I cannot disobey.”
The following day, Vega and Kadri left the palace for the quieter countryside. To prepare, the soldier donned civilian clothes, in one of the Galeynian colors of cream, which complemented his darker complexion. To deflate suspicion, he traded his halberd for a shepherd’s staff, and hid other assorted weapons beneath his long, flowing cassock. They departed under the rise of the sun, an unaltered journey of about an hour outside the kingdom’s center. With promises to visit, Alster bid them farewell and good luck under their new arrangements.
As the days flew by, the Rigas Head indeed directed his attention to breaking ground at the chosen D’Marian village site. With Galeyn-allocated funds (with some Rigas coin thrown in--most of which came from Galeynian pockets, anyway), he was able to pay the skilled laborers on the more important tasks, while Haraldur had volunteered some of the Forbanne to assist in wagon transport from the quarries and lumber yards. In a surprise twist, the Eyrallian Prince offered to dedicate half his time to the project, citing his experience with woodworking and house-building. Every other day, he’d live and work on site, balancing his duties between construction and commanding his troops around the palace.
With so many people on board, the village went from concept to concrete, in impressive time. Basic landscaping was accomplished by the D’Marian earth mages in the span of three days, while the plans and designs for the layout transformed from ink on parchment to reality. Frames of buildings sprouted from lot to lot. Clay bricks, sheetrock, and wood planks were quickly produced, courtesy of the tight-knit cooperation between Galeynian laborers, Forbanne, earth mages, and eager volunteers. Satisfied with the harmonious efficiency between disparate parties, Alster focused his energies less on the self-sufficient village efforts, and more...on Chara’s upcoming event.
According to Lilica, his cousin had insisted on no celebration whatsoever. She was content to reap the secondhand rewards of his birthday spectacle. However, if one should reframe the day into something palatable, he was certain she’d appreciate the effort. While she didn’t want the reminder of her rapidly climbing age, if one were to extol her accomplishments, instead, it was likely that Chara would accept the praise. It was a risk, but he wasn’t alone in conceiving the idea; Lilica and Elespeth had broached the subject to him first. Something small and manageable would suffice. He agreed, and helped with making the proper arrangements.
Chara’s birthday had arrived, just eleven days after Alster’s party. It was quiet in the halls of the palace when Alster encountered his cousin, a rare sight of inactivity on her part, considering her deep involvement in Galeynian politics as Lilica’s advisor. But today, she was sitting in the Night Garden, flipping through the pages of a book.
“Chara.” He poked his head over her shoulder. “Lilica needs you in the conference room.”
She slammed her book shut and rested it on her lap. “My report was flawless. If she is still confused about how I do my bookkeeping--”
Alster shook his head. “She’s more confused about translating the illegible scrawl sent to her by one of the Gardeners. And since you’re the best handwriting decipherer around here, we’d thought you’d be the best person to ask.”
“And yet you’re the most read out of us all,” the blonde woman pouted as she climbed to her feet. “You mean to tell me that you are having trouble decoding words? I am aghast, Alster.” And suspicious, her deep frown seemed to convey.
“It’s that bad, believe me. And we can’t get a hold of the Gardener to ask for clarification. Here, I’ll show you the report.”
With Chara close on his heels, Alster led the way from the Night Garden to the conference room. And when he opened the door, and she looked inside to see not only Lilica, but Elespeth, Tivia, and of all people, Teselin, she backed away a few steps, colliding into Alster, who blocked her exit.
“What did I tell you?” She hissed to Alster. “No parties. Nothing at all.”
“I recall that I requested the same, and I also recall that you cited ‘revenge’ as your motivation. Call this revenge, as well.” He forcefully guided Chara into the room and closed the doors shut behind him--a similar gesture from over a week ago. Only, the roles had reversed. “Besides, Chara, we’re not here to celebrate your birthday.”
“Oh, really?” She lifted her nose at the cake that acted as the small gathering’s centerfold; a four-tiered creation, sandwiched between with almond cream. One of her most sought-after delicacies after departing from Stella D’Mare. “Why the cake? The guests? The secrecy? Do not forget that you have learned from me, Alster. Poorly, I might add.”
“As I’ve said, we’re not here to celebrate the fact that you have grown another year. We’re celebrating what you’ve done during that year, Chara--and then some.”
“Nice workaround,” she huffed. “So you plan to roast me, is that it? List every folly, failure, and foible from my childhood, onward?”
“Really, Chara?” Alster gave his cousin a skeptical look. “You once told me I’d sooner compliment the enemy than harm them in battle. Do you think I’m capable of roasting anyone?”
“...No.” Tentatively, she slid forward to take a seat at the place of honor reserved for her--beside Lilica. “Okay, so let us get this over with.” She waved a magnanimous hand toward the guests. “What would you like to say? I do hope these responses aren’t scripted.”
Alster glanced at the Galeyn Queen and smiled. “You first, Lilica.”
Chara had spoken her peace, and was determined not to have a celebration in honour of her birthday. That much, Lilica understood, and she determined to respect those wishes, especially considering the horrors the Rigas mage had suffered at the hands of Mollengard… and what that meant for her magic, and the deterioration of her once lengthy lifespan. Nonetheless, the Galeynian Queen had also determined that her new advisor could not go unrecognized for her efforts, to the D’Marians as well as the Galeynians… and to her. And, admittedly, her motivation was in part fueled by that nagging sense of guilt. Chara had told her not to shoulder the burden of blame for her suffering, but that part of Lilica that knew her departure from Stella D’Mare had impacted Chara continued to keep her up at night, staring blankly at the high ceiling as she struggled to devise ways to help mend what had broken in the Rigas woman.
Ultimately, every near-sleepless night came back to a single detail, that being the longing and nostalgia in Chara’s eyes when she had told her that it had once been customary that she and Alster celebrated their birthdays, together. Even during the new Rigas Lord’s birthday celebration, Chara had largely kept to herself and observed, instead of expressly partaking in the festivities. Lilica could appreciate that she did not desire a reminder that her aging was now expedited, without her magic… but she also could not allow the blonde woman to yet give up on herself so easily, or to fail to recognize everything that she had offered, and had yet to offer.
It was for that that the Galeynian Queen finally approached Alster with the proposal that something be done in Chara’s name; if not a birthday celebration, like he’d had, then at the very least, a small, intimate gathering of her friends and close acquaintances in recognition of everything that Chara deserved to celebrate about herself. Alster, who arguably knew Chara the best of anyone (moreso even than her), of course cautioned her about creating something too overstimulating, or that would draw direct notice another year that she had aged… but out of a sense of mischief (and perhaps, a rather benign desire for revenge) for putting him in the spotlight for his own birthday celebration, he agreed to help Lilica organize something appropriate.
So as the days passed, word was spread to only those who mattered most, and who would have something meaningful to contribute to a small get-together to lift Chara’s spirits.This would not be a kingdom-wide celebration, as had been Alster’s birthday, nor would it be held for public viewing, which left her to decide it would take place within the palace proper, and in only one room. While Chara busied herself as the primary assistant and advisor to Galeyn’s rightful Queen, then, Lilica quietly worked alongside Alster to prepare the palace’s grand conference room for a small feast on the eve of Chara’s birthday. And when the day and time finally came, since it would be too telling for her to escort Chara, herself, she sent Alster on the most important errand: that being, to fetch the haughty blonde Rigas woman and convince her to follow him to the conference room, without dropping hints that would leave her suspicious.
Chara was no fool, and suspicious by nature, however, which left room for the possibility that this might be a task that even Alster could not accomplish. That the Rigas woman would catch wind of what was really going on, and refuse to show up at all, which would leave Lilica with an even greater mess on her hands, that being picking up the pieces of Chara’s bleeding feelings of betrayal and anguish over her loss of years and longevity. For that, everyone in the conference room--a small group that contained only Lilica, Tivia, Elespeth, Sigrid, Vega, and Teselin, could only hold their breaths upon waiting for Alster’s return--either alone, or successfully with Chara in tow. And when he stepped through the door, smiling proudly at his success, they all seemed to exhale their relief unanimously at once.
“While Alster did have a hand in organizing this,” Lilica began, stepping forward to place an inviting hand on Chara’s arm, “I must confess that this was predominantly my idea, Chara. I merely roped Alster in to help me organize something that you would find appropriate. It is as he says: we are not celebrating your birthday. We are celebrating you, as a whole, and everything you have offered us. Since you’ve had trouble recognizing your own importance, of late, we simply saw fit to remind you. So,” she gestured to the designated chair at the table, which boasted a modest feast of pastries, cheeses, and Galeynian vegetables. Just enough for their small party. “Have a seat. We have a lot to say to you.”
When Chara complied, the Queen of Galeyn took a seat beside her, and began the round-the-table onslaught of reminders why the Rigas woman deserved praise. There would be no shortage of it, tonight. “I am afraid that much of what I have to say, personally, is probably redundant for you. You already know well what I owe you, what you’ve done for me, and how important all of it is. Primarily… you believed in me when I did not believe in myself, Chara. When I was convinced that there was no hope that I would ever be anything but a toxic substance, to myself and to the people surrounding me. And I am not exaggerating when I say I would not be here in this kingdom, today--that Galeyn would not be here, awake and thriving, if it had not been for you. If it had not been for someone who convinced me that I can be better and do better by myself. After all… in part, that is why I left Stella D’Mare this past winter. So that I could do something great and become that person you believed I could be. And for that,” she gestured to the grand room, just a small piece of the everything that Chara had helped make possible, “this kingdom owes its thanks to you, as much as to me. For making its Queen realize her true potential. Though admittedly, I am still lacking in leadership skills… for which I will continue to heavily rely on your invaluable advice, so long as you are willing to provide it.”
Of course, there was so much more that Lilica wanted to divulge. But some of that was too raw for the uplifting atmosphere of this get-together, and some of it she was determined to keep to herself, anyway, knowing that whatever existed between her and Chara was now tenuous and uncertain. And anyway, that was not the point of this event. It was to remind the Rigas woman of how invaluable she was to this group of people.
“Well… I think I’ve said everything you already know,” the Galeynian Queen said at last, and gestured to the rest of the table. “So let’s hear something that you don’t already know, or haven’t heard before.”
“I’ll say something.” Elespeth, who was dressed well (but sadly lacking in terms of make-up, considering she could not ask for Chara’s assistance given the circumstances of this event), spoke up from her place at the table, next to Alster. “I think tonight should also be about honesty. So if I am being honest, Chara, then I have lost count of the times I’ve wanted to punch you in the face. Sometimes, I still do.” A slow grin crept along her mouth, knowing well that this was indeed no secret, given their history. “So we were a thorn in one another’s side for a long time. Longer than we’ve been able to tolerate one another. But even if it has only been in the past handful of months we’ve found reason to put that behind us… I honestly do not know how I’d have found myself again, without you. It was you, of all people, who was there at my lowest, when I’d forgotten who I was, and when I wouldn’t let anyone--not even Alster--help me. And even when I did come to my senses, that didn’t change. You didn’t turn your back on me when my health took a turn. You’ve visited with me and helped make me presentable… by the way, I hope you can forgive me for not looking quite so shining tonight. I couldn’t ask for your help, for obvious reasons. Probably for the better; I don’t want to outshine you when this night is yours.”
The Atvanian warrior winked at Chara and sat back in her seat. Her antivs drew a chuckle from Vega, who stood nearby, one hand resting on her belly. “I will be honest, Chara, when Alster invited me here this evening, I wasn’t certain that there was anything I could bring to this event. After all, our encounters have been few and far-between. But I can say this much… as someone who has failed terribly as a leader, you do not by any means fall under that same umbrella.”
The Eyraillian princess’s smile was soft, but edged with sadness--as were many of her smiles, these days, spent quietly alone in her new cottage beyond the palace, with only Kadri’s occasional company (and, from time to time, Alster’s). “I am someone who has run from responsibility for a long time. Even in my position as commander of the Skyknights, I secured it partially as a means to run from Eyraille’s throne. I know what it means to let people down… people who looked up to me, who depended on me. And whatever made you decide to pass your torch to Alster, I know the leader that I saw in you. I know what you did for your people. What you sacrificed, and what you suffered, which is far more than I have for Eyraille. I just got pregnant and took off.” The sadness in her smile was offset by a bit of cheeky self-deprecation, for Chara’s benefit. “However you might have been opposed to celebrating your birthday, you deserve this recognition. And it is because you think you do not deserve it that makes it so necessary.”
“I am in agreement with her Highness. I must second that we are not well acquainted, Chara Rigas,” Sigrid then stepped in when Vega looked to have finished with her contribution. “But I, too, have had the opportunity to take note of your leadership and your core values. As a warrior of the Dawn Guard, nothing means more to me than standing for the people you believe in, even if it means putting yourself in danger--which you did, and for that, you faced the consequences. But look at what you have accomplished. As a friend of Alster’s,” the blonde warrior smiled, and raised an eyebrow in the Rigas Lord’s direction. “I know that he could not have accomplished all this alone. You did all you could for Stella D’Mare, and now you are doing the same for Galeyn, in siding with its own new leader. So take the ‘thank you’s’ while they’re being handed out, because it is not often anyone is recognized for their dedication to such an extent.”
Follow Sigrid’s praise, Tivia stepped up to pay into her cousin’s reassurances… and for that, Teselin was grateful, for even now, she was at a loss as to what to say to Chara. So much had occurred, since her visit to Stella D’Mare at the beginning of the winter, when she had been desperate for sanctuary… and Chara had given her that. She had given her a place to stop and breathe, after she’d been running for so long. She’d given her an opportunity to explore the extent of her powers, and had given her the opportunity to use them to help the people who had helped her. In the end, Chara had told her that she’d been delusional to think that there had ever been anything between them aside from puppet and puppeteer. The young summoner, of course, had not believed her at first. Not until Mollengard, which had taken every last scrap of the hope she’d clung to so desperately. After that, when Chara told her once again that there had been nothing in their camaraderie, in their suffering together… Teselin had finally believed her.
But then, back in Braighdath, the proud Rigas woman had attempted to apologize. Which could have been impactful, had it not been the exact time that Lilica had sought to reunite with her. Something that was far more important than mending ties that had never really existed. When Alster had approached her, extending an invitation to attend that evening, at first first she’d declined, fearing that it would do Chara no good to have her there. In truth, it wasn’t until that morning that she’d told the Rigas Lord she’d changed her mind, and would attend after all--in hopes that Chara’s apology, back in Braighdath, had been genuine. And that there might have been a bridge between them to mend, after all.
It was a moment before the young summoner realized the silence that had elapsed. Tivia was finished with what she had to say, and now, she was the only one left who had yet to make it known why they had decided to be a part of this. Teselin still didn’t have the words; but she had to say something. “...you were kind to me. You gave me sanctuary when you did not have to, and when your city was picking up the pieces of itself. You believed that I could be useful, and that I had it in me to harness the power I wield. Even if you did all that under ulterior motives, and even if I wasn’t more than just another resource for you… it doesn’t matter. Because I wanted to help. I wanted to be used, to prove to myself that I could be useful. Just to know I could be something other than dangerous, or a burden…”
She looked at the tips of her worn boots. Teselin hadn’t looked up even once, since she’d begun to talk, too afraid she’d shy away if she took note of the eyes on her. “Whatever your reasons, Chara… you were kind, when you didn’t have to be, and at a time when I did not think I would find kindness, again. You have helped people you might never have even intended to help. Everyone here is right. You deserve this.”
Afraid the small girl might crumble under her own self-imposed tension (and frankly, seeing too much of her own struggles in the summoner’s current state of existence), Lilica eased the gravity in the room by popping open the bottle of wine on the table. One aged easily over a hundred years, given the time that the kingdom had passed asleep, but whether it tasted its age, or if it had maintained its ‘youth’ along with Galeyn’s denizens, they had yet to find out. “Well, I’ve only prepared this one bottle, but it doesn’t seem to me like there is anyone in this room who can hold their alcohol all too well. So perhaps moderation is a good thing.” Filling one glass goblet about halfway, she handed it to Chara. “And I have no idea how good this wine actually is. But as the guest of honour, you get the first taste. Unless,” she eyed the four-tiered cake with its almond filling and whipped butter frosting; something she’d had made especially for the Rigas woman, remembering her tendency toward having something of a sweet tooth, “there is something else you would prefer to try, first?”
Tivia Rigas hadn’t planned on spending most of her time at the palace. After Alster’s party, she had meant to depart by Night steed that evening. But during her attendance, she largely kept to herself. Once she approached Alster with her compulsory well-wishes, she watched the goings-on in the courtyard from a safe distance in the corner. Nowadays, it was difficult to connect to people, so she chose not to bother with social niceties or frivolous conversation. As a star-seer, small talk was virtually impossible--and pointless. For the duration of the party, she imbibed far too much wine, a first for her since her long-ago days in Stella D’Mare as a spoiled, pampered Rigas. Before her father forced her to participate in a war as a way to prove her worth as the daughter of a councilman, with strong magic pumping through her veins. The drink tasted too sticky, too sweet, and it did things to her mind she did not appreciate. By early evening, she needed to retire to her quarters, and it was there that she stayed overnight and well into the following day. It wasn’t that she was too sick to function; wine-induced nausea was only part of her affliction. Impairing her senses meant that the stars, under no conscious supervision or control, allowed themselves to run amok in her mind with all manner of images and auditory hallucinations far too numerous to parse or decipher. The gibberish pained her until she bowled over, sticking her fist in her mouth to prevent the screams of hysteria. Lucky she left the party when she did. What impression would yelling nonsense in the middle of merry-making and dancing make on the guests, who merely wanted a reason to celebrate? There was simply no room for madness or interruptions of the alarming kind. Alster didn’t deserve it.
So, she’d absconded from view, holing herself in private chambers, a kindness that Queen Lilica allotted to her due to...the nature of her magic. No one wanted to share a space with someone prone to both night terrors and day terrors. Vitali, of course, was the exception, but only because he’d undergone similar horrors of the mind.
Speaking of the necromancer, she needed to return to the farmhouse as soon as possible. While she had no doubt of his self-sufficient nature, she wanted to spend as much time in her quiet, comfortable home with familiar company, before everything that was safe and relatively normal came to an end. Resolving to leave the night after next, no matter her headspace or physical condition, she headed to the stables with her small bag of luggage, and found herself accosted in the middle of the hallway by Alster.
“Before you leave,” he’d said, sidling next to the star-seer as he accompanied her to her destination, “would you consider returning again, in about a week? We,” his voice dipped into a whisper, “want to do something for Chara. I know you haven’t spoken to or associated with her in a while, but she was your commander, once upon a time. I thought maybe you’d have a few nice things to say, about our tenure in the war camps.”
“I could,” she said, but her voice clamped with hesitation. “But...I’d rather not, Alster. I cannot look into the past. I don’t want to entertain those days when I was better off. Naive and cocky, perhaps, but, not...tortured and twisted and...wrong. She won’t want that reminder, either. When life was simpler, and her largest worry was keeping you at her side. Is it really such a good idea to exhume what’s already dead and buried? It will serve her more heartache. And I do not think I can bear the reminder, either.”
“I take it this is not a premonition, but your opinion. Either way,” Alster sighed, “it’s understandable. I don’t like to look back, either--but for different reasons. I was the worst of myself. Confused, hopeless...effectively useless on most accounts. It’s, I imagine, what Chara’s been feeling, lately. With her magic gone, and her purpose unknown to herself, I do think she needs every reminder we can give her--that her life has been meaningful. The impact she’s made on others. Think about it, Tivia.” Once they reached the stables, he released himself from her company. “It’s all up to you, if you wish to return.”
Dammit! Alster had a way of guilting people--either witting or unwitting--into his schemes, wielding empathy like a weapon and twisting the knife into wounds that never quite healed. And now, after his assault, she was limping to her steed, cursing under her breath. It didn’t matter how far she ran, or how well she hid. Forces beyond her control pulled her to the center, without fail. With her preestablished history, and the people contained within that history, she could never sever all her ties and assume the role of an unimportant villager, tending to a farm. In peace. In silence. No one let her forget her origins--least of all the stars. She was Tivia Rigas. She wanted to abandon her family. And yet, she was a star-seer, tied by blood to their destinies. If only she were the one Mollengard captured, and tortured. They’d suck free her magic, suck free any and all obligations to the Rigas name, or her cursed longevity, and she, whether dead or alive, would be a blessed nobody. What a dream. What an impossible, impossible, dream…
Begrudgingly, Tivia returned to the palace in time for Chara’s praise-singing session. Beforehand, Queen Lilica gathered the guests in the conference room and bid them sit down and enjoy some refreshments while Alster fetched their guest of honor. As she sat down, she looked around the room at the small number of attendees. Aside from Lilica, Elespeth occupied a spot with her wheelchair; beside her stood Sigrid. Across the table Lysander, rested his crutches on his chair. The Night Garden hadn’t yet healed his legs, but according to Lilica, the black miasma from her poisoned magic had retreated, leaving them in a better state to recover. On either side of Lysander, Teselin, who she hadn’t spoken to since before Alster’s party, shifted nervously, and Vega (who contributed to Tivia’s own nervous shifting), waited for the double doors to open. No sign of that mongrel, good, she thought, with relief. So he and the summoner aren’t inseparable, after all.
At last, the doors opened, and in spilled Alster and a peeved Chara. With a slam, Alster had contained the less-than-happy honoree, forcing her, as she did to him less than a fortnight ago, to stew in an awkward situation. Tivia had to owe it to her former commander. Some things never changed, and Chara knew how to deal with unpleasantness with the true poise of a leader. As everyone took turns exalting and reassuring her (though she near laughed out loud at Elespeth’s accurate comment), all eyes turned to her. In an uncomfortable shuffle, she rose to her feet, and spilled out memories of a landscape that looked so foreign and unrecognizable to her, now.
“Chara was my commander. We were a tiny unit sent to Messino’s encampment, and our true purpose was to spy on the Andalarian prince and his movements. She was efficient--though she did play favorites.” She roved her one eye towards Alster, who shrugged and smiled innocently. “She was in charge of our lives and did not fail. Under her supervision, I did not fear death. She brought out the best of my magic. Only when she was removed from command and left for Stella D’Mare did we founder. Danos was lost, and I,” she gestured to herself, but did not elaborate. “War was unkind to us all, but under her command, it was palatable. Because her confidence put me at ease. I knew I could trust her because she trusted in herself and in her leadership. That,” she plunged into her seat and lowered her head, “that is all.”
Tivia fidgeted with the ends of her hair, taking an inordinate interest in it. Though, when Lysander hobbled to his feet to speak, she tilted her ear toward him. Knowing Lysander and his tendency for overwrought floridity, she felt impelled to listen.
“Chara, you are my joy,” he said, balancing himself erect on the table, despite suggestions for him to sit. He looked his daughter in the eye. “And yes, I will take this moment at my podium to mortify you in front of your friends and peers, because that is my job as your father. Though I will spare everyone detailed information about your childhood idiosyncracies--for we shall be here all day, otherwise, and I don’t want you to become estranged from me, again.” He elected for a halfhearted chuckle. “I will say this. I cannot be happier that you’ve welcomed me into your life, after our decades of avoidance. How I one day yearned and dreamed for the opportunity to make up for my past sins--my lack of support and understanding, especially in light of your mother’s death, when you needed me most. I lost you, then. I lost you, and then I almost lost you again, to Mollengard. I feared the worst. Every day was a struggle, not knowing if you were dead or alive. And…” his words strained with emotion, “I cannot begin to thank the stars enough for your survival. Do not forget that I love you dearly, Chara, and that I am wishing you all the happiness of your namesake.”
“You maudlin buffoon.” Chara crossed the room to help the man to his seat, but not before trapping her arms around his shoulders. “I will berate this for you later,” she said, blinking away the tears before they had the chance to properly form. “It astounds me how much you’ve changed, from an asshole to a sentimental fool like Alster. Which reminds me,” she turned to the Rigas Head, who’d since seated himself beside Elespeth, “what do you have to say?”
“Oh, me?” Alster rolled his shoulders on the backrest. “Nothing of note. I’m a sentimental fool, after all.”
“I find it hard to believe that you have nothing to say.”
“We’ve known each other since children; it’s all been said in some fashion.”
“Is this behavior still part of your revenge?”
“Who knows?” Alster gave a flippant toss of his hand.
Ignoring him, Chara withdrew from Lysander and positioned herself at the head of the table, looking as though she had called a meeting for others to esteem and adore her aloud. “I thank you for your kind words. I will admit this is quite overwhelming. I will also admit that I love praise, and wrench it from people whenever presented the chance. Never do I expect people to hand it to me of their own free will. Save for you, Lilica,” her lips twitched into a smile. “I suppose that paints me as a sad creature, forever craving credit for what I do not deserve, and shunning credit for what people believe is my due. Some of you do not know me well. Sigrid and Vega, we have not had extensive communication, and are little more than secondhand allies. You are most likely here because Alster dragged you into this room and you are beholden to him. But I will not deny that your words of recognition are heartfelt and not scripted, as I originally suspected. I will trust your counsel, as a Dawn warrior and leader of the Skyknights. Elespeth,” her head craned towards the wheelchair-bound woman, “the feeling is mutual.” Her lips curled into a wicked smile. “My enmity for you was without peer. I was doggedly determined to curse your name into the ground, where I thought it belonged. Alas, our simultaneous life changes have softened our regard for each other. I can tolerate you now. That is a step up, yes,” she said, but with a tease of her mouth. “No need to worry about that either, Elespeth. Even with my help,” she snorted, “you could hardly outshine me.”
“Tivia,” her mood drooped, “I regret being absent from camp when Messino’s forces massacred our people, and left you scarred. Even then, other leaders judged me unfit to command, due to my...temper,” she laughed uncomfortably. “It is heartening to hear you found me so deserving of my post. And Teselin,” she swallowed a lump in her throat. “I mistreated you, and then cast you aside. You were hurting just as much as I was, and yet…” she trailed off, her eyes glazing over, as if looking beyond into some distant hereafter. Alster cleared his throat and rose from his chair.
“Turns out, I do have something to say, after all. I like to credit Elespeth for saving my life, but I’ve seldom given you the proper acknowledgment for sticking out your neck for me all the time, risking your own life and station for my sake.”
“You are the Rigas Head,” Chara, who’d snapped out of her fugue state, gently reminded him. “Believe me, you are repaying my favors to you, tenfold.”
“Be that as it may...my offer still stands, Chara. With the Rigas Blood Seal in my possession, I can offer you magic, and the years you’ve lost. You can see this opportunity as a rebirth, if you should agree to it. What better way to ‘reawaken’ than on this day, surrounded by people who have noticed your deeds and talents?”
“That…” she hesitated. “All of that can be settled after we eat, wouldn’t you say?”
“Of course.” With a nod, Alster returned to his seat--just in time for Lilica to pass the guest of honor a goblet filled with one-hundred-year-old wine. She swished around the dark-red liquid, checking for smell and viscosity.
“For all you know, Lilica, you could be handing me poison. Or at the very least, something completely unpalatable,” she said with a snort. “But as your royal advisor, it is, I suppose, up to me to check for poison or taste. So,” she raised her goblet in a toast, and took a sip. Her mouth moved in accordance with the swish of wine, judging its flavor profile and bouquet. As she swallowed, she smacked her tongue against her palate, gauging the aftertaste. “Yes, this is fine wine. I approve. It does not seem to have aged. As with most everything in Galeyn, it has remained in stasis.”
Passing the bottle to everyone who wanted to partake, Chara returned to her chair beside Lilica, her eyes hungrily locked on the almond cake. “I...would very much like a piece,” she said, then added, almost shyly, “or the entire cake. ...And the pastries, too.”
Only after she swallowed a decadent creampuff whole did Alster barge into her sugar-crusted fantasy. “You will be interested to know, Chara, that Hadwin made those creampuffs you’re so obviously enjoying.”
Chara surprised him, however, by munching on a second pastry without hesitation. “The mongrel has his uses. In some ways, he is still bound to me by blood, as my slave. He is merely offering me tribute.”
Whilst Chara and the guests mingled, drinking wine, cutting cake, eating pastries, or sampling the spread of hors d’oeuvres, Tivia excused herself, and slipped past the double doors. She was not the only one to follow suit. Moments later, Teselin popped out of the room, her whole bearing fraught with the same discomfort Tivia herself felt.
“It is unusual to see you without your loyal guard dog nipping and yipping at your heels,” she quipped, brushing strands of her hair forward to conceal the damaged left side of her face. “Did Alster ‘convince’ you to come here, too? You did not look like a willing participant. ...Me neither. Don’t get me wrong,” she hurried. “I meant what I said, about Chara. But...I did not want to say any of it at all. I want no part in remembering the past. It does me no good to pine for those days of true ignorance. If I close my eyes hard enough, I can still pretend that my parents loved me. Or pretended to love me. But that’s enough about me.” She tilted her head at the summoner. “What’s your excuse?”
With the wine deemed palatable, and with Chara more than eager to dig into the pastries and refreshments, the carefully organized circle of compliments and encouragements to the Rigas woman came to a natural close. This left the guests of the small party to fill in the gaps with small talk and gorging on the delicious food, which for some (particularly Chara, who seemed to be enjoying the assortment the most) was a welcome transition. But for others, despite their best intentions, this small event couldn’t end fast enough.
Tivia was not the only one who sought solace in a moment of solitude. The young summoner hadn’t followed her outside; in her already distracted state of mind, she hadn’t taken notice of the star seer’s disappearance, and was thus surprised to find the veranda, beyond a set of ornate, stained-glass doors, was already occupied. “Oh--I’m sorry.” Despite that she wasn’t really at fault for anything significant, her immediate instinct was to apologize, now knowing the current temperament of the Rigas seer who had kept her brother company this past handful of months. “I didn’t realize you were out here…”
Teselin turned to leave almost as immediately as she’d arrived, out of respect for Tivia’s obvious desire to be alone, but she stalled her retreat when the seer’s words suggested her company wasn’t entirely loathsome. With one hand still on the ornate glass door, the young summoner shrugged her shoulders and turned. “I care about Hadwin, and I’ll admit I do spend a lot of time in his company, but we aren’t inseparable. Anyway, it is beneficial for him that we spend some time apart… I know he would never tell me as much, but I’m probably quite a painful person to be around, with every fear and insecurity running amok in my mind for him to take note of, whether he wants to or not.” Not to mention, she knew better than to interfere when the faoladh took his leave from groups in favor of the private company of Briery Frealy; while arguably naive in a lot of ways, Teselin Kristeva was not an idiot.
“To be very honest, Alster didn’t guilt me into coming here tonight, though. He extended an invitation days ago, and I refused. Chara and I… well, I was not sure that my presence here would be reassuring or good for her in any way, given the nature of our history.” Turning away from the door, Teselin clutched her elbows and shrugged her shoulders. “This morning, though… I don’t know. I had a change of heart, I suppose. It felt as though I’d be doing worse by her by not making an appearance than if I did show up and incited uncomfortable emotions. Back in Braighdath, I think Chara meant to attempt to make amends, but circumstances led to me not really being able to acknowledge it at the time. Knowing her like I do, however… an apology is no easy thing for her to offer, especially not to the likes of me. And I have a feeling that she does not hand them out like candy, regardless of the person involved. So, if for no other reason, I needed to be here tonight just to let her know that her words did reach me, and that I shoulder no grudge or mean-spirited feelings toward her. There are times when I could really have depended on her camaraderie, but… well, better late than never. And I am glad that she appears to be coming to peace with herself, after all of the horrible things she suffered...”
Nervously tucking a tress of dark hair behind her ear, the young summoner stepped away from the door to lean on the smooth, pearl-white banister, which overlooked the resplendent Night Garden, just beyond. “I meant everything that I said to her, as well. Even if she didn’t intend it, she was kind to me at a time when I needed kindness the most. At a time when she didn’t have to be, and probably didn’t want to be, especially knowing that I am the blood sister of a man she so reviles. I was running from a very bad situation; I was wanted, for a disaster that my magic was responsible for. If it weren’t for her, I don’t know what would have happened to me. But I am certain that I wouldn’t have found my brother. Nor would I have had the opportunity to meet Hadwin, or to become acquainted with Alster--two more people to whom I owe a great debt for their kindness, and what they have done for me. Honestly,” her mouth quirked into an ironic grin, “I don’t think I’ve ever owed so many people for the preservation of my well-being and happiness. It’s as overwhelming as it is reassuring.”
Turning her attention away from the picturesque Night Garden in the near distance, Teselin fixed her eyes on Tivia’s own awkward form. She wondered if the seer consciously pulled her hair in front of her face to conceal the disfigurement, or if it had become an anxious, unconscious habit by now. “I understand not wanting to face the past… so your family life was a little bit lacking as well, I can assume?” A humourless smile stretched her lips. “I’m sure Vitali must have already recounted the sort of ‘family’ environment we were exposed to. Although I am also certain that what he experienced was far worse than what I did. We didn’t know our fathers, and our mother… was not much of a mother, to say the least. I left her when I was ten years old, but even in the ten years I spent in her ‘care’, if you can call it that, I don’t have many memories of her at all. She wasn’t ever around, and as I grew older, my magic became harder to ignore. Much like Vitali, I suppose, I figured my best option was to leave and find a means to better understand it. And while that never really came to pass--I’ve never found that mentor that I’ve so desperately needed… I think I made the right choice. I’m not sure what might have become of me, or of her, if I’d stayed.”
Upon realizing she’d been prattling on, completely unsolicited, Teselin felt her face grow warm with embarrassment. If there was anyone who was the least likely to care, it was probably Tivia Rigas. “Sorry. I know you probably couldn’t care less about my circumstances.” The young summoner apologized, and awkwardly rubbed the side of her arm. “What I am trying to say is I can understand. Not wanting to look to the past, because it doesn’t hold any answers or solace. Even if your past hold fonder memories and sentiments than my own, all we can do is look forward to what is to come, be it good or bad. Our past does not write our future…” She sighed quietly, almost wistfully, glancing over her shoulder at the Night Garden and all of the secret miracles it held.”We alone are responsible for that manuscript.”
Turning her back to the banister, she offered what she could of a smile to the girl who--at least initially--had rather resented her. “You remind me a lot of Chara, you know. I think, in part, that is what draws me to you. Regardless of what happens to you, you remain this unmovable pillar in the wind. And you help people who… well, maybe don’t deserve it. That is why I so quickly came to harbour a great respect for Chara Rigas” The implication, of course, was that she was referring to her brother. Chara had extended a helping hand to her, a nobody with a dangerous gift; Tivia had saved the life of someone who the rest of the world did not believe he deserved a second chance at life. “So... forgive me if I came across as ingenuine, upon our first encounter. I really was eager to meet you, knowing what you did for my brother. You are among those people to whom I owe a debt that I don’t think I can ever repay, and… I apologize that my arrival seems to have upset the balance you were so used to.”
Tivia and Teselin’s absence had not gone unnoticed by the remainder of revelers in the room, who were all enjoying the decadent cake and pastries, as well as the suitable bottle of wine (save for Vega, on that part). Elespeth, in particular (who had something of a soft spot for both young women) was particularly concerned, at first, but if all they needed was fresh air and a moment to themselves, then it was best not to chase them and to force them to mingle. “I am surprised you got both of them here, tonight,” she said to Alster at one point, when the two of them found a moment alone in the corner. Lilica, Chara, and Lysander appeared to be engaged in some small talk, and Sigrid had found her boldness again and was harmlessly teasing Vega, who--oddly enough--seemed to be taking it very well. “Teselin has hardly left Hadwin’s side since they arrived… even after finding her brother, at last. I did not think I’d see her show up on Chara’s behalf; I guess I shouldn’t have doubted how much she really does admire her. And you even got Vega to show up; I haven’t seen her in over a week, since she relocated…”
Swirling the glass of wine in her hand (though she had yet to take a sip), the Atvanian warrior grinned at her husband and leaned across her wheelchair to plant a kiss on his cheek. “See? Your natural charm can get you anywhere if you use it the right way. You did a fine job organizing an event like this for someone who very much needed it.”
And Chara did need it; of that much, Lilica was certain, and after watching the emotions that flickered across her face with each and everyone person’s heartfelt words, she no longer felt that twinge of guilt from deceiving the Rigas woman by reassuring her nothing would be done to draw attention to her on her birthday. She had a feeling that even if Chara did harbour feelings of benign betrayal at that, she would not hold onto them for long. “I take it the refreshments are to your liking?” She gently nudged the blonde Rigas, who had wasted no time indulging in Hadwin’s cream pastries, and the custom cake she’d requested from the kitchen that a talented pastry chef had taken care to craft with exquisite detail. “I realize it cannot hold a flame to the extravagance of Stella D’Mare, but it is true that you really won’t find any food here that tastes bad. Something to do with the roots of the Night Garden, reaching as far as wheat fields…”
At her mention of the famed Garden, Chara turned her head to a window, where beyond, the Night Garden bloomed as a pillar of miracles to come. At least, that was what Lilica had to believe; it had yet to perform anything that could be considered a miracle, but those were doubts best kept to herself. “...it is still your decision, you know. Alster is eager to help you because it is the only way he knows how, but you shouldn’t feel pressured into making a decision tonight.” Lilica put a hand of her arm. Of course, she was referring to the comment Alster had made earlier on: a chance that he could restore Chara’s magic, and her years, if that was what she truly desired. “Anyway… that was not the point of tonight. We all came here to remind you of your importance in the lives of others. And none of that importance or validity is contingent on you having magic, or the lifespan of a Rigas. All of that is secondary to the shining light that is you.”
Truth be told, this very decision--while it was not hers to make--had been weighing on Lilica’s mind since the day Alster proposed it. Because no one could predict what would come of the change in Chara if she accepted it. Would she possess the same magic as before? Would it interfere with her feelings toward Stella D’Mare or Galeyn? ...or, would anything else matter to her, as soon as she felt powerful again?
Selfish though it might have been, the Galeynian Queen was relieved that Chara had been putting it off. It meant more time for the two of them, even if their relationship currently resided only on a professional level of monarch and advisor. That was still time she was able to spend in the company of the person she’d been pining for for months, and it was time that she cherished. When it came down to it all, much though she grieved for what Chara had suffered and what she had lost, Lilica feared how much another transition might change her. That she might change so much, she’d decide there was no longer a place for her in Lilica’s life, as an advisor or otherwise. She wasn’t ready to face that.
But what she was ready or not ready for did not matter; because as it turned out, Chara was ready--tonight. Just as she had been about to change the subject, the Rigas woman turned to her with her decision. She was going to take Alster up on his offer. She would take him up on it now.
“Chara. Are you sure?” Lilica breathed, at a loss as to what else she could say, hoping the fear of losing her did not make its way into her voice. She rested an arm on her shoulder. “We cannot be certain of the outcome…” That didn’t matter. What mattered was it was a chance. Because all the praise and reassurance in the world could not free her from feeling trapped without her magic.
It was more than just a thought. Chara was ready, and she turned to interrupt a quiet conversation between Elespeth and Alster to let the latter know she meant to accept his offer--to let the whole room know, including Tivia and Teselin, who had just wandered back inside at that very moment. Her decision was met with reassuring smiles and even light applause. No one was without a smile for the long-suffered Rigas woman. “Well, what are we all still here for, then? The cake isn’t going anywhere.” It was Sigrid who spoke up, then, a light flush to her cheeks after finishing her class of wine. For a tall woman, she was laughably terrible at holding her alcohol. “If this is about Chara Rigas, let’s make it all about Chara Rigas. Take the party straight to the Night Garden.”
With everyone in agreement, they put down their plates and goblets and opened the ornate double-doors of the conference room. Alster automatically took up the handles of Elespeth’s wheelchair, but the former knight was quick to protest. “I think Chara needs you right now more than I do. Take up the front with her and Lilica; I’ll be a little slower, but I’m right behind you.”
Alster hesitated, and for a moment, he looked as though he might protest. But a plaintive look from a hopeful Chara was enough for him to join her and Lilica to lead the small procession to the Night Garden. Several paces behind the others, she shifted the wheels of her mobile chair, and ended up falling in step (so to speak) with Lysander, whose healing legs had yet to accumulate the strength to move on their own without the assistance of those cumbersome metal braces. Nonetheless, Elespeth was not fooled by his ruse. “You aren’t fooling anyone; even with those steel contraptions, I know you can move faster than me,” she chided him gently, but did not press the issue. As someone else who suffered mobility issues, the two of them had developed something of a silent understanding. That, and she had not forgotten his small kindness to her, back in Stella D’Mare. When he had explained to her that she could contact Alster through the sword he’d enchanted for her, during a time that their connection had been so weak...
“The Night Garden has brought you leaps and bounds further than you were in Braighdath. You could easily catch up with them, if you wanted to.” She nodded to the small group of six several paces ahead of them. “But, if you’re staying back out of pity because I can’t take two steps without needing to catch my breath, then I suppose I’ll indulge your need to feel sorry for someone, since it seems as though you won’t be able to feel sorry for your daughter much longer. She’s about to get back almost everything she’s lost…”
Her words and mind drifted. Lysander, in the short time he had been in Galeyn, had benefited from the Night Garden. While he had a ways to go before regaining the full strength and use of his legs, the man was easily able to stand and move for twice the amount of time he’d been before. And now Chara, with whom she had somewhat bonded over having mutually lost such integral parts of their identity, was now about to be remedied… while she remained in a miserable stasis. Asleep more than she was awake, immobile more than she was able to move. It seemed this promised kingdom could solve everyone’s problems, except for hers.
The Rigas mage must have taken note of the undertones of sorrow in her expression, upon asking if she was well. Elespeth didn’t quite know how to answer him; but she did not want to lie, either. “...it’s more than just this chair. It has just been exhausting, pretending that everything is all right, for his sake. For Alster. He so desperately needs something to believe in, even if it is a miracle we haven’t yet realized, but… we are in Galeyn. We have the Night Garden at our disposal. If a miracle were possible for me, I would not still be confined to this contraption.”
Ashamed at her own lack of faith, the once valiant knight turned her verdant gaze to her lap. To her all but useless legs. “I’ve never been so honoured than to be given the Rigas name. But, Lysander, if I am being honest… hundreds of years is a long time to live a life of an invalid. To never pick up a sword again, because I cannot cross the room to reach it.” An errant tear escaped her eye, which she quickly wiped away with her sleeve. “And I don’t know… that I can. That I can be content to live like this. Not even for Alster. I don’t know how to tell him… he deserves to know, but there is no way I can be honest without crushing him. Not when he needs hope.”
Her pace had slowed, and Lysander had slowed his own to match it. The small party ahead of them had already disappeared around the corner. “I will never regret marrying him. I wanted it so badly. But what we have left… it is not realistic. One day, you will reclaim Stella D’Mare, and if Alser is still serving as Rigas head, or if he is to be active in the restoration of Rigas society, then he cannot continue to reside here in Galeyn. While I, on the other hand… I cannot leave. Or I will die. How am I to tell him,” she turned her gaze on Lysander, then, so desperate for answers that she wasn’t sure he could provide, “that his future is better off… without me holding him back?”
Tivia leaned on the railings of the enclosed veranda, lowering her chin atop her arms. Though her good side was turned away from Teselin, her slumped, relaxed posture and slightly tilted head indicated her receptiveness to listen--or, at least, her reluctance to move away from her anchored spot in apparent annoyance. Beneath her curtain of hair, her lips puckered thoughtfully. “Sometimes I wonder if I am a bother to Vitali,” she admitted, in a quiet voice. “I did not really give him the chance to reject my company. When he was effectively rendered blind, I took it upon myself to help and assist him--even when he was surrounded by far more capable hands.” She jerked her head in the direction of a passing Gardener to illustrate. “I did it for selfish reasons, Teselin. Much as you hold me on high for attending to him all this time, he...doesn’t need me. He accepts me, and tolerates me, but we both know he’s self-sufficient enough to do fine on his own. I am but an extraneous caretaker, who placed myself in the role because I was lonely, and I--” she lowered her head to hide her blush. “I...can’t believe I am telling you this, but I had feelings for him. Perhaps I still do, even though he was forthright enough to tell me that my affections are misplaced, and he cannot reciprocate because he is incapable of love.”
Her shoulders shook in a pitiful chuckle. “So you see? I am selfish. You were right to compare me to Chara. She is selfish, too. But hers is a large-scale selfishness that, from afar, looks like dedication and family loyalty. She does it for herself. For the thrill of control and power. For satisfaction, and for praise. My selfishness, on the other hand, is small-scale. It’s petty and so lovelorn in its approach that it sickens me. I fall so easily--and always for the wrong people.” She lifted her head, but did not meet the girl’s eyes. Better to shroud her truth beneath the protective gauze of her hair. “The truth is; I am not strong. I am pathetic. People accept me because I elicit pity. The girl with the burned face, plagued with visions and auditory hallucinations that will one day drive her to madness, like her predecessors. She has no future. For her safety, we should lock her away and never speak of her cursed ability again. My parents thought that was a brilliant idea. I made it easy for them, by cutting myself out of their lives.”
“Again,” she sighed, “I don’t know why I’m saying any of this to you at all. Maybe it’s because I recognize and accept you for the equally pitiful creature that you are. Unloved, abandoned--desperate for a purpose, and for hope, and for guidance for your cursed magic. People may look at us and brand us as a tragedy. We’re doomed from the start to be plagued with consequences far beyond our control or understanding. And...who am I to deny peoples’ expectations of me? So there it is, out in the open, Teselin.” She straightened from the railing and finally acknowledged the summoner with a glance. “I cling to that farm, to my simple life with Vitali, because I have nothing else to look forward to. You were an outsider. A threat. But it doesn’t matter anymore. The wheel of destiny never stops spinning. It was meant to happen. You were meant to happen. I don’t resent you anymore for it. That’s like being angry at the sun for rising and setting each day. The world doesn’t stop, regardless of how much we scream at it to stop. I only wish that someday, I can share in your opinions of a hopeful outcome. But,” she closed her one eye as she drifted towards the light and warmth of the party to which she felt most alienated, “I only see darkness ahead.”
Meanwhile, inside the glow of the conference room, Alster cozied up to Elespeth, leaning in as close as her wheeled contraption could afford him. One arm around her shoulders, the other clinking metal against the pewter goblet filled only partially with wine (he learned his lesson the last time he imbibed), he scoffed good-naturedly at her comment as he took a quick sip. “I have influence insofar as people are convinced they’re forever in my debt. ...I’m not much better than the necromancer, in that regard. Only, I seem to collect my debts by asking nicely and giving them options. Alas,” he lightly massaged the back of Elespeth’s neck, “that doesn’t give Chara enough credit. They came together for her, not for me, and that makes me happy...because it shows she’s come a long way. People want to celebrate with her, not out of fear that she’ll lop off their heads or lock them in a dungeon, but out of solidarity. If only this approach worked on everyone.” His last statement was more of a half-mutter to himself. He stared at the dregs of his wine, wondering if he could scry the answers from grape skin and residue. If only love and appreciation could solve all problems, he thought, falling into a thoughtful trance. It would reunite Vega and Haraldur. It would save Sigrid from her fate. Lift the burdens that perpetuate Cwenha’s anger, and help Teselin control her magic. It would restore your heart, Elespeth. But love alone can’t fix the broken. Love can soothe and heal, but...it’s not enough. I need miracles. I need to perform miracles. Most of all, he planted a wine-soaked kiss on his wife’s lips, for you, El.
At the veritable head of the table alongside Lilica, Chara had wasted no time filling her plate with creampuffs and a generous slice of the almond cake. As the Galeynian queen spoke to her about something or another, she held her hand up for silence, too enamored by the taste of each sweet-treat to properly pay attention to anything but the bliss that caressed her tongue. Having devoured her plate, she craved a second piece, a fifth pastry, but demurred when asked. Much as she teased about hoarding the desserts like a sugar-obsessed dragon, she opted for diplomacy, and offered to cut slices for everyone who wanted a piece.
“Vega,” she called for the attention of the pregnant princess, who was in midst of receiving some good-humored lambasting from the Dawn warrior, “you are in dire need of the second largest slice. No one would dare accuse you of gluttony; after all, you need only blame your hunger on pregnancy cravings.”
Satisfied with her divvying up of the desserts, she returned to her chair, at last giving Lilica the attention of a response. “I ignored existence for a good five minutes, Lilica. If that is in no way an indicator of my delight, then you are utterly daft, and there is no hope for you.”
The conversation, however, took a turn for the serious, at Lilica’s reminder of Alster’s Blood Seal ritual. She frowned in concentration, looking, for a long while, conflicted and uncertain about the entire process. Finally, the wrinkles in her brow smoothed as she honed in on a decision. “It is an opportunity I cannot let slide,” she said, with conviction. “I will never regain what I lost. I’ll never have my magic, faulty as it was. The years I will receive will not be my years. Instead, I see this undertaking as a pledge, and as a promise to live to my fullest potential. Do I move forward and accept the gifts that I am given, or do I snub them and relish in my misery? I do not want to trundle about half-formed anymore, Lilica, pining for what’s gone and wishing for a silent retreat. Although it’s painful, I need to reclaim my identity. Yes, this is a superficial way of going about it, and yes, I know that receiving these boons will not miraculously transform me into the Chara before Mollengard squeezed me until I deflated. But as everyone has so gently reminded me…I have made quite the impact.” Something of a sly smile twitched her lips. “It would be a shame not to resume this path of totality. I do this, not just for myself, but for everyone who gives a damn. I will not grow old and die while Alster and Elespeth are in their prime; nor will I allow my father to outlive me; that would be a cruel punishment, indeed. Neither will I refuse to arm myself with a weapon for defense; this country must be protected, and I will not stand by and watch it crumble. If it takes a little bit of magical incentive to boost my feelings of self-worth and usefulness, then so be it. I am as vain and stingy as the day is long--dependent on an easy solution; spurning the value in my barrenness. But I see it differently. As Alster said--it’s a rebirth. A rebirth of my values. And I will stand in that Night Garden and be reborn.”
Her impromptu speech generated actual applause from the gathered guests, a reaction that emboldened her to undergo the ritual all the more. In short order, the small collective stood and agreed to join her on this expedition to the Night Garden. She welcomed the procession; for a woman who loved an audience, their magnified interests in her decisions had ignited the fire of leadership, and she happily led the charge--somehow roping Alster into aligning to her right side while adhering Lilica to her left. The small crowd emptied out of the room in a cloud, leaving both Elespeth and Lysander to pick up the slack.
“What a suddenly lively bunch,” remarked Lysander, hopping along on his steel crutches, “to so indecorously amble off without readjusting their speedy pace for the slowpokes among the group. Rest assured, Elespeth,” he grinned. “I am going as fast as I can. The Night Garden may have filled out my legs to shapes less skeletal and shades less black, but those are mere aesthetic changes. While I do appreciate them, the Night Garden cannot ignore years of slow muscular degeneration from my condition. I don’t foresee the full restoration of my legs, no. And,” he caught the golden halo of Chara’s blonde highlights before she turned the corner and disappeared, “no, that’s not true; either. I’ll always worry about her. I’ve always worried about my position as her father. That I am always doomed to watch her from behind, limping to catch up--while she strides farther and farther away. Never looking back over her shoulder. But that’s the nature of being a parent, I suppose. The kind who still cannot live his life without knowing she’s within contact.”
Elespeth slowed her speed, then, and Lysander adjusted to keep pace. But when he checked on her physical wellbeing, he found that it was her emotional wellbeing that was under question. When she halted completely, so did he, having to lean on her wheelchair for support, to keep standing and balanced.
“That’s the thing about miracles. They can’t be produced on demand. It was a miracle that Chara returned to me, but it had taken months before I saw her, alive and relatively unscathed. I didn’t want to give up hope, but hope was beginning to take its toll on this old, overripe body.” He quirked a small smile, concealing the painful memory associated with waiting. Waiting for word. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for news. ...Waiting for the worst. “From one invalid to another--it’s incredibly humbling. To live like this. Stripped of your freedom of movement, your independence, and your quality of life. Gone are the days when I could walk across the room and back without having to plan an elaborate strategy. But it’s not the end of all hope.” He patted her shoulder, “It is still too early to give up on yourself, Elespeth. Alster surely will not, regardless of what you say. If you tell him to move on without you, that will only motivate him into finding a solution. He simply will not entertain the possibility of leaving you behind. He’ll never see his future as ‘better’ without you to share in it, Elespeth. That’s how much you mean to him. Whether you like it or not, you dictate his course. I know this now for a fact...after seeing how ready he was to start a war for your life.”
Sure enough, their mid-destination idling had summoned Alster back from around the corner. “I see you’ve been keeping each other company,” he said, a smile replacing any creased lines of worry. “We didn’t mean to stampede off without you. We’re all gathered by the tree.” He took the handlebars of Elespeth’s wheelchair. “You’re going to some need help getting over the threshold, anyway. I almost tripped on it, myself.”
Lysander gave the ex-knight a knowing look before gripping his crutches and inching forward. “By all means, then. Lead the way.”
When all had gathered around the massive tree that designated the center of the Night Garden, Alster left Elespeth’s side and guided Chara to stand on the roots where he could feel the energy surge at its strongest. “In keeping with the symbolism of your rebirth, the tree is central not only to the Night Garden’s power, but to your connections that reach now for Galeyn, and reach still for home--your Rigas heritage. To activate the ritual, I must recreate the Rigas crest in the ground beneath your feet. With the Night Garden’s permission,” he closed his eyes and bowed his head, “I beseech thee. Allow us the use of your sacred ground. Lilica…” He did not stir from his trance state as he gestured perfectly to where she was situated, among the rest of the group. “Reassure the Night Garden of our intentions here. Place your hand on the tree. A light touch. No blood required.” As the Galeynian Queen obliged and made contact with the bark, Alster raised his good hand perpendicular to the ground, biting into the flesh of the palm with his nail until a droplet of blood stained a tiny spot on the grass. “Thank you,” he said to the Night Garden in earnest. Eyes still closed, his fingers traced a ring of red light at Chara’s feet to establish the base of the spell-form. Then, he drew inside the lines, designing elaborate whorls and runic inscriptions that were replicated with dead accuracy. As a final touch, he added a reverse starburst of lines that, instead of spreading outward, concentrated inward, all points ending where Chara stood.
“All channels are open,” Alster hummed in a drone. As the conduit, he vibrated with the energy that coursed through him, an intense combination of the Night Garden and the Rigas Blood Seal. Terrestrial and Ethereal, both harmonizing in the same space. “Chara Rigas, if you are ready to accept this gift, you must renew your fealty to the Rigas name. Swear to Lord Alster Rigas. Swear to Lord Rigel Rigas, who resides in this vessel. Without conviction, without loyalty, your blood means nothing.”
Now, it was Chara’s turn to close her eyes. Her head bobbed, chin to chest. “It is for you to judge my honor, Lord. I swear to the Lord before me, for by his deeds he receives my respect, my fidelity, and my commitment--as Chara Rigas. May these words bind me to the Progenitor. Lord Rigel Rigas, I am forever your humble servant.”
“Then, Chara Rigas, extend your hand, and seal your pact in blood.”
Drawing a compact knife from her pouch, Chara obliged, and sliced her palm from end to end. Blood streamed out of the open wound, collecting in a viscous, syrupy line. At ground contact, the spell form’s light flickered, the color slowly darkening to rich violet. However, the flickers continued, persisted, threatening to drown in darkness and die. Alster’s brow hardened in concentration. His mouth twitched and contorted. His breathing quickened. Sweat poured from his temples and his body shook in a wave of spasms. Inside the circle, Chara did not fare much better. She shivered and gasped and clutched herself, digging her nails into her skin from obvious discomfort and pain. At last, after what seemed like ages, the violet light stabilized, and whatever obstructive force retreated from the circle. In a bright, beaming glow, the ritual reached its pinnacle. A radiant beacon that branded itself in the eyes of all onlookers. The light, having exhausted its purpose, faded, a slow, natural process. It dwindled and dwindled until nothing remained of the spell circle.
Together, Chara and Alster snapped their eyes open, and together, they collapsed into each other. Gasping and trembling, the two Rigas cousins slid to the ground, utterly spent and exhausted. Members of their party closed in, holding them upright as they collectively voiced their concerns.
“Are--” Alster managed, clutching his seizing heart, “you alright, Chara?”
“Y-yes,” she answered in a wheeze. “I...it took me by surprise. That is all. But you--”
The Rigas Head was leaning against Sigrid, who had offered him a supportive arm and shoulder. “A little...complication. I’m dealing with the aftereffects. Nothing...worrisome. But the ritual,” he smiled weakly, “was largely a success. You feel it, don’t you?”
“I…” she ran her uninjured hand over her veins. They burned and thrummed with newfound energy, their circuits restored and flowing as swiftly as river fed by snowmelt. “...Yes. I do. But what happened?”
“Largely a success,” he repeated, the smile fading. “Mollengard...they damaged the circuits that enable you to receive and use magic. The Night Garden stepped in and...healed as much as it could, but there are still...scratches on the surface. Scratches that are too deep. Gouges, some of them. I don’t know what this means, Chara, but...the Night Garden is bridging together those gouges. Like reconnecting broken tissue with sutures. Everything seems stable. A unique combination of energies worth investigating, but...stable. And…”
His body seized again, and the hand that clutched his chest clawed it in renewed panic. Staccatoed breaths gave way to full-on hyperventilation. His face paled to the color of the palace walls.
Chara, eyes widening in alarm, gripped her cousin’s shoulders. “Alster!” Though he did not respond, his hand to his chest implied the problem. “He’s...he’s having a heart attack! Someone fetch a healer. Now!”
“No… I think you are wrong. I don’t think that is the case, at all. That you are a bother to my brother.” Teselin disagreed gently with the Rigas woman’s concern, and not merely out of an attempt to placate her. She did not know Vitali well--hell, Tivia easily knew more about the necromancer and his mannerisms that she did. But she knew enough to be convinced that he did not remain in undesirable situations if there was a feasible way out. “If that were true, he’d have left you and that farmhouse--you know he would have. You said yourself that he doesn’t need you around; even with his new handicap, he has not lost his autonomy. Perhaps he could have gotten on just fine without you. But, then… why would he stay, just to tolerate you? You know Vitali better than I. Do you really think he would remain in your company if he didn’t desire it?”
She didn’t want to feel pity for the Rigas mage, simply because pity was clearly not what Tivia desired, and she’d already had her fair share of it from others. She wasn’t even sure the star seer wanted reassurance, as much as she wanted an ear to listen. All Teselin could offer was that ear, and the truth--her truth, insofar as it was what she believed. And she did not think she was wrong. “Perhaps my brother is not capable of the love you desire. Not that kind of love. But… and don’t get me wrong, I am sure he will deny it, he is not beyond the capability to love others. I would assume it is rare, and if you were to ask me if I thought he loved me as a sister… I don’t think I have the answer. But I saw the way you two live amongst one another. The routines you have established, and the comfort in one another’s company. If you want my truth, Tivia,” Teselin smiled, clutching her elbows close to her body, “I think he probably does love you, in the only way he knows how. And I understand that might not be enough, it might not be what you want, but that from a man who had ended lives for his own gain… imagine what that means, from someone who is not accustomed to caring for anyone but himself.”
Teselin had been honest with her. She had not returned in hopes of being the little sister to the big brother that she’d once envisioned Vitali to be. Once, perhaps, she had wanted that, but the young summoner had grown out of her naivete to some extent in the months that had passed. There was no place for her in Vitali’s life; perhaps there would never be. And perhaps that was because Tivia filled that role, instead. But even if that were the case, she was at peace with it. Knowing her brother was alive and well, that he was still a survivor… that was what mattered.
“If wanting happiness makes us selfish, Tivia, then I daresay there isn’t a single selfless person in this entire kingdom--in this whole world. You said it yourself: we’re pitiable. Tragic. However you might frame it, fortune has not been on our side. So… are we really so terrible, for wanting something good to happen to us? For wanting the happiness we witness others experiencing? If that is the case…” The young summoner flashed a half-smile and shrugged her shoulders. “Then I am completely at peace with my selfishness--and you should be, too. Don’t give up just yet. Just because you haven’t seen beyond the darkness in the future doesn’t mean it is not there, or has not been determined; it merely has yet to be shown to you.”
Elespeth dipped her head thoughtfully at Lysander’s words. In a lot of ways--too many ways--he was right. For one, it was too early to give up, even being in the healing and restorative presence of the Night Garden. It had only been a few months that the former knight had found herself confined to a chair because she did not have the strength or energy to support her legs, after all, which made her feel that her dwindling hope and loss of patience were petty and dramatic. In a Rigas life, that amount of time meant almost nothing. And no matter how much time would pass with her body all but useless to her, Alster would surely never give up hope that there was a chance this tragedy could be turned around. There were days that she wondered if he was just pretending as confidently as she was, that he was just as desperate and lost waiting for some miracle… but Chara’s father had a point. The Rigas Lord had been willing to sever important political ties and start a war for her freedom and safety. He had not given up on her, then; he would not give up on her while she was safe and stable within the walls of Galeyn, and within reach of the Night Garden.
And so long as Alster Rigas chose to foster hope, she could not herself give up. Because that would not mean a mere slight upon him and his intentions and beliefs; it would possibly destroy him. Elespeth Rigas did not have the right to be so selfish as to jeopardize the well-being of the one person she loved, and who had loved her through the thick and thin of war and destruction. Their marriage was more than a symbol or a statement, after all; it had been a promise of a life together. Even if that life was not one in which she would ever again find the strength to pick up a sword, and to fight alongside Alster, as she had once done when she’d been strong.
“I really want you to be right, Lysander,” she said quietly, just before Alster turned a corner, his face revealing a vaguely concerned expression. “Don’t worry about us, Alster. We’ve merely been taking our time; believe it or not, we fully intend to show up in support of Chara, whether or not our legs choose to cooperate.” The ex-knight teased. This had been her single, reliable go-to when misery swarmed and threatened to suffocate her. Better to make light of her terrible situation than to let it get to her head--in Alster’s company, at least. “But if you need to speed things up, by all means, take the reins… or the handles, I suppose.”
With Alster’s help breaching the subtle rise in the threshold that led directly to the Garden, Elespeth and Lysander were soon to join the others, who all waited patiently for the small congregation of witnesses to be complete. Lilica had a comforting hand pressed against Chara’s back, the latter who appeared equally eager and anxious for the ceremony to commence. The small group parted and stood back to allow Alster to draw intricate runes into the soil, drawing upon the power of the multitude of ley lines that intersected the Night Garden, and whose channels flowed through the routes of the great tree at its core. “Rest assured,” Lilica said, when Alster has asked her to reassured the Night Garden of his intentions, “it already knows. It has already accepted you as something it can trust. Otherwise, I do not think that any of us would be able to stand here right now, quite so comfortably.”
So as to reassure him, however, the Galeynian Queen did press her palm to the rough bark of the tree, whose magic flowed in gentle waves and undulations from the roots outward. A pulse that nourished the entire kingdom, from which the Rigas mage would draw directly to make this ritual possible. The others stood back to allow both the Rigas Lord and the recipient of this ritual space, for fear that if they remained too close to the glowing runes at Chara’s feet, it might interrupt the delicate and uncertain procedure. Lilica stood the closest, her hand still pressed against the bark of the great tree. “You can proceed, Alster,” she declared at last, a confident smile on her lips. “You’ll find no conflicting energy, here.”
From that moment on, almost everyone held their breath, as the ritual commenced. Whatever was happened to both Chara and Alster, the energy entering and working within their bodies, looked far from comfortable. Elespeth could empathize, remembering the foreign, uncomfortable sensation of magic coursing through her veins when she had been named a Rigas and as such accepted an extended lifespan. The more she looked on, however, the more both Chara and Alster appeared to be struggling to keep themselves upright. “Is this normal?” She asked, turning to Tivia, who was the most likely to have some idea as to what was occuring, familiar as she was with Rigas magic. “Should they be in that much pain…?”
Lilica also appeared to be struggling to maintain a healthy distance, allowing the two Rigas mages and their magic space to do its work. The look on Chara’s face, contorted in pain and discomfort as it was, spurred the urge to run into the circle Alster had drawn and pull the blonde woman free of such discomfort. But that was just as likely to make things worse for all of them, and she knew better than to interrupt the flow of magic at work. It was like an active charge of electricity, and interrupting the circuit was liable to lead to more damage. “Chara…” She breathed, one hand partially outstretched in her strong desire to pull her out of the discomfort. Maybe this wasn’t worth it; maybe the ritual itself would do more harm than good, leaving Chara Rigas more damaged than she had been before stepping into the rune-scrawled circle. After all, this would not be as seamless as Elespeth’s naming ritual, for the fact that it was not merely Rigas magic upon which Alster was drawing. The Night Garden and the power coursing through the roots of its ley lines was also at work, and that was a power over which Alster Rigas had no control. It would not purposely seek to harm either of the Rigas casters, but so too did it run the risk of proving incompatible for the task it was given. No one has ever died upon Night Garden soil, the Galeynian Queen had to remind herself over and over. The Gardeners had reassured her of that time and again, but just because such circumstances had yet to take place did not make them impossible…
No sooner did both Rigas mages collapse, shaken and exhausted, that their respective partners leapt to their side, Elespeth pushing herself out of her wheelchair to clutch Alster from behind, and Lilica dropping to Chara’s side to take her trembling hands in her own. “Are you sure you’re alright?” She breathed, despite that the Rigas woman had already said so to Alster. Chara’s trembling hands and shaking frame, as if she had succumbed to a deep cold, concerned Lilica to no end. “Chara… how do you feel?”
Meanwhile, Elespeth was just as concerned for Alster. While she hadn’t been directly involved in the ritual that had just taken place, she could feel the residual strain on her heart, for the way the magic had affect Alster’s. It was beating too rapidly, and… it hurt. “Alster… Alster, I don’t think you’re alright.” The former knight breathed, pressing a hand lightly to his chest. “Something is wrong…”
No sooner did she voice her concerns that her husband doubled over in pain, clutching at his chest. Everyone’s eyes were on Alster in less than a heartbeat, including Lilica’s, and the Galeynian Queen sprung to the Rigas Lord’s side. “Sigrid, go fetch Senyiah immediately!” She demanded, and the Dawn warrior did not hesitate to follow orders and seek out the Head Gardener, who she knew to be often stationed in the infirmary, working with the Sybaian and the Clematis healer.
“Give me space,” Lilica said further, kneeling by the afflicted caster’s side while urging a reluctant Chara and Elespeth to move back. With one hand pressed to the great tree, she placed her other one on Alster’s chest, over his faltering heart. “No one dies on this soil.” She muttered, over and over, a mantra not for the onlookers, but for her own focus and reassurance as she felt the power from the tree hum through her body. “No one dies on this soil…”
The dark mage closed her eyes and drew a breath. She was not a Gardener; she did not yet understand the intricacies or the implications of the intersecting ley lines that traveled the roots of the Night Garden. She could not pinpoint optimal places for healing, depending on the afflicted individual’s aliments. But she had become connected to the Garden the moment this tree had accepted her blood. It understood her; it listened to her. And it would be enough to keep the Rigas mage’s life in check, while better help was being sought out.
A moment passed, and with each second, the burden upon Alster’s heart lessened. His pulse slowed, his breathing grew more even, and the sweat on his brow cooled. Whatever he had suffered, the worst of it was over, and just in time for Sigrid to return with Elias and Senyiah, both who were out of breath. “Take him to the sanctuary immediately,” the Head Gardener ordered, after taking one look at the pale Rigas lord on the ground, whose head was cradled on Elespeth’s lap. “It’ll be safer to assess his condition when we can be sure he will remain stable.”
It was Sigrid who bent to pick up Alster, his weight only slightly heavier in her arms than that of Naimah due to the density of his prosthetic arm, and made haste following the Gardener and the Clematis healer to the cabin deep within the Night Garden that had come to be called the sanctuary. Upon arriving in Eyraille, the D’Marians and their allies had come to learn to distinguish the infirmary and this small, nondescript place called the sanctuary. The former served as its namesake: a place for the injured and ill to recuperate and heal, in proximity to the Night Garden. The sanctuary, embedded directly in the Garden’s soil, and with its flora thriving both inside and out of the dwelling, served as emergency quarters for dire situations that could mean life or death: grave injury or illness, or in Alster’s case, the threat of cardiac arrest. A place where a patient could rest assured that the Garden would keep their heart beating, keep them breathing, keep the blood circulating. Elespeth had, in fact, spent an entire week in that dwelling, that fit only six beds, and had vines climbing the walls inside and out. In the time she had spent convalescing, her recovery had, indeed, been remarkable. After a week, she’d had energy, was on her feet again, and felt eager to return to training. For the first time in what felt like so long, she felt confident enough to hope.
But the first day she spent away from the sanctuary, all of her symptoms--her weakness, fatigue, the chest pains--had returned. Her recovery was not something sustainable with regard to her condition… but she could only hope the same did not got for Alster.
They managed to get the Rigas settled upon one of the beds, at which point both Senyiah and Elias shooed any unnecessary presences out of the otherwise empty sanctuary, and assessed his vitals in their respective ways. The remainder of the small party--Chara, Lysander, Tivia, Vega, Elespeth, Lilica, and Teselin, who had the handles of Elespeth’s wheelchair--were told to wait patiently outside. A quarter of an hour later, Elias stepped out to reassure the others of Alster’s stable condition. Elespeth didn’t wait for an invitation to see her husband, at that point, and now with the biggest scare out of the way, no one saw fit to stop her.
Chara accompanied her, steering her inside, where they found Alster lying, conscious but winded, upon one of the beds. Senyiah was at his side, one hand resting upon his chest, above his heart. “Your timing was fortunate. No lasting damage has been done; and should he listen to my counsel…” She eyed Alster pointedly, a skeptical eyebrow arched. “I can foresee a full recovery in a week’s time. If Lord Rigas agrees to convalesce here, and take a reprieve from his duties.”
“A week in this place did not heal my heart…” Elespeth couldn’t help but remain skeptical, her brows furrowed in frustration; not for her own condition, but for Alster’s. For a condition he had inflicted upon himself.
The Head Gardener sighed, and shook her head. “Your case is more complex, Elespeth, as we’ve already determined. Lord Rigas might share in the symptoms of your affliction, but not in the cause. While I regret that the sanctuary was of no help to you when you left, I foresee a more favorable prognosis for your husband. But that is all contingent on whether he agrees to the terms of his convalescence. Bedrest for a week, here within the Night Garden, under the constant supervision of a capable Gardener.”
“He will agree.” Elespeth firmly spoke on Alster’s behalf, before the Rigas mage could speak up. She wheeled her chair all the way to her husband’s bedside, her face at once flushed and pale with a mix of anger and concern. “No more, Alster. No more pushing yourself beyond your threshold… Don’t you understand you need to get better for the both of us?” The ex-knight smiled sadly, and took his flesh and blood hand in her own. “We cannot both be invalids. There is hope for your full recovery, and I want you to meet its terms. The construction of the D’Marian village on the hillside is well under control. You can afford this break… you have to. Please…”
Held firm in Elespeth’s arms, Alster drifted in and out of consciousness. Flashes of activity spun with dizzying regularity, persistent in its kaleidoscope of nauseating colors and sound. He shut his eyes to concentrate on breathing, on a realm of the conscious beyond pain or physical form-- but to no avail. He was far too aware of his body’s failings to retreat and far too paralyzed to send a healing pulse through skin and sinew and bone to soothe the wild fluctuations of his heart. But something had calmed it, just then. Hands that were not his own lay on his chest, extracting the leaden heaviness and clearing out the obstructions of that inhibited breath, and breathing. He calmed in this guiding presence. Assurances whispered in his ears. You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine…
He trusted in the encouraging, placating chants, and the voices lulled him into inviting darkness, still and absolute.
When he awoke, he was resting in an unfamiliar room. More like a tiny, one-room hut. Overgrown with hanging ivy, vines, and flowering bushes, it reminded him of an abandoned residence, forgotten by time, and reclaimed by nature. For one brief yet terrifying moment, he wondered if this were true; if time not only forgot the hut, but the man sleeping inside it. How long had he been slumbering? Fifty years? One-hundred?
His outlandish hypothesis, however, shriveled up, died, and mingled with the enriching soils of the Night Garden outside when he caught the unchangeable, yet reliable appearance of the Clematis Healer. No new age lines marred his face (which was already beset with premature wrinkles along his stern mouth and between his brow); no gray hairs twisted in his brown curls. Beside him, the Head Gardener, Senyiah, also appeared unchanged, though Alster wasn’t too familiar with her to notice or observe any major, cosmetic transformations that could have occurred within the next ten or twenty years. Perhaps the Night Garden stunted aging for its Gardeners, or to anyone near the vicinity. The once outlandish hypothesis roared back to life in his thoughts. Inane or not, he needed to ask.
“How long...how long have I been--?” The scratching of his dry throat produced an involuntary cough, and he flinched from the sudden blooming pain in his chest. Elias offered him a tin of water in his good hand, imploring him to take gentle sips.
“About an hour,” he said. “Nothing so dire as to cause alarm,” he added, as if reading Alster’s mind. “You are in the Night Garden’s sanctuary. As we speak, you should be experiencing an easing of the chest, and the stabilization of your heartbeat.”
“G-gradually, yes.” As though by the power of suggestion, the sharp pangs that smarted whenever he spoke or coughed tingled away to nothing. In moments, he felt an inviting warmth seep into him, a sweet lull that rocked his head against the pillow. “This is the Night Garden’s energies, then,” he said, sinking into a mellow state of contentedness.
“And not a powerful depressant, no. Easy to make the mistake when stepping inside the sanctuary. One would wonder, judging by the sticks of incense in the corner, exactly what chemical is wafting in the air. Anyway,” he continued, “you are to remain inside this sanctuary for a week of rest and recuperation. You’ve suffered a heart-attack--one that was blessedly handled in a swift manner--and inside the Night Garden, no less. Any risk of danger or lasting damage was mitigated by your location. Not too terrible a place to fall ill, if I am being honest. Nonetheless, you will not make a habit of it, Lord Rigas.”
“Would that I could,” he shifted upright in his bed, resting his shoulders against the head pillow. “But I don’t have the luxury to rest a week.”
“Nothing is so important that you must risk your health in the process,” Elias huffed, standing aside to allow Senyiah the chance to lambaste Alster on caring properly for his ailing body.
“I know.” Alster hung his head, a supplicating gesture that he hoped would mollify the Head Gardener’s frustration. “As a healer, myself, I understand the importance of bedrest. But--”
Unfortunately, his attending physicians did not need nor want to hear the presentation of his persuasive argument. He couldn’t blame them. To wheedle himself out of a full recovery would be hypocrisy on his part. When the two healers took his leave to report to the others on his status, he was not alone in the hut for long, before Chara entered, rolling Elespeth inside with her wheelchair. Senyiah had also returned, no doubt to continue to oversee his condition.
“Elespeth, Chara.” He greeted them with a weary nod, his eyes pinching with signs of guilt. “I’m...I’m sorry for the scare. Fortunately, I was never in any real danger.”
“That is what you’re going to lead with, Alster?” Chara’s eyes narrowed. “You weren’t in imminent peril so you’re fine?! If I had known this ritual would have incapacitated you and your heart, I never would have agreed to it! Yes, consider yourself lucky, you ungrateful pest! You had plenty of people worried sick! Count your blessings that Lilica stabilized you before the healers arrived.”
“I didn’t know this would happen,” his words oozed apology as he looked from the livid face of Chara to Elespeth, whose expression reflected the same. “I didn’t take my heart into account when I performed the ritual, nor did I foresee that the scars from Mollengard’s tampering would have given us so much trouble. I may be gifted at detecting magic, but am lacking in detecting the aftermath of magical extraction. I can’t look at a person and determine if they once had magic--like the Forbanne, for example. It was my oversight, my mistake, and it could have backfired on you, Chara. So I’m sorry. I was so eager to help and...I ruined your party and--”
“Do not worry about something so superficial,” she scoffed. “The party served its purpose and it is over, now. What matters is that we have averted disaster. Think about yourself once in a while, you asinine pignut.”
Alster lapsed into silence as the Head Gardener explained to his two visitors the importance of resting in the sanctuary for a week. Of course, Elespeth was quick to sanction the decision, followed by Chara, who seconded it.
“At the very least, I should be able to attend my meetings in the conference room. Or bring them inside the sanctuary. It will be a tight squeeze, but we’ll make do.”
“Oh for the love of,” Chara cursed under her breath. “I’ll handle your affairs, Alster. Concentrate on resting, foremost.”
For a long moment, Alster stared at his cousin, again mellowed into speechlessness. A wave of self-consciousness hit Chara in the face, then, and she averted her eyes, clicking at her heels. “That…” the Rigas Lord tried for a smile, but failed. “That isn’t necessary, Chara. You’ve scarcely renewed your vows to the Rigas cause. I don’t expect you to take on the mantle if you’re uncomfortable, or overwhelmed--”
“Shut up,” she snapped. With a sigh, she licked her lips, smoothing out the sharp edges of her tongue. “It is fine, Alster. It really is. You’ve done enough. It does not go unappreciated. Thank you...for restoring my years, and my magic. Though,” she guffawed, “it remains to be seen what form my newfound magic will take. If it is infused both with the celestial and the Night Garden’s energies, I am quite curious to see what manifests.”
“I am, too,” Alster offered, with a shaky smile. “Please don’t hesitate to visit me often, or I will begin to go stir crazy, sitting here in idle isolation. I know the lot of you want to punish me for my foolhardy behavior, but don’t be too harsh? Also,” he tilted his head, “if your magic ever brings you pain, come to me. The circumstances that resulted in your ritual...well, we’re broaching new territory, here. I’ve only recently discovered that two disparate magics can blend, as with my celestial and chthonic energies. I am curious to see what results from your unique blending.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, now. Stop running your mouth. Rest. See to it that he does,” she nodded to Elespeth. “I’ll be outside. Give the two of you a moment.” Before she made her egress, she placed her bandaged-up hand upon the Head Gardener’s arm, bidding her do the same. Now alone with his wife, Alster closed his eyes, welcoming the connection of their hands. Their togetherness of flesh and blood. When was the last time they had lain together? He did not know, but he missed it dearly--to the point where he developed an acute sensitivity to their touch, their kisses, the tickle of her breath. Anything that tied them together in the tactile pleasures of the physical plane.
“No need to worry, El. It’s been agreed upon. I...won’t argue with Chara. In a sense, it’s a relief to see her take the initiative. I really am tired of this position. It prevents me from concentrating on more important matters. My magic can help people. I hoped that it helped Chara. But if I can’t cast a spell of that magnitude without falling apart, it’s a repeat of the past again.” He shifted his steel prosthesis in his lap, a reminder of when he almost dissolved into nothingness. “I can’t have that. Not when I still plan to find a cure for your heart. Yes, I need to get better, so I can keep to my self-made promises to you, and to everyone else. But to get better,” he hesitated, “I would need to return what I took from you...and I won’t. I refuse. Not if it would completely diminish your quality of life.” What he failed to mention was that he’d been incrementally absorbing more and more of her symptoms in secret--waiting until she fell asleep before initiating the transfer. It was underhanded, yes, and it violated their trust, but he couldn’t stand to watch her lose faith by the day, while he, a magus who wielded great power, did nothing. Besides, he’d justified it in his head. He was only absorbing trace amounts. It would not affect his overall performance and health...so he thought.
He lifted her hand in his and kissed her knuckles, reveling in the taste of salt and the subtle hints of floral-rubbed oils on her skin. “I just need to dig deeper. Throw myself into research. Tap the limits of my magic. Listen to the hum of the Night Garden, and decipher where the pockets of its hidden potential are located. I’ll use this week to my advantage, El. A solution is out there for you. For us. Hold out for me until then, alright?” He shifted to the edge of his bed and craned forward, desirous lips yearning for a kiss. For more than a kiss, true...but he’d settle for a consolation prize.
Outside the sanctuary, Chara reported to the small retinue of guests that awaited Alster’s status. “He is conscious and faring just fine. With a week of bedrest, he will make a full recovery. Of course, the idiot is more concerned about my ‘party’ than his condition, so if any of you want to continue and make merry, in a bid to ease his guilt, meet me in the conference room. There is still cake and pastries. But I will not be offended if you choose to head to your respective dwellings, or to other, far more rewarding engagements. Regardless of what you decide,” she bowed her head respectfully, “I thank you for attending.”
When the crowd dispersed, Chara gently pulled Lilica aside and guided them down a narrow pathway that ended in a dead-end of curiously curly bushes. “In case you are wondering--yes, I am fine.” She stretched out her arm, appraising the half-moon imprints from her nails penetrating the skin during the ritual. “It was not a pleasant experience. Less physically painful, more...probing. In those brief moments, I felt like I was...a prisoner under Mollengard again. The dark cell, the buzz of my magic leaking out my ears and singeing my skin as it was forcibly sieved out of me...It was like that, but, well, in reverse, I suppose. Who knew that the process of acquiring magic would feel the same as losing it against your will? So,” the rested the palm of her uninjured hand against her temple, “I am shaken, and raw, and I have the worst headache, but that is all. Nothing feels wrong, like it did when they had me.” She did not have to mention Mollengard by name for Lilica to infer the ‘they’ in her statement.
Her hand drifted from her forehead, to the silver teardrop-shaped necklace sitting between her collarbones. She hadn’t taken it off since the Galeynian Queen presented it to her during Alster’s festivities. “My party may be over, but it does not have to end for us, if you wish to extend it. You are just as deserving of a break as Alster. Thank you, by the way, for stabilizing him. It would have left a sour taste in my mouth if he were grievously injured during the ritual meant for me. I...still do taste the sourness, though. Like underripe lemons and lye. It burns on my tongue. But that could also be the aftertaste of almonds. I,” she hesitated, “have to make his sacrifice for me worthwhile. My years have returned, and magic exists. In a new form, yes, but it is there. So I have agreed, while he is convalescing...to oversee the duties and responsibilities of the Rigas Head. This is not me reassuming the role, let me make that clear. I am still your advisor, first and foremost. But I...made an oath, as a Rigas, and I must do my part. So I will. I thought you should know how and where my time will be split for this upcoming week.”
“But all of that can wait.” She draped her arms around Lilica’s neck, closing the space between them. “I need to reward you for your efforts today--though they were wholly unnecessary, and against my initial wishes. No matter; I suppose you don’t know any better. Nor do I.” And, closing her eyes, she showed her gratitude by way of a sweet kiss, which tasted of almonds and cream and fire.
It wasn’t as though Elespeth had given Alster the space, nor ample opportunity to refuse the terms of his recovery, and the ex-knight didn’t feel the slightest twinge of guilt for speaking to the healers on his behalf. Fortunately, he did not seem of the mind to put up an argument, but his compliance did little to reassure her, considering how she had witnessed him seize and crumble before her just an hour ago. It had been too real at the time, and she was hesitant to voice those cold feelings of dread that nearly seized her own heart when Alster had collapsed on her lap, but there had been a moment that the former Atvanian had feared she would lose him. That this would be the end--because he’d finally given too much of himself away, and there was nothing left to keep his head above water. “This is a perfect opportunity for you to step away, then.” She said, clutching his hand tightly. He wasn’t going anywhere, but after the scare he had given them following the ceremony to restore Chara’s magic, it had shaken her confidence in the permanence in her presence. Alster had always felt like a permanent factor in her life; one that came and went, but was never really gone. That was, however, naive. Alster was as mortal as the rest of them. The last time she had feared for his life to this extent, he had just lost his arm to the magic required to send the Serpent away from this dimension.
“It will be good for Chara, too, you know. Taking up the mantle of leadership, again.” The ex-knight mentioned, trying to best to find a silver-lining to the Rigas Lord’s week of forced bedrest. Much though leadership had never been Alster’s calling nor desire, she could imagine the toll it would take on him to have to step away from the people for whom he had been looking out for months. “After all, restoring her magic isn’t going to restore her identity in its entirety. Certainly it will help--I’ve noticed a chance in her, already. But let her find joy in bossing people around, again.” A slow smile crept along her lips. “I know you don’t find the same joy in taking the reins the way that Chara does. You are a more than capable leader, regardless, but if I’m being honest, I’ve been jealous of the time you’ve allotted to the D’Marians. I know--I’m petty.” Elespeth chuckled in spite of herself. “But as someone all too familiar with bedrest, I know how lonely it can get when you are confined. And I have missed being in you company, after we’ve been forced to spend so much time apart, these long, grueling months. So I will come to visit every day, for as long as time and circumstances allow. If… you would like that.”
As much as she wanted to deny the truth in his words, that in order to fully recover he would need to return the damage he had taken, she knew as well as he did that it was a harsh reality they faced. While she could not claim to understand the particularities of his magic, or what it had specifically entailed to take on a partition of her pain, she was familiar enough with the give and take of it that it was obvious her own condition was perpetuating his own suffering. So long as that carnage endured in her body, so too would it endure in his, unless he returned to her the pain that had initially belonged to her in the first place. All the same… she couldn't help but hope for an alternate solution.
“Maybe… maybe it would be safe for you to return the damage you’ve taken. Maybe it is possible if you do it here.” It was a longshot, but given how her condition had improved for the duration of her stay in the sanctuary, she was inclined to believe that it could not deteriorate that much, should he return what he’d taken from her. Elespeth leaned forward in her chair, and wrapped both her hands around his, her green eyes brimming with a desperate need for hope. “This place preserves health. It is because we brought you here that we were able to ensure your condition remained stable, and that you awoke as quickly as you did. Remember, I did manage to temporarily recover when I spent a week, here… I really think there is a chance that returning what you took from me won’t do me in. Not as long as I remain here. It would give you the time and energy to think of a better solution…”
The suggestion was a futile one; Elespeth had known that before the words had fully formed in her mind or on her lips. Even if that were an option, however temporary and far from ideal it might be, it wasn’t one that Alster would ever get on board with. Not if it meant sending her into a worse state than what she already suffered. Unfortunately… this put them at a complete standstill, with no way to move forward if they could not take a chance to step back.
Except… the both of them didn’t need to remain stuck. One of them could move forward, but only if the other succumbed to the inevitable. And that meant letting go of one another… indefinitely.
Alster was quick to voice his refusal, at which point Elespeth let go of his hand, and sat back in her chair. She folded her hands in her lap and fixed her green eyes upon them. There was no favourable way to segue into what was on her mind, and after her confession to Lysander just a few hours earlier, she had considered keeping her truth to herself, and not place any more unnecessary burdens on Alster’s mind. Had he not suffered cardiac complications before her terrified eyes, she might have kept her secret. But now she realized she deserved to confide in him, as much as he deserved to know what was on her mind.
“Spending hundreds of years by your side… when you named me a Rigas, Alster, I wanted nothing more than to spend these years with you. Before I was injured, before I became dependent on that Mollengardian drug, anything seemed possible. Anything was, possible, but I messed it up for both of us. It is my fault.” Elespeth curled her hands into fists, bunching the fabric of her skirts in them. “Now… we cannot rely on hopes and dreams, anymore. We must address the reality ahead of us. And in that reality, you and Chara are in charge of the Rigases and D’Marians who depend on you. They want to return to Stella D’Mare, one day, and I am confident that you will reclaim the city. But when that happens… I don’t know that I can follow. This place,” she spread her hands, indicating not just the sanctuary, or the Night Garden, but Galeyn in general, “is as much my prison as it is my crutch. I cannot leave, Alster. If I leave, I will die. And as awful as tragic as that sounds…”
She paused, the words stuck in her throat. The words she’d been hiding from him, ever since the three specialized healers--one Sybaian, one Clematis, and one the Head Gardeners--had delivered her prognosis. “Hundreds of years, confined to a bed, confined to a chair, confined to a garden… I cannot tell you in earnest that that is a life I look forward to. Or a life that I want to live.”
There it was: the dark shadow that had been following her, that she’d been hiding from her husband in favour of nurturing his hope. She didn’t want to hurt him; she did not relish the pain that registered on his face as her truth hit him like a bludgeon. But she could not entertain this idea that everything would somehow be alright, any longer. “Adhering to me… clinging to this farfetched hope is going to hold you back. And I don’t want that. Neither do I want to part from you, but if a miracle were possible, I think we’d have found it by now. If there is a solution, then we are not going to find it by refraining from taking risks.” Her voice had gone soft and saturated with melancholy, and at last, the once talented and brilliant night wore her feelings on the outside, turning her into a wilted flower. “You deserve to know, Alster, because I love you, and I won’t have secrets between us. But I have had to live with myself, with my decisions, for quite some time, now. And this… this is where I am at. And I can’t force you to stand on the precipice with me, I can’t ask you to understand… All I can do is be honest. Even if the truth hurts more than some beautiful, transient illusion that somehow, someday, everything will miraculously be alright.”
Looking up from her lap, there were tears in her eyes that had not yet fallen. Elespeth leaned forward one more time to kiss Alster’s cheek. “Whatever we have to face, I will face it with you. I can be strong because of you. I want to have hope because if you, Alster. But if we are running into dead ends because we are too afraid to take risks… then I cannot be afraid with you. And I… I cannot accept that this is all there will ever be for me. A bed, a chair, and this garden…”
“Elespeth?” Sigrid poked her head in the sanctuary, obviously trying not to be a bother while ensuring the former knight was not out of the loop in what was occurring outside. “Chara has expressed her wishes for us to return to the conference room and finish what is left of this celebration and its success… I am sorry you cannot be with us for the remainder of it, Alster.” She had the grace to mention, looking apologetically at the Rigas caster. “But it has already been determined that we will save and bring you a piece of that cake. Your contribution hasn’t gone unappreciated, I hope you know.”
“Thank you, Sigrid. This is Chara’s night, after all… so I suppose we should oblige her.” The once Atvanian warrior had gotten good at picking up the pieces of herself and putting them back together in a hurry, these past couple months--particularly for Alster’s sake. It must have worked on Sigrid as well, because the Dawn warrior did not appear to have any idea as to the heavy confession she had just unloaded. “I’ll come back before I retire, this evening,” she promised her husband with a smile that might have once been convincing--but not anymore, since she’d just been so real with him. So it was with a final, reassuring squeeze of his hand that she let Sigrid take the handles of her chair, and leave Alster to consider the words with which she had left him.
The remaining members of this small gathering, sans Alster, assured Chara that they hadn’t finished celebrating, in light of the successful restoration of her magic. Tivia and Teselin led the way, with Sigrid helping Elespeth back to the conference room, accompanied by Vega. But Chara and Lilica did not follow suit; not quite yet. Lilica had hardly taken her eyes off Chara since the moment the healers had relieved her of keeping Alster stable. Even with the Rigas woman’s reassuring words, and knowing that she believed she was alright, the Galeynian Queen was still practically crawling out of her own skin with concern. “Chara, however successful that ritual might have been… we still have no idea how it really affected you. Where your Rigas magic sits, in tandem with the Night Garden’s magic…”
For the first time since the ritual, she reached out to touch Chara, resting a hand on her arm. Not only could she see the change in her, but she could feel it; the subtle notes of the Night Garden’s magic humming under her skin like a current that you could only pick up on if you concentrated and knew what to look for. It wasn’t the way she ever remembered Chara feeling, to her. While part of the Rigas woman’s identity had in fact been restored, it was undeniable that a part of Chara had also changed. She was more than just a Rigas, now; she bore the signature of the Night Garden. And no one--not her, not Chara, and not even Alster--knew what that meant.
She listened with a conscientious ear, as Chara described how it had felt. She flinched, when the blonde woman compared it to what she had experienced at the hands of Mollengard, even if it hadn’t been nearly as terrible by contrast. Lilica only had her experience convalescing after the Night Garden had burned the toxicity from the magic that ran through her veins to draw from as a means to relate. Those days that followed in hot delirium, her head hurting, her body aching… but that had been difference. The Garden had restored her--not changed her. Not filled in the gaps to reconnect something that had stopped working, as was the case with Chara.
“If you say you’re alright, I will be the first to say I believe you; at least, I believe that you believe it.” The Galeynian Queen said, her eyes falling to the tiny, teardrop pendant she’d given her a week before. It hadn’t surpassed her attention that Chara had not taken it off since then. “But… it would mean a good deal to me if you’d humour me to go see one of the Gardeners to ensure you really did make it through this, unscathed. It doesn’t have to be now; not with celebrating to still be had. But can you promise me you will check in with Senyiah tomorrow? Just to make sure nothing is amiss? I still do not understand the mechanisms of the Night Garden and how it chooses to work. I’ll sleep better knowing I don’t have to worry about you suddenly suffering cardiac arrest…”
Truth be told, Chara appeared far from taking a turn for the worst, which was a small comfort. She went on about taking up Alster’s mantle while he recuperated, and in that moment, Lilica was filled with a hope she’d been too afraid to reach for for quite some time. A hope that Chara Rigas would return to herself, one day, after wounds had healed and time had taken the place of pain and despair. It all felt too good to be true… which was predominantly what triggered the Galeynian Queen’s concern.
Despite that their handful of friends and allies were ready and willing to continue making merry back at the palace, Lilica had to admit, she was not opposed to the idea of ‘celebrating’ the remainder of the evening alone with the person in question. Too good to be true or not, she leaned in to Chara’s kiss, hooking a hand behind the blonde woman’s neck as warmth spread from her cheeks, all the way down her neck and arms. “What you wish for and what you need aren’t always the same thing,” she breathed when their lips parted, “and I regret to tell you you will never hear me apologize for organizing tonight. Speaking of… it would be best to make one final appearance, steal one last piece of almond cake before calling a close to this event. Tomorrow, you can turn your attention to overseeing Alster’s duties and being the responsible leader and trusted advisor that you are. But the night is still young, and since today is about you,” she quirked a cheeky half-grin; the sort of smile that Lilica D’Or would never be able to muster, but was entirely characteristic of Lilica Tenebris, “what we do after bidding everyone goodnight is entirely your choice.”
Since breaking the ground at the D’Marian village to-be, construction moved at a productive clip. It had been about two weeks, and the weather couldn’t be hotter and muggier, but the once uninhabited hillside by the lake had started to show all the promising signs of a future home and community. Chalk-white walls were raised and erected, conforming to the pre-planned dimensions as designed by the diligently drafted architectural plans, and sinuous avenues switchbacked from the base of the hill to its summit. In place of some scaled-down facsimile of the Rigas estate presiding over the village from on high, a vast hall was to be built as the projected heart and soul of the community. All people, regardless of rank or title, would be welcome inside and treated as equals. All would be heard, fed, cared for, and healed. Whatever the needs of the individual or the collective, the hall would ensure their needs were met.
To Haraldur, the project sounded like a pipe dream; noble, but misguided. Not that refugee villages were doomed to fail; on the contrary, Eyraille reported contentment and stability from their villages, and he had seen for himself the truth backed by those reports. So why did he think the worst of the same endeavor? He had been jaded for too long. Isolated from the toils and good-natured efforts of regular people. Of regular citizens and of noblemen alike, displaced from their homes, starving for hope, safety, and for four walls that belonged to them. He understood the struggle. Resonated with it, even. As someone who for so long wandered, purposeless, without a home, he wanted to help these people with whom he felt a kinship, albeit a tenuous one. They were echoes of his past experiences as a mountain guide, who traversed dangerous snow-piled passes with people who yearned for a better life. Perhaps that was why he volunteered in the construction efforts; out of the desperation to push aside his jaded worldview, which had assaulted him, full-force, over the last few months. He needed a reminder of how far he’d grown; from a mindless tool of destruction, to a savior. A prince. A...father. He pushed his mind free from Mollengardian compulsion before, and back then, he had nothing but his long-crumpled necklace to guide him. Now, there was so much more to lose if he succumbed to Captain Solveig and her ceaseless whispers from afar.
But there was another reason for his participation. Several more, actually. Something...else was whispering to him, and it was not Solveig. For weeks, another voice found purchase in his head. Female. Child-like. It seeped through his defenses, which had already weakened from recent Mollengardian probing and tampering of the Captain variety, and wiggled into his dreams. Often, she was a wail in the wind, but sometimes, she manifested as a waif of a girl, standing before him with wide, sonorous eyes and matted hair cropped close to her skull. She carried herself with a limp, and when she spoke, her words limped, too. They were always plaintive. An entreaty of ‘Whys’ and ‘How could yous?’ lashed at him like strokes from a glass-studded whip. The shards bit and dragged across his skin, leaving trails of blood. Her words wounded. Of course they did. As a child, a victim of Forbanne assault, she had power over him. She knew it. He knew it. And, figment of his imagination or not, he needed to escape. So he escaped--for the most part--to the village project. Through concentrating his time not on the command of an army but on lending his building and carpentry skills to a good cause, perhaps he could appease the vengeful spirit, silence her cries, eliminate the nightmares. And it seemed to have worked. Whenever he attended to the tasks of sawing and carving wood, or transferred materials from one plot of land to the other, or hammered the newly-erected walls to stay in place, that hungry, needful, wisp of a child would vanish. And at night, when he retired, fulfilled and exhausted, he’d fall into immediate, dreamless slumber from which no vestiges of dream matter could penetrate. In realizing the solution to his problems, he threw himself into the work, grateful for the retreat of his demons both literal and figurative. Neither force could grasp him; not when he pursued goals that existed outside the Forbanne, outside of the fear of subjugation. For the first time in months, he began to feel like himself again.
In his boldness, he had tackled another project, one that he did in his spare time. It was his last, and most important reason for joining the D’Marian village construction team. And that evening, when the workers hunkered down in their tents to retire, Haraldur wandered in the opposite direction--to the project that required his attention.
He followed the makeshift road outside the village boundaries until the dirt ended and grassy pasture began. After a brief crossing of rolling fields, he entered a sparse wood--and there, settled beside a small stream, a cottage began to take form. It was little more than a framework, thick stalks of timber contouring a projected layout and floorplan, but the vague shapes indicated that it was, indeed, a cottage in the making. He lowered his lantern and a duffel bag of supplies on the ground as he stood back, surveying the work that needed to be done.
“And when it is done,” he whispered to himself, “it will be our home. Vega, Kynnet, Klara...and me. I’ll come back for you all.” A tired smile lined his tired face. “I’ll take you here...and we’ll be together.”
Did he really believe those words? Or was he wasting his time, his energy, on a daydream made concrete? Would circumstances change once he finished the cottage? Would he suddenly deem himself safe and fit to be near Vega and his children?
It will be, he assured himself. I’m shaking free. I’ll be free. When this is done...we’ll be a family. No amount of compulsion will stop me.
You hope...Doubt said, oozing over his optimistic approach with its oh-so-familiar agenda. But your plan doesn’t explain what you’ll do with the Forbanne. If you stray too far from Solveig’s path, they’ll kill you. You’re only playing house as you run from the truth. But you can’t run forever…
A soft, subtle rustle in the bushes caught his attention. He stiffened, listening to the sound. No wind, tonight--nor did the sound originate from a deer, or a wolf. The footfalls were too deliberate. Human, and loud, and looking for attention.
“Who’s there?” He spun around, a drawn shortsword in his hand. Through the flicker of the lantern light at his feet, the figure made itself known by the shadow it carried. The shadow of a girl. He traced the shadow to its owner, a corporeal shadow in its own right--with eyes that reflected off the lantern-flame just as the moon borrowed its glow from the sun. “It’s...you.” Haraldur lowered his sword hand, his killing hand, but did not surrender the blade.
“Why?” The girl said, her question dripping with betrayal, fear, and the curious innocence of the damned. “Why did you leave? Why are you here, Forbanne? Why would you come here and do harm to these people?”
“No.” He eased his fighting stance and his voice smoothed, raised an octave in a soothing, placating cadence. “I’m not here to harm anyone.” She had found him, as he had feared. It was all too good to be true. Running only delayed the inevitable; an encounter with the girl who haunted his dreams. But never did she visit in his waking hours. He pinched himself, to make certain of his reality. Awake. He was awake. “I’m here to help.”
“I don’t believe you!” She cried, and retreated from the lantern as though the glass-contained fire had burned her. “Forbanne never help! They always hurt people. See?” A finger pointed from the darkness. “You clutch that blade to kill! How dare you say that you’re helping, Forbanne?”
Haraldur glanced at the blade in his slightly trembling fingers, and replaced the weapon in its sheath. “I know why you’ve come to me now. I’ve seen you. Children like you, crying in my dreams. Asking me the same questions over the years. You’ve come now because I’m in transition. Hands are yanking me back, forcing me to comply, to be Forbanne. But don’t you see that I’m fighting? I won’t let this happen, because I can’t afford to let this happen.” He side-turned and gestured toward the framework of a cottage behind him. “I’m building this for my family. For my wife. For our children that will be born soon. They expect a father, not a remorseless killer.”
The girl stepped into the light, and the eyes that narrowed at him in hatred took him aback. But the heat of her stare paled in comparison to her words of condemnation. They spat and needled, twisting into a curse. “You will never be a father.”
“No.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t say that. I know I’ve done wrong, but I’m making amends. They’ll know only love. I’m capable of it. These hands will never hurt them. I...I’d never hurt my own children.”
“You don’t deserve that love. You don’t deserve them, for the precious lives you took.”
“I know, but I’ll make it right!”
“By commanding a legion of other child-killers?”
He hesitated. “If I was given the chance to turn my life around, they should have that same opportunity. Some of them are even starting to regain their humanity. No more children need to die.”
“You are a liar!” He flinched from the unexpected growl emanating from her tiny body. “You command them into compliance. A master holding the chains. You are no better than Mollengard, but what is sadder is that you believe your own lies. You believe you are enlightened and evolved. But you are always Forbanne. Always.”
He shook his head fervently. “I can’t make you believe me, but please, let me try. Let me go and I’ll try!”
“No.” The ferocity of her rage subsided into a calm, but it was a false calm. The eye of the storm. “Not yet. Let me show you something, first.” Her luminous, preternatural eyes blinked. “These eyes only see truth. They see your truth, too, buried beneath the lies. Allow me the honor of truly enlightening you.”
Before he could even think of retreating, or of blocking her probing gaze, her eyes entrapped his…
And the world fell away.
There, in the spaces between spaces, the line between the outside reality and the collective unconsciousness, he saw her truth. His truth. A cold-blooded killer who wore denial like sheepskin, unaware of the wolf hiding beneath. And it wasn’t the wolf of the battlefield that he saw, the soldier of Mollengard’s creation. He saw a man who thought himself free. In his misguided freedom, he walked like a human and spoke like a human. He took a wife--two wives. He saved some lives and masqueraded as a prince. But the human was never genuine. It was all a desperate, shoddy cover-up. This man was not a good man. He buried his first wife in an avalanche. He betrayed his second wife with such regularity, it was embarrassing. He made shady dealings with shady men, walked all over the sanctity of ‘family’ he so cherished, and always led with his blade, injured with his blade like an out-of-control fiend who could never differentiate friends from foes. What kind of person saw the innocent as threats? An irredeemable person, too broken by the system that created him to function as nothing more than a poor reproduction of a friend, a husband, a father.
A father…
And since he was watching flashes of his truth, he saw his future. If he kept persisting on his path…
The Forbanne already controlled him. Solveig already controlled him--the truth said. If he reunited with Vega, saw his children for the first time…
The premonition wavered from smoke into conception. He was there. In the cottage he built for them. Vega sat with the twins cradled in her arms. She handed them to him, smiling with pride, with motherly love. Look at what they created, together.
Abominations.
He grappled those fragile babes by their necks, and cast them into the hearth. They screamed as their cherubic faces melted into black, bubbly blisters. He watched on, expressionless. Vega gaped at him, stunned. “How...could you?!” She launched at him, engaged. Those manic blue eyes spiraled into madness. She cried, an unearthly sound. It lacerated her throat. The words bled out of her--crimson spittle in the air.
“You monster. Monster!”
And he complied--by slicing her throat, and throwing her into the fire with her children. With their children.
“No.” A consciousness outside of this nightmare scenario whispered. “No. No!” The edges of the cottage scene curled, like parchment set aflame. Everything burned and burned to cinders, to ash. To black, abyssal nothingness.
“No!” His faraway cries echoed. “It’s not real. None of it’s real. It’s a trick. An illusion.”
He found the girl in the darkness. His trusty lantern flame illuminated her, like a target outlined in orange. “You’re not real. You’re not real you’re not real you’re not real!”
Kill kill kill kill, a secondary chant erupted in his head like a complementary melody. Kill. Kill. Kill…
His killing hand throbbed. The shortsword reappeared in his grip, the handle cold, the blade-trip humming and thirsty. Not real not real not real. Kill kill kill. She is not real, so kill. Kill. Kill!
In a move too swift to stop, too swift to dodge, he plunged the blade into the illusion’s stomach. The illusion gasped, and whimpered. She sputtered, coughed blood, and crumpled to the ground at his feet. A pool formed beneath her gaping wound. It was...disturbingly real.
“I…” the illusion, the girl, spoke through her teeth, “I knew it. You...do not change. You kill. You always...kill. Forbanne...forever.”
Haraldur yanked out the blade. Blinked. Stared at the not real body. No...it was real. She was not a vengeful spirit or madness manifest. A real girl. A child. And he had...he had…
“I told you...you lie. Child-killer...Kinderslayer. Until the day you...die.”
With the fatal close of her eyes, the girl’s head lolled back. She lay, unresponsive. ...Dead. By his hand.
Haraldur staggered. Dazed and transfixed, he could not avert his gaze from his latest victim. Nor should he. Look at what you’ve done. Look at it. Look, look. Look, damn it!
“You’re...right,” he said to the corpse in a drowned voice. “I’m such a fool to think...I could ever be free of this destiny. But there’s only one way I can atone. One way...the only way that’s left. I...can’t be saved. Not like this.” Twin streaks of tears streamed down his cheeks. The blood-coated sword changed its trajectory, pointing upward. His killing hand had positioned the blade against his throat, automatic and eager.
“I’ll never be a father. I’m sorry...Vega. I’m sorry. I wanted things...to be different. But it was all a dream. I was misled. I wasted your time. Kynnet. Klara…”
He closed his eyes, and tried to envision their faces--but couldn’t. Nothing but charred remains in a doused fire, unrecognizable from charcoal. He choked back a sob.
“I don’t deserve you...Be safe. Be loved…”
Without further delay, he swept the blade across his throat, severing his delicate carotid artery. Dropping to his knees, his neck seized as he gurgled and struggled to breathe. Blood poured out of the incision...but it did not gush. Something caught around his blade. An obstruction. Thin and slinky, but firm in its resistance. His numb fingers felt for the source. A chain…
The necklace. His ring. Had it...tried to save him?
His eyes floated to the back of his head as he collapsed. The fingers of his killing hand loosened, and the sword fell from his grasp, upon the stained, soaked grass.
What have I done?
What have I done?!
They were the last coherent words he thought. And as he slowly, slowly, ceased to be, multiple chains of his living legacy snapped and severed one by one, releasing him from his commitments. His connections. Captain Solveig. The Forbanne. Prince of Eyraille. Haraldur Sorde. Sigrid. Vega.
Kynnet...and Klara.
Father…
“Vega!” Kadri slammed open the door of the tiny cottage and rushed inside. At this hour, the princess had retired to her bed and was asleep. But not for long; if the Forbanne soldier’s disruptive entrance did not wake her, it was his frenzied jostle. When she shot out of bed and inquired as to the nature of her premature awakening, he did not hesitate to explain.
“Vega. Commander Sorde is grievously wounded! I can sense that he is losing blood quickly and...” he trailed off, his eyes widening in alarm. “He is fading. He…” As if someone snapped a band of elastic against his eardrum, he suddenly stumbled backwards, colliding with the wall that shared Vega’s bed. He clutched his head as though nursing an enormous bump on his temple. “...He is dead. Our connection is gone. But Commander Sorde did not do that on his own. He weakened. He died--because connections die when the Master dies. No…” his brow furrowed in confusion. “He is not my Commander anymore. ...Captain Solveig is not my commander anymore. Who is my Master? Who do I follow?” He glanced askance at Vega, then drew upright, saluting her fist to chest. “Tell me what to do, Commander Vega. Command me. You want to find Com--Haraldur Sorde? Our link died but I can find his last living location. He is...was...at the D’Marian village.”
Vega was asleep--which was to be expected, given the hour, but it was also the most common state of being she’d assumed since moving from the bustle of the palace. With little else to do than upkeep the house, and with mobility and energy becoming more of an issue as her pregnant belly grew, the Eyraillian princess was beginning to find that sleep was the easiest reprieve from her worries. Mercifully, she did not dream, and this meant that in sleep, she did not think. Not about her absentee husband. Not about the home she had left. Not about the brother she had abandoned, and the responsibilities she had shirked. This tendency led to early nights and late morning for Vega Sorde, and with help from a tea that aided in a restful sleep, deemed safe to consume by the Gardeners themselves (the flora from which came from the Night Garden), she was beginning to spend more time asleep than she was awake.
Of course, this was a symptom of isolation. And even the presence of Kadri, who was present more often than not, was not enough to make her want to face the day. The young Forbanne soldier was harmless enough; he was diligent, curious, and trying oh so very hard to understand what it meant to be a human. Vega had the grace to be patient with him, and to explain concepts that eluded him, but so too did the Missing Links’ own Silver Fairy, to whom Kadri often referred as his friend. Whether or not that was true, the blonde acrobat did not shirk his company when their paths crossed, and there were times that the Eyraillian princess admittedly took advantage of that and suggested he ‘take a break’ and go find Cwenha, because average people were entitled to breaks, even for the most important of jobs. It gave her time to just be alone--be truly alone, and come to terms with that--and to give herself a rest from keeping up a brave countenance, for Kadri’s sake. After all, this had been part of the reason she’d withdrawn, in the first place: to afford herself the luxury to not be okay, when she couldn’t be. A luxury that, in all her life, placed at the center of attention as a royal, she’d never experienced.
Nonetheless, Kadri always returned in the evening, and insisted he keep careful vigil over her and the little cottage. Vega allowed it, since she was only sleeping during those hours, anyway; he did not disturb her or pose any sort of bother. Until one night, when he forcefully shook her awake.
“Kadri…!” Vega gasped, blinking the sleep from her eyes and unsure as to whether she should be frightened or annoyed. The Skyknight sat up in her bed and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. “What is going on?”
Commander Sorde. Wounded. Losing blood. “...what are you talking about? Is Haraldur in danger?” Vega’s eyes widened and she grabbed the young soldier by the arm. “If you are sure of this, you must go--”
Dead.
Vega’s heart made a painful lurch at the word. She suddenly felt very cold, like the air around her had turned to ice. Her hands began to shake and lose feeling. “No.” She breathed, and any further words that passed Kadri’s lips fell deaf on her ears, which were still ringing with the word dead. “He isn’t… he can’t…”
It was hard to breathe. The ground beneath her gave way, and Vega’s legs forgot how to stand. The Eyraillian princess and soon-to-be mother lost consciousness just a half-second before she collapsed.
Further and further, he was pushing the boundaries. And more and more, those boundaries stretched and gave way to his insistent presence, as the spell that kept Vitali Kristeva from venturing too close to the Night Garden or Galeyn’s palace weakened. Theomyr Tenebris might have been a powerful sorcerer in his own right when the former Galeynian King had once walked this plain of existence, but a spell without the caster to which it was tethered could not endure eternally. And since his father was for all intents and purposes lost to this world, the energies fueling his “failsafe” to “protect” the Night Garden from his son would seep out like water in a leaking bucket. Someday--perhaps no time soon, but someday--the enchantment would lose its efficacy entirely, and remain only a memory of what it once was. Some pathetic, last-ditch effort to protect a kingdom from which the king had run away, like the coward he was. And by that logic, perhaps his excruciating photosensitivity would likewise prove not to be permanent, and he would one day bear witness to--well, day, again. Sunlight, warmth. The day would come that he would no longer be confined to dusk as some wretched creature of the night.
One day, Vitali would set foot in the Night Garden, and explore the land that was just as much his damned bloodright as it was Lilica’s. One day… But for now, the necromancer would have to settle for closing in mere inches closer to the heart of the kingdom every night, testing the give of that deteriorating boundary. He could tell he had ventured too far when suddenly the air became too thick to breathe, and those old wounds, all cauterized scars that marred his body, began to ache. When his eyes began to burn, even in the dead of night and still behind that blindfold... that was the point where he would stop, and turn his Night Steed around. It was not so disheartening; progress was progress, after all, and compared to the meager distance he had been able to venture upon first awakening in that farm house, it was reassuring to see just how quickly inches could add up to feet, to meters, to yards… and soon, one day, miles. Kilometers. It would happen, and he was nothing if not patient.
On a typical night, Vitali would ride alone. It was not so much that Tivia was not welcome to accompany him, as it was their circadian rhythms weren’t exactly synchronized. The Rigas woman spent her time tending the gardens and orchards during the days, while he slept, and only in the evening would their paths converge. They would share a meal together before he prepared for his ‘day’, and before she would retire for the night. But this evening was one of the first that Tivia had spent back in the farmhouse for quite a while. She’d left along with Teselin (and the girl’s surrogate brother) to attend some superfluous gala for Alster Rigas, almost two weeks ago, now, and other matters had obviously kept her at the palace for far longer than she’d anticipated. Of course, he did not hold any resentment toward her for her absence, but upon her arrival just a few days ago, she couldn’t seem to apologize enough, and it almost appeared that she was going out of her way to spend more time with him.
Typically, the thought of someone forcing themselves into his life would be cause for annoyance. But the both of them knew that their time together in this odd little domestic game was coming to an end, by way of some circumstances or others. And… well, he could not deny that he owed her. She’d facilitated his segue into life as a blind man, and had, in all fairness, remained unyieldingly by his side ever since.
All of which were boons he knew, deep down, he probably did not deserve. The least he could do was allow her an evening ride with him, to no destination in particular.
“Why you want to ride with me, someone subjected to some invisible boundary keeping me away from the Night Garden, when you well and can ride far beyond that on your own is a mystery to me.” He’d said to her, as he pulled himself up upon the Night steed, and then offered the star seer a hand up. “You do know I have a tendency to explore into the wee hours of the morning--and there isn’t much I can do for you if you feel like you might fall asleep. But… neither will I deny you such a unique request. So, an evening ride it is, then.”
They had taken off at a moderate trot--which, for the Night Steeds, was still impossibly fast compared to typical horses. On this evening, the necromancer was particularly interested in that Rigas village that was in the process of being erected for the D’Marian refugees. It had been decided that the dwelling would be built on a hillside which, while not necessarily a great distance from the Night Garden, also did not have a means of accessing it by a direct path as the crow flies, due to the location that had been chosen for development. Particularly, he was interested in finding out if it was indeed proximity to the Night Garden that kept him at bay, or the easiest paths to reach it; for in discovering the particularities of his father’s spell, it could provide a much clearer view (so to speak) of his ‘cage’. Not to mention, it would help set a clearer course for navigating what little he could of the kingdom, and help determine just where he should be pushing boundaries.
So the D’Marian village had been his initial destination, but as they neared the piles of white stones that were to become houses, he suddenly felt Tivia go rigid behind him. Vitali had borne witness to enough of the star seer’s visions that he knew what to expect when they occurred (and, often, they weren’t pretty). “Tivia,” he said, as he pulled the reins to bring the steed to a halt. He did not bother to pretend like he did not know what was happening. “What are you hearing?”
As her ‘visions’ were typically auditory in nature, and violent enough to cause blood to drip from her ears, he reached into the pocket of his trousers for a handkerchief, and passed it to her over his shoulder. The trouble was, she did not always understand quite what she was hearing. Often, as he’d heard her describe, they manifested as languages that she did not speak or understand, but whose meaning was nonetheless not entirely lost on her. Sometimes, on rare occasions, the messages were more specific, but tonight was not such an occasion. Something was wrong. Something terrible was happening, and they had to veer east, away from the mountains and toward a stream amidst grassy pastures and sparse woods. “Well, you will have to be my eyes for that,” he declared, but did not even venture to argue or brush off her concerns. Not only was it for the fact that he knew well enough to take her visions seriously, but… it was almost as if he could sense it as well.
The Reaper, out claim another soul for the land of the dead. He could smell the cold steel of that lifetaking blade from miles away.
Giving up on their trot, he urged the steed into a gallop, and they proceeded blindly (so to speak) into the night, in a direction with which neither of them was familiar. It was rather like playing a child’s game of hot and cold, but the only indicators that provided them any insight as to whether they were veering in the right direction was Tivia’s fluctuating state of discomfort. All Vitali could do was urge the Night steed onward… until the Rigas woman let out a scream for him to stop. One name passed her lips: Haraldur.
The mercenary, the Forbanne soldier, was dead. At least, medically speaking…
“Where?” Vitali had barely drawn the Night steed to a halt before he vaulted off the animal. The Forbanne soldier lay just a foot away from his boots, the smell of blood fresh and strong in the air. Almost too fresh… “Mmhmm. This is most definitely a dead body.” Much to TIvia’s distress, he nudged the fallen soldier with his foot, before kneeling to press chilled fingers to his skin. “Dead. But… not empty. Not yet. Tivia, the stars yelled at you at just the right time, it seems. It isn’t too late. His soul hasn’t even departed this body, yet.”
He did not bother to clarify, and the star seer knew better than to ask any questions. In a heartbeat, he retrieved a small, onyx-tipped dagger from inside his boot and tore open the dead man’s shirt. Not so unlike what he had done to Vega upon her resurrection (which had been far more involved than the procedure he was performing now), the necromancer began to carve an intricate design into the cooling skin, just above his heart. Vitali Kristeca had done this enough times in his very long life that he didn’t require sight to know what he was doing. The small incisions beaded with thick, crimson blood, but soon began to glow a pale red. “Looks--well, seems like a suicide attempt,” he went on as he wiped the blade clean on the grass, as if this were a topic to be discussed in so cavalier a fashion. “And with a pregnant wife and children on the way… Yet I am the villain in all stories, here. It does make me wonder what drove him to such an end, when he had been ready to practically pledge his life to me in order to save the life of the very woman he tried to abandon.” The necromancer snorted, and then proceeded to scrawl a rune on his own palm. Once complete, he pressed his bloodied hand to Haraldur’s forehead.
The body--the soldier--jerked once, as if he’d been struck by electricity. Vitali removed his hand and turned towards Tivia. “If you can cauterize that wound on his neck immediately, he’ll stand a better chance. I’ve just tethered his soul to this body to buy more time, but that will mean nothing of the body doesn’t return to a state where it can function.” The Rigas woman complied. After having dealt with his dire wounds, when the Night Garden had unleashed its attack, she was more than capable of the task. “Perfect. Now help me get him on that horse. Take him to the Gardeners immediately. I cannot go with you, so I have no way to see this through, but I think we both know the Night Garden is his best chance. They say no one has died upon its soil; makes me wonder if it will be enough to encourage the soul to re-awaken the body. In any case, it is not only this man’s best chance--it is his only chance, barring letting him die completely and engaging in a more drastic and far more complicated resurrection. And after noting just how well that went for his wife, in the aftermath,” his mouth curled into a shameless smile, “something tells me those potential side-effects are something he would rather not experience. Seems as though he’s got enough issues on his plate.”
Between the two of them (and a lot of effort), they managed to pick up Haraldur’s deadweight and hoist him onto the Night steed, before Tivia climbed on behind. Seconds before she was about to depart, however, a figure came calling to them in the distance. To Vitali, his voice was unfamiliar, but he appeared to know Haraldur--and his wife. Evidently, this was one of the fallen soldier’s subordinates, and the man he had officially assigned to guard the Eyraillian princess. It seemed they were not the only ones aware of the Forbanne commander’s sudden ‘death’--and as soon as Vega Sorde had found out, she’d collapsed, and hadn’t yet come to.
“We’ll be sure to pass on your message and send healers your way,” the necromancer reassured the man, without sounding particularly interested in how dire the situation was all around. “If her Highness comes around, try to reassure her we’ve taken care of the situation to the best of our abilities. There is a chance this man might not be entirely lost.”
The soldier complied, and hastily returned from where he had come (which couldn’t have been far, if he had made it to them with such haste). “Don’t worry about me. I can find my own way back to the farm house,” the necromancer assured Tivia with an easy grin. “It might mean I’ll have to ‘borrow’ a steed from one of the D’Marians. I’m sure they’ll forgive me under the circumstances. Oh, and Tivia?” Vitali clasped his hands behind his back and stood tall, with his shoulders straight. “Be sure to let them know exactly who bought this man more time. You friends frankly do not give me enough credit.”
Senyiah and happened to have been checking up on Alster late into the night when an unexpected visitor burst through the door of the sanctuary. “What is going on?” The Head Gardeners demanded, as Tivia Rigas, shaken and winded, stumbled inside. Just beyond the threshold of the door, she caught sight of a Night steed… and a lifeless form propped upon it. Tivia barely had time to explain the situation before Senyiah hurried to retrieve the fallen man from the horse, ushering other nearby Gardeners to help her with the task.
“Forget the sanctuary--get him on the soil!” She demanded, and the two younger Gardeners who had come at her command complied, easing the large man onto the cool earth of the Night Garden. “Go inform the Sybaian and Clematis healers of the state of the princess,” she said to Tivia, who’d only had time to skirt over the issue of Vega having fainted at the news of her husband’s ‘death’. “I am of more use here. Round up some more Night Steeds and have them bring her Highness to the Garden, if they deem it necessary, but I cannot leave if there is a chance this man still might come back.”
Just a chance; that was all it was. But in Senyiah’s time, and in the time of the Head Gardener’s before her, no one had ever died upon Night Garden soil. There had been some who had never come to again, and who, after too much waiting, had been taken from the Garden to pass peacefully, but a heart had never ceased its beating when in direct contact with the ley lines that ran through the roots.
Yet… if a heart would begin to beat again within the Night Garden, after having gone still for this long, that, too, would be a first for all to witness.
“A chance is a chance.” She sighed, and frowned at the scrawl on the commander’s chest, before placing her own hand over it, and drawing on the concentrated energies of the sacred Garden. “If you make it through this, Prince Sorde,” she sighed, and pressed her lips into a thin line, “it remains to be seen if your wife will ever forgive you for what you tried to do.”
Tivia wasted no time returning to the farmhouse on the eve following Chara’s “humble” get-together. The moment the sun vanished beneath the horizon line and darkened the sky, she was announcing her farewells and heading out the door on a beeline towards the stables. It was nigh time she returned to her simpler life and see it through to its terminus, for she would never forgive herself if she was not present to watch it suck in its final breaths before it keeled over and died. The moment she crested the rise with her Night steed and saw the squat but charming farmhouse with the tiny lantern light flickering outside the door, she knew she was home. And for the next few days, she passionately threw herself into the mundane tasks of tending garden and doing menial chores. She dusted the tool shed, pulled weeds with a furor that had been lost to her at the palace, watered the fields, collected the ripest specimens for meals, consulted her friendly, helpful neighbors on the best farming practices—and most important, she appreciated whenever her and Vitali’s differing schedules collided.
She was willing to take Teselin’s counsel and insight pertaining to her brother; his peculiar modes of affection, the downplayed, almost flippant way he showed his care and concern, the genuine interest the two seemed to share in each other’s company...it was all there. His version of “love.” Perhaps she, like Teselin, allowed sentimentality to get the better of her in regards to the necromancer, but she could not deny that if she truly was not welcome in his life, he would have left months ago. So she took comfort in this fact and enjoyed the calm and warmth of their long summer days together—until a certain uneasiness began to prickle at her skin with a persisting constancy.
The stars still chattered their nonsense as usual; since her short tenure at the palace, they were near incomprehensible to her, a somewhat worrying observation. She thought she’d learned to interpret their patterns and glean a general picture of whatever outcome or situation they divined, but lately, it was a mess of crossed stars and fluctuating universes and closed in clusters of matter and space junk. Their collective noise...was unbearable. But whatever the case, she could at least pinpoint the disturbance by location. The uneasy feeling seemed to emanate from the D’Marian village to be. Therefore, when Vitali expressed to her his interest in exploring the area that evening, Tivia cast aside all intentions to sleep away the curdling in her stomach or the invasive, high-pitched screech that had built a nest at the base of her ear canal. If the stars were alerting her to the village, then she owed it to them and to herself (for sanity’s sake) to investigate.
With Vitali at the reins, the two of them set out into the night, their chosen destination mere minutes away by Night steed. And once the super-speedy clip of the steed honed in on the village site, the star-seer was assailed by a wave of nausea and jumbled noise. Bowing over the saddle in an attempt not to fall over, she braved herself for the onslaught, which did not disappoint. Indeed, something dire lurked around the vicinity; something that required immediate attention.
Thanking Vitali for the proffered handkerchief, she pressed it to her bleeding ear whilst directing the steed to the outskirts of the developing area. “There’s...been an accident, here. A bad one. Someone’s here. Someone that needs help.” Saying nothing more, she concentrated all her focus into locating that certain “someone,” utilizing herself as the compass. Finally, after a while of meandering across fields and past copses of trees, she descried a wildly flickering lantern light set at the base of a wood-framed structure. And sprawled in a bloody heap beside the light…
“Haraldur!” Immediately, she dismounted from her steed to crouch at his side, ignoring the splashes of blood that soaked her work trousers. They were dirt-stained from farming, anyhow. A nasty gash split open a chunk in his neck, and the blade that caused it...within finger’s reach of his limp, unresponsive hand. Was this…?
Vitali was on the scene, already making astute observations while Tivia did nothing but gawk and continuously check his pulse like some ignoramus who did not keep the company of a necromancer. And before she could beg his cooperation, plead that he do something to revive the recently fallen prince and his still-warm skin, he volunteered his services without any need for prompting.
Scuffing away from the body to give him room to work, Tivia passively watched as the necromancer carved a rune into the dead man’s chest and, after a span of silence, sat back on his heels and declared the spirit’s connection with the damaged vessel. “Thank the stars,” she muttered, and in a rare sense of gratitude, she meant it. The stars...led her to this man who would have been lost had they not uncovered him when they did. But now was not the time to celebrate; it was too tentative for a victory. Whipping out her blade, Tivia heated the flat of her steel with a burst of conjured etherea and pressed it, with a hiss, against the body’s neck. It took three tries, but the nasty gash was now sealed with angry, blistering scar tissue that reminded her of her face, of the fire...that he saved her from.
“A life for a life,” she whispered. “If you make it through, consider the debt repaid.” With Vitali’s help, they managed to haul the dead weight over the saddle, which was far from an easy feat; the warrior was all muscle and height, a nightmare to maneuver, especially when their objective was to prop him upright on a saddle at a disadvantageous and unwieldy angle. Finally, with the body secure, Tivia slotted her foot through the stirrups and mounted up behind him.
“Thank you,” she said, her one eye searching the black shape of Vitali, who stood like a wedge in the darkness. “You had no reason to help him, and yet, you did. I promise you, I’ll inform everyone of your instrumental part in this man’s recovery.”
Before she could depart for the Night Garden, another figure upon a Night steed approaching. A Forbanne soldier, looking for his Commander. “Return to Vega, soldier,” Tivia said, leaning forward to grab the reins of her steed. “Look after her health and keep her comfortable and warm; in the meantime, I will head to the palace with your commander and send healers to her cottage. But I must take my leave; haste is necessary if we are to awaken this man.” In compliance, the man nodded and galloped back to his station, speaking not a word of opposition to his orders.
“I won’t leave you behind, either,” Tivia said, steering her steed’s neck towards the direction of the Night Garden. “I’ll tell them to get you, too, and take you home. Oh, and,” she nodded toward another curious sight; a secondary pool of blood several feet away from where they discovered Haraldur, “he was not alone, when this happened. Someone else was here.” Her mouth soured. “The Wolf.”
But she did not elaborate. Had no time to elaborate. Making good on her promise to haste, she flicked the reins of her steed and sped to the heart of Galeyn, hoping that whatever happened, the man would survive. If he survives, she thought, I can justify my misery. If my intuition has the ability to save lives, perhaps I can tolerate the screams, the nightmares, the whole universe crowding inside my tiny head...and my fate.
Alster awoke to the sounds of commotion outside the sanctuary.
It was four days into his convalescence, long days fraught with worry; not for himself, but for Elespeth. After revealing her doubts over living an extended yet sub-optimal life, never had he wanted to escape his confines more, desperate in his desire to search for a long-term cure. “I don’t expect you to live this way for hundreds of years,” he’d told her in reply to the painful, yet predictable truth. “This is only temporary. Do you honestly believe I’ll let the matter of your compromised heart persist, Elespeth? Just...give me time. Please, give me time. Hold out for me. Trust me. If in a few years I can’t...we can’t…” He’d shaken his head and trailed off, too troubled to finish the thought. “But that won’t happen, El. It’ll never happen. Even if it’s impossible, I’ll make it possible. Because I refuse to take another step unless you can take that step with me—standing, healthy, at my side.”
With those words swimming in his head all the while, declarations and promises that he’d burned so deeply into his skull to ensure every conscious and unconscious thought consisted of them, of Elespeth, of the cure that existed and his access to the solution, the commotion outside took on a dominating presence, impossible to ignore, even in slumber. When his eyes opened, he saw the Head Gardener, Senyiah, rushing through the door to help someone remove a limp body from a Night steed. That someone was Tivia. And the body...he squinted, trying to catch the familiar face through the narrow sliver afforded to him by the cracked-open door. The sturdy form, the wide shoulders...the necklace, dangling from a blood-caked neck.
Haraldur.
Ignoring all previous instructions to keep to his bed, Alster kicked aside his quilt and pushed to his feet. Wobbly at first from days of disuse, his legs quickly regained their balance and equilibrium as they pumped their way through the open door.
“Tivia,” he called over his brethren in a gentle voice, not wanting to interrupt the Head Gardener in what apparently looked like an intense energy summon. The leaves of the Night Garden’s massive tree rustled, as if in response to the summon. “What’s going on? Is Haraldur...is he—?”
Tivia nodded solemnly. “Dead,” she mouthed. “But,” her sound returned, “not lost. Not lost. Vitali saved his soul from drifting.”
Alster’s eyebrow shot upward. “Vitali did?” As if to confirm, he noticed, between moments when Senyiah’s hands briefly left Haraldur’s chest, the strange, distinct runic symbol carved into his flesh. “Yes. Of course. He did. Does,” he sighed and stared at his feet, “Vega know?”
“Yes, I’m afraid. Gardeners are fetching Daphni and Elias to check on her condition. She...collapsed from the news.”
“I see.” His eyes sagged as he glanced forlornly at his fallen comrade. “What can I do?” He seemed to be musing aloud; his voice was a mere mutter, and he wasn’t acknowledging Tivia. “How can I help? I can’t leave. I—“
“—You’re not the only one who gets to save people, you know,” Tivia said, her words carrying an almost harsh undercurrent. “It’s not all about you and what you can do. Leave some space for the rest of us. We’re fully capable of mitigating this situation without you.”
She hit a nerve. Alster, flinching from her accusatory statement, backed away from the scene and leaned against the outside wall of the sanctuary, looking on with helpless resignation. “...You’re right. Everything’s set in motion. All we can do is wait. I’m sorry, Tivia. I’m not here to undermine any of your efforts. Thank you. I’m sure you had something to do with Haraldur’s survival. You and Vitali, both. I’ll have faith, then. Faith that...he’ll make it. Because he has to.”
As if his words drew power from fickle hope, the Head Gardener exclaimed something unintelligible, yet favorable from her position on the ground. When both Tivia and Alster looked over at the body, it shuddered to life, and gasped with all the fervor of someone who’d been saved from drowning. It was a fitting comparison, to view death as drowning; though he’d never died before, he’d seen the threshold many a time.
“Thank the stars.” Tivia, who’d been standing with a patient, stalwart air the entire time, allowed herself to sway a bit. Tears pooled under her good eye. She didn’t bother to wipe them as they glittered to the apple of her cheek like shooting stars, themselves. “He’s...alive.”
Though Haraldur was breathing, and his heartbeat fluttering in his chest (as confirmed by Senyiah; she wouldn’t let Alster close), the Eyraillian prince did not awaken. His eyes were still fused shut, too weak to stir into conscious awareness.
“Take him to my bed,” Alster said, stepping into the circle where Senyiah had conducted her energy work. “He needs it more than I do. He’s lost a lot of blood so we’ll need to give him a transfusion. And if you still insist I still stay here to convalesce, then I will. I’ll stay in this sanctuary, and monitor his vitals.”
Several days after the miraculous revival of Haraldur Sorde, the chaos at the palace hadn’t quite died down. Forbanne soldiers once under his command, now severed from their mind-link connection, wandered in or around the palace premises, confused and uncertain of where to go or who to follow. Fortunately, Kadri, working alongside Chara, managed to keep them under control by wrangling them to their camp and convincing them to remain on standby until they received further instructions. With Kadri as a familiar presence, they listened to orders, but only because they thought they had no other choice. Confusion still ran rampant, but it was contained, at least.
Vega Sorde, who had collapsed a few days ago, had been brought to the palace by Elias and Daphni. She remained under close supervision, but was deemed stable enough by the healers not to require specialized healing under the Night Garden’s direct energies. It helped to inform her that Haraldur was indeed alive and on the road to recovery. Unfortunately, it was all they could claim. He was alive. Nothing more.
Alster Rigas, who’d since been deemed healthy and liberated from the sanctuary, decided not to leave, so he could keep an eye out on Haraldur. While the transfusion had been a success, and the Night Garden maintained his heartbeat, his breathing, and his hue, which was just beginning to warm with salubriousness and vitality, the man himself was...vacant. Two days ago, he had opened his eyes, but they were eyes that stared beyond, into nothing. He did not respond or react. Did not take food or water on his own, nor reacted when a Gardener replaced the bandages on his neck to apply more salve on his cauterized wound. Was his mind...gone? Had Vitali made a mistake, thinking he tethered the spirit to the body? Or perhaps...the necromancer was fooling everyone. They had fallen for his tricks, while he was safe at his farmhouse, laughing at their expense. He and Haraldur had a history, after all, with the latter declaring the former would die by his hand if ever they crossed paths again. But for Tivia’s sake, Alster withheld judgement about their morally ambiguous companion. There was a much simpler conclusion to Haraldur’s current state, anyway: catatonia. Everyone coped with trauma, whether physical, mental, or both, differently, and the bereaved mercenary had been through a lot in such a short time. According to Tivia and Vitali, they had ruled his death as suicide. It was no wonder that Haraldur had no desire to ‘return’ to himself. Not if he was still reeling from the memories of his final moments alive. Too much pain, too much guilt, could have triggered a total mental and emotional shutdown. Again, Alster was helpless but to watch the man’s sightless eyes stare ever upward.
“You’re not gone,” the Rigas caster whispered to him one morning before exiting the sanctuary. “I can’t let this persist a moment longer. You’re not gone, Haraldur. But I’m not the person who will return you to yourself.”
In determined strides, he flew out of the Night Garden and strode down the hallways of the palace. Turning several corners, he ended up at a door. After multiple knocks, Daphni appeared on the other side. “How is she?” Alster peered over the Sybaian healer’s shoulder to chance a peek inside. “If she’s...feeling up to it...if she’s ready—perhaps she would like to see him. It doesn’t have to be now, but,” he sighed in defeat, “I don’t think he’ll recover just by lying awake in relative isolation. Isolation is likely what killed him--though it's impossible to know what actually happened to him if he won't speak. At any rate, he needs to be reminded why he is alive. They need each other, Daphni. I know that you agree with me.”
What had followed Kadri’s declaration of the Forbanne commander’s death was entirely lost on Vega Sorde. All the princess could remember was the intense shock of pain that had shot through her chest, like the tip of an ice pick, and the feeling of her broken heart sinking into her gut before the world around her went black. When she came to (which could have been minutes or hours later--she had no concept of the passage of time), it was her husband’s young protege who was standing over her, explaining in his own complicated slew of words that she had collapsed, and he was sorry to have lain her on the floor, but her heavily pregnant belly made it too difficult to lift her unconscious form onto the bed. Her mind reeled; she didn’t understand what he was saying, or why she was on the floor in the first place, until he made mention that ‘Commander Sorde was being taken care of’.
Commander Sorde. Haraldur. Her husband. He had…
Panic unsheathed itself anew in Vega’s gut, and she shot upright, her blue eyes wide and her heart racing. “He’s dead. You told me he died…!” She cried, tears streaming down her face as she grabbed Kadri by the shoulders. Later, she would feel terrible for having this emotionally stunted young man bear the burden of her outcry and emotional baggage, but at the time, she was helpless to keep herself subdued. “But how?! How could he… I don’t understand…”
Shortly after the Skyknight princess came too, a pair of familiar healers paid her a visit, without so much as bothering to knock. Having been informed of her condition--or at least that she had collapsed--both Daphni and Elias had evidently decided to resume their positions as her attending physicians in the aftermath for the time being, to ascertain her health, and that of her children. Fortunately, after a thorough assessment of her vitals (and those of the babies inside her, to the best of their abilities), both healers came to the conclusion that her blood pressure had made a sudden drop as a result of shock from the unsavoury news Kadri had delivered. They gave her water to ensure she was hydrated, covered her with blankets because she was shaking, and attempted to guide her through a rhythm that would help slow her racing heart and erratic breathing. Though that was much easier said than done, for a woman who had just learned her husband had died.
And when they insisted on bringing her back to the palace to ensure she was within reach of healers and the Night Garden, given this turn of events, she wouldn’t even listen long enough to agree. Not until Daphni spelled out the situation for her.
“He is alive, Vega. We do not know how, specifically, nor do we know the details; we are not Gardeners and do not understand the nature of the Night Garden’s energies.” The Sybaian healer insisted, having taken Vega’s cold, trembling hands into her own to warm them. “The necromancer was involved, and when we were fetched, they informed us that somehow Haraldur Sorde has drawn breath, since. But we cannot glean any further details if we are stuck out here, and I am here to tell you that neither of us has any intention to leave for the palace unless you are with us. You are suffering from shock, and it is against everything we represent to leave you here, alone.”
“...drew breath? But…” Vega’s head spun. She withdrew her trembling hands from Daphni’s grasp and pressed them against one of her temples. “He died. Kadri told me he had died. They were linked, and he could feel it… but, wait. You said…” She looked up, confusion and astonishment and fear all colliding in her vivid, blue eyes. “The necromancer… what has he done? What deal has he made, and with whom?!”
“We do not know. These are all answers that you may well find if you return with us to the palace.” The Sybaian healer told her gently. “Please come, Vega. Not just for your sake, and not only for the sake of your children. Come back for Haraldur’s sake--even if only for now. We can discuss your eventual return to this dwelling later.”
Ultimately, they managed to convince her to return with them, and to take up residence in the very room from which she had walked away. The one she had hoped that both she and Haraldur would share. Daphni was not by any means ignorant as to how that would affect the already distressed princess, so for the remainder of that night, and all of the following day, the Sybaian healer opted to stay with Vega to help ease the heavy vibrations in the air. Although Elias had forbade her to attempt to heal the Eyraillian princess’s injured aura, the least he could do was allow her presence--an emotional balm by nature--take the edge off of Vega’s shock and devastation. Even at the news that Haraldur had pulled through, and was not, in fact, dead like she had initially been lead to believe, Vega had gone still and silent for days after, speaking to no one and asking for nothing.
When she was not curled up on her bed, clutching a pillow to her chest, the Skyknight sat in the window that overlooked the Night Garden, which was not far off. It had been four days since she had been told, all in a span of mere hours, that, first: her husband had died, and second: that he was alive. If that wasn’t enough to drive someone to the brink of madness and back, then she didn’t know what was, and frankly… she did not know how to navigate the situation, or her own feelings for that matter. Particularly for the fact that in four days, no one was willing to come forth with the details as to how Haraldur had ‘died’ in the first place, or how he was faring in the aftermath of being saved from death’s clutches.
Four days, and try though she might, Daphni was not able to get through to Vega. To her credit, the princess was receptive to their advice, and continued to take care of her physical health on behalf of the babies, which were only a little more than two months away from being born. She ate when she was supposed to, allowed both Daphni and Elias to keep an eye on the developing children inside of her in case the shock of her trauma had negatively impacted them. But aside from the company of the Sybaian healer (which was forced more than it was welcome), Vega Sorde had done precisely what Alster had warned her not to do, and isolated herself from the rest of the world, because she wasn’t sure what to expect from it, anymore.
“Do I need to get Elias in here again to explain the benefits of getting sunlight while you’re pregnant?” Daphni tried to joke one morning, as she brought Vega a cup of herbal tea in a futile attempt to calm her nerves. “I realize it is a heavy time, right now, but being outdoors will help to lift your spirits. The Galeynians have been asking after your health; they’re concerned for you. It would do them a boon to show them that you are well.” When there was no response from the princess, who wouldn’t look away from the window, the Sybaian healer unleashed a heavy sigh. Up until now, she’d thought her patience was infinite, even when it came to the impulsive Vega Sorde, who was rightfully devastated by current events. But now she was starting to believe otherwise.
“If you won’t go outside, will you at least drink this tea for your nerves? We’ve already gone over time and again how your feelings can cross the womb and impact your children, Vega. If you won’t do this for yourself, or for Haraldur, then do it for them.”
There came a knock at the door before the Skyknight commander had a chance to ignore her request for the umpteenth time. Setting the untouched tea upon an end table, Daphni moved to answered the caller, prepared to find the serving staff asking once again if there was anything they could do, any comforts they could bring for the distraught princess. But it was not the servants who ultimately greeted her; it was Alster Rigas.
“Alster… are you permitted to leave the sanctuary?” Was the Sybaian healer’s first question, out of concern for the Rigas mage’s health. She had to admit, he looked far better than before, with colour in his face and standing straight and tall. “You mean Vega? She is…” Daphni spared a glance over her shoulder and shook her head slowly. “Lost, to say the least. Paralyzed since the news of Haraldur’s death, and confused about the necromancer’s involvement in his revival. I am afraid to leave her alone because even I do not know what to expect should she shut herself away, completely.”
The moment she’d laid eyes on the Rigas Head, however, she’d known why he was here, and what he was about to propose. And to be honest, her feelings were rather conflicting. “You are not wrong. They do need one another; they have for quite some time. But… what you are suggesting could either go very well, or very poorly, for the both of them.” Daphni stepped just outside the doorway, and lowered her voice. “I do not know that she is ready to see her husband, Alster. Relations between them were tenuous before this event occurred; and even I cannot anticipate how she will react to… his cause of death.” That had been the elephant in the room for quite some time: that everyone involved in the incident, except for Vega herself, suspected that Haraldur had attempted to take his own life. No one had told her because no one had quite known how to tell her, given her already fragile state of mind.
“But I… I cannot speak for her.” At last, the Sybaian healer amended, and stepped aside to permit Alster entry. “No one should speak for her but herself. If you believe that this might be the solution for both of them, then you can ask her, yourself.”
Vega’s gaze did not stray from the window as Alster approached, nor when he politely and gently asked after her health. It took a moment of persistent silence before she responded, and only because she had the feeling he was not going to go away until he received an answer. “Alster. It was kind of you to come see me…” The princess replied slowly, as if unsure of her own words. “But… I am not of the mind for company, right now. Please do not take offense…”
It was only when Alster declared the real reason for his visit, and clarified the Forbanne commander’s current state of health--alive, but not exactly living--did the Skyknight turn her azure eyes from the window to meet his. He wanted her to come and see Haraldur; and not only for her sake, but… to try and bring him back. “But I don’t… what if seeing me is not enough, Alster? I don’t know anymore. I just don’t know…” For such a simple statement, it was one loaded with a great deal of meaning, for there was a lot that Vega did not know, anymore. She did not know the nature of her relationship with her husband, anymore. She did not know if there was anything she could do or say to bring him back to her, even if he managed to find himself again. She did not know how to proceed with her pregnancy, or what she was going to do with the children were born… and she didn’t know if she could go about it alone, without Haraldur at her side. There was too much of which Vega Sorde was no longer certain, and it paralyzed her and confined her to this room, just as her husband was a prisoner in his own body. But one thing was for certain, and that was if she did not try--if she did not heed Alster’s advice and see for herself if her voice and presence could bring Haraldur back, then there was no way of knowing if he would come back. She needed to try.
“...I’ll go.” She said at last, so quietly that the Rigas mage might not have heard, had he not been closeby. “I don’t know that it will do any good, but… I need to try.”
Standing from her seat at the window, Vega crossed the room to don flat slippers on her feet, much to Daphni’s surprise and relief. “I was hoping you would agree,” the Sybaian healer confessed to Vega, looking as though a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. This was the first affirmative action the princess had taken since returning to the palace; her first step in the right direction. “Will you allow me to accompany you? Just in case… I can stand aside, in the event you--or Haraldur--might need me.”
Vega did not decline, and the three of them departed the palace together. The princess squinted and flinched at the bright morning sunlight; having kept herself cooped up for days, she had quickly grown unaccustomed to its warmth. As they made their way into the Night Garden, and toward the sanctuary, where Haraldur was stable yet unresponsive, the Eyraillian princess finally spoke her mind, a bit of her headstrong Sorde lineage finally coming through after days of passive silence. “So it is conclusive that the necromancer is responsible for… this situation? For the fact Haraldur draws breath?” She pressed her lips into a thin line, and a crease formed between her furrowed brows. “...I want to talk to him. I want to know who made a deal with him, and what he expects to get from it. I do not believe for a moment that that man has a single selfless bone in his body.”
“He is not able to travel to the palace, Vega.” Daphni reminded her. “He resides far in Galeyn’s outskirts. It would be a long and uncomfortable carriage ride…”
“Then a long and uncomfortable carriage ride it shall be. Everything that man touches is cursed, and he does not perform favors without strings attached. I am sorry that I cannot delude myself into thinking solitary life in the farmland after being struck blind has changed moral compass so drastically. I need to know what he did to my husband… after the side-effects I suffered, I need to know what to expect.”
Neither Alster nor Daphni felt inclined to argue with the Skyknight princess as she approached the door of the sanctuary, a place no bigger than a cottage, and overrun with vines inside and out. From the outside, it hardly appeared habitable at all, looking more like a shack that had fallen out of use. It was hard to believe it was such a pinnacle of healing energy... “Are you sure… do you think this will work?” She hesitated, having second thoughts as she stopped at the door. “He was so angry with me for coming to Galeyn. I cannot blame him… I do not know that it is me he needs.”
“I believe there is no one that man needs more than you, Vega, healer or otherwise.” Daphni told her, and pushed open the door to the sanctuary. “And no one that you need more than him.”
Five of the six beds in the small, cabin-like structure were vacant. The only one that was occupied was that of Haraldur’s, and his broad body was almost too big for the thin mattress. Vega felt her heart lurch as she took in the sight of her Eyraillian prince, alive, his chest rising and falling, but his verdant gaze… It was steady, unmoving, boring into the ceiling as if he were simultaneously seeing far too much, and yet nothing at all.
“...Haraldur.” His name was no more than a whisper on Vega’s lips, but in the collective silence of the sanctuary, where for the moment it seemed as though no one so much as dared to breathe, she might as well have shouted it. Just seeing him again, whole and drawing breath, was enough to bring tears to her eyes. Afraid that her knees might give out, she knelt next to his bed, and took one of his hands in her own. It felt mercifully warm; still so full of life…
“...I am sorry I did not come sooner. I knew you made it. I knew you were alive. I did not know that you would want to see me… I’ve let you down in so many ways.” The princess dropped her gaze to the floor and her shoulders sagged. “You had every right to be angry with me for coming to Galeyn. Everyone has a right to be angry with me. I was selfish and reckless; I put myself and our children in danger. But in the end, nothing happened to us, and I… I just wanted us to be together. To be a family, Haraldur. I told you I could not do this alone, and I meant it. I still mean it. I am all but two months away from giving birth, and the children… they are going to need their father. And I need my husband. Please…” Vega brought his hand to her lips and closed her eyes. Warm tears trickled onto his fingers as she breathed, “I need you to come back to me… and if not for me, come back for them. For Klara and Kynnet...”
In a promise made to Elespeth, Alster had concentrated his time and attention to recovery; unfortunately, other forces took charge. They blew into his quaint, temporary living quarters and impelled him to act. How else was he to while away the time when stuck inside a cottage? Without the freedom of exploration, he was made reliant on the Gardeners, Chara, Elespeth, and any other visitors for requests. So long as they were reasonable and did not impinge on his health or well-being, he would be provided anything he needed during his long, lonesome days fused to the bed. Loneliness was a sensation he abhorred, especially at night, when the shadows slithered along his walls. In daylight, they were ivy, but in darkness, serpents. Always serpents, and they loved to watch his helpless form wriggle and thrash.
Books, at least, proved an admirable distraction to the worrisome nights spent alone and enclosed. The tomes that Gardeners and visitors had collected for him were benign texts, nothing too relevant or desired; it was deemed unsuitable for his recovery to concentrate his energies on Elespeth’s condition, in fear that he’d read some notes on a medical journal about long-ago Night Garden recoveries of the heart, be rendered prematurely inspired, and therefore shirk the rest of his convalescence at the sanctuary. He supposed he understood their suspicion...even if he thought they were exaggerating a bit too much.
In the end, it didn’t matter. Haraldur’s case took far more precedence over their previous charge, so much so that Alster could have snuck out of his bedrest obligation a day or so early. Alas, he did not. He stayed in the cramped hut even longer than a week, keeping watch over the Eyraillian Prince as he once did with Vega almost a year ago, when she herself recovered from death--with the necromancer’s help. It all came back to Vitali Kristeva with this couple’s longevity, it seemed. But there was no use analyzing and overanalyzing the implications when what mattered was that Haraldur’s mind returned to his living body. No one could consider him truly alive until then.
“Yes, I am,” Alster said when Daphni answered his summons. “It’s been over a week. I stay there now as a courtesy to Haraldur, but I’m not bound there anymore.” It was technically true. The Head Gardener had told him a week, but never confirmed that he was free to leave after his week had elapsed. It was his first time walking about the palace corridors, and physically, he never felt better. While he was aware it wouldn’t last, and his (borrowed) heart condition would return after resettling in his quarters with Elespeth, a brief messenger’s errand between the palace and Night Garden would in no way stunt his recovery rate.
“I’m...aware of the repercussions,” he continued, returning to the subject at hand. “But if we do nothing, I believe the two will remain stagnant. If you say Vega is also lost, what will that pose for her--for their--children if both parents are vacant? I know it’s a risk, but under close supervision, we can mitigate disaster if it hits. We’re both emotionally sensitive enough to prepare for and circumvent a problem at the earliest sign.”
While Daphni did not readily agree, she stepped aside from the doorway and allowed him the chance to plead his case with Vega. Nodding a silent thank you, Alster entered the Skyknight’s previous quarters, a too-big suite that was perfect in size...for a family. He swallowed the wistful sigh that gathered in his throat. No, he chided himself. It’s not too late for them. They’re both alive. Death never defeated them, before.
“Good morning, Vega,” he said, a little awkwardly, but no less sincere. It was hard to segue into his point without trying first for pleasantries, however stilted they seemed in execution. After all, what did generalizing a morning as ‘good’ do for a woman who viewed it as a painful reminder of a slew of mornings to come? “No, I’m not just here for idle chitchat. You’ve already expressed your aversion to it, so I won’t waste your time. I only wanted to mention that I’ve been keeping an eye on Haraldur’s progress since he awoke two days ago. And…” he took a courageous breath, for what he’d say could not be unsaid, and any dire turn of events from this point onward would be, by large, Alster’s fault. “...He is not responding. To anyone. To anything. He must be fed and changed, because he doesn’t seem to have the will in him to move or think on his own. This may sound like a grim prognosis, proof of a damaged brain, but I believe otherwise. He needs you, Vega. Whatever happened to him, it is not a jump in reasoning to assume that you were last on his mind. If anyone has a chance to stir him back to awareness, it’s you, and,” he nodded at her stomach, “the babies. I know you have doubts, but it’s better to try than to sit back and do nothing. The longer we wait, the longer he drifts, and the harder it will be to pull him to the surface.”
A conservative smile crossed his lips when Vega agreed; and not a moment later, she was standing, sliding on her slippers, and heading out the door. “I shall accompany you, too,” he said, aligning on Vega’s right while Daphni bookended her on the left, a formation of protection in case the pregnant woman collapsed or was assailed by a spell of nausea.
“...Yes,” Alster hesitated in reply when the Skyknight inquired about the necromancer’s involvement. “According to Tivia, he anchored Haraldur’s soul to his body, which ensured his revival at the very moment his body deemed itself sustainable for life. As far as we know, he hasn’t asked for compensation; only recognition. I’m liable to believe Tivia; she would not put you or Haraldur through shady dealings with Vitali again. If a price is involved, then she has paid it for the two of you. Neither of you need to worry; he owes us some favors, anyway. But if you are still concerned,” he escaped Vega’s side to hold open the door to the Night Garden, “then I’ll talk to him when I visit. Daphni’s right, though. He can’t reach us here in the heart of Galeyn. If he can’t reach you or Haraldur, he can’t collect. We don’t need to focus on the cause of Haraldur’s survival right now.” Placing his good hand on the Eyraillian princess’s shoulder, he gently nudged her towards the small cottage near the base of the grandiose tree, its facade so overgrown with vines, it was easy to miss, camouflaged among the flora and greenery of the Night Garden.
“Go,” he guided her to the entrance, his voice an encouraging whisper. “This man has needed you for a while, but fear has held him back. Show him there’s no more reason to fear keeping you at bay. That he doesn’t have to be his own worst enemy.” Alster stationed himself near the doorway, planting his shoulders against the curiously slimy vines. “We’ll be right here, in case you need us.”
What have I done what have I done what have I done.
Those words cursed him. Taunted him. One final irony before existence abandoned his sorry excuse of a man, of a decent person--of anyone resembling fortitude, grace, strength, and unwavering values. He wavered and paid for it. The irony which sealed his fate; his death was meant as an apology, and yet, he was apologizing for dying.
What have I done?
Because no one would see his actions as worthy of apology.
What have I done?
Because the only solution was to plow forward and prove destiny wrong.
What have I done?
Alas….his life was so circular. An inescapable loop that always circled back to the truth.
...I did what I had to do.
He could not be saved. Regardless of how often he saved. Regardless of his diverging path, which secured him a home, a wife, a family in bloom. He was ruinous. He would destroy them if he lived.
He would destroy them if he died.
In the end, the permanent erasure of Haraldur Sorde...was least destructive. He could not harm if he were dead. Could not kill children. Could not kill his own children. His wife. Cast them in a fire and watch, deaf to their screams. It was illusory, but not quite; the possibility lived in his head. A thought. A fear. Fears manifested for him. Always.
When backed into a corner, he killed. When stressed, he killed. When ordered, he killed. ...He would kill them, too. Kill them. Kill them. Dead. Dead. Dead.
This was his sacrifice for them. Out of love. Out of protection. To break the wheel of destiny, he needed to break himself.
What have I done?
I did what I had to do.
And so on, and so on, those thoughts spiraled down, down, into the abysses of hell. Where he belonged. Suffer, suffer, for your sins. It is your only route to penance. Only route. Only route…
He saw his path, saw his trajectory, clear as though marked by torches down a long, ceaseless hallway. He knew to follow the torches to his punishment. So why did he cling to the shredded vestiges of his once-was? Why did he look over his shoulder, hesitant to abandon his selfish, destructive desires?
To hold them just once. To kiss her one more time. To know fatherhood, if for a day. An hour. A minute. Is there a way?
Yes! A searing white light bloomed from behind him, its presence loud, uncompromising, and forceful.
Yes, yes, yes!
The light engulfed. The light emblazoned his senses, vacuumed him away from the torch-lit darkness, from his punishment, and whisked him up, up, up, at speeds too impossible to fathom. In the saturation and intensity, an image splotched across his consciousness. Dendritic patterns bloomed from the center and stretched forever outward. Bare, outstretched branches grabbed for him, moored him in place before the light could possess him wholly, without interference. But the light relented. It offered him to the tree, and the tree’s sagging boughs nourished him in the soil. Bloom, child of nature. Awaken to the sun, to the sky, to the rain. Awaken.
Awaken…
Awaken, he did…
To emptiness.
Nothing was familiar. People surrounded him but he recognized no one. He didn’t know where he was. They lay him on a bed and he obeyed their directive. Follow orders. Do as you are told. So he rested, and didn’t complain. Didn’t react. Wasn’t he dead, anyway? All he did was ascend from the darkness, ascend to this new realm that did not ask anything of him. No punishment. No pain. Only idleness--and whispers of his name. Someone tried to get his attention, but he did not respond. The voice sounded familiar. The name. Alster Rigas. But why did past ties matter to a life he’d already severed?
Dead, dead, dead. He was dead. Dead, but breathing. But still dead.
And in his forever state, someone else visited his live sepulchre. She gonged like a bell through the fog. He couldn’t see, but knew exactly where she was. She called, and called for him. Haraldur...The fog thinned. He blinked away the film that coated over his eyes, and…
Vega.
She clasped his hand. An achingly tender sensation brushed against his skin. She spoke, and he listened. Listened, and wondered. Was she dead like him? Was she imagination? Where was she? Did she know? Did he know?
Was she aware...of how he died?
Slowly, his fingers curled around her hand, like a flower leaning into the sun. His grip was so light, afraid he’d crush her if he applied the gentlest of pressure. She was firm under his touch. Real. And why did she cry in apology for her actions? It’s not you, he wanted to tell her. It’s not you. I’m to blame. What I did...I deserve punishment. No forgiveness. Take me back to the dark hallway with the torches. This place...is too kind for the likes of me. I killed. I killed. I killed another child. I’ll kill you too...
But then, her lips parted. He watched them part. The flick of her tongue, the harsh explosion of air. She was speaking names. Kynnet. Klara. Father. Husband. Family.
The fog returned, plunging him back into a place of unseeing. Only, it felt different this time. There was mist. Bathtub warmth that collected around his eyes. Tears. They were tears, and they welled up in shallow pools. He shuddered himself into darkness and let the water splash down. It felt so real. Like he still had a physical body.
“It’s...too late,” he whispered, his voice scratchy. Painful. He flinched from the dull ache throbbing against his throat. The wound. Another hand rested against it, against thick bandages. They sealed the wound closed. His brow furrowed in confusion. The dead had no need for bandages. “I’m dead,” he said anyway, though his conviction was wavering. “I’m dead...and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Trembling fingers tightened over her hand. “You didn’t...let me down. You did what was right for them. Kynnet...Klara.” He repeated the names, but shook his head. “I have no right to them. I forfeited everything...when I died. But at least I have the chance...to tell you. To tell you what I did. Before I plunge again into the dark hallway with the torches.”
The tears spilled with more frequency as his body hitched, reacting to the violent suppression of sobs. “Vega...I did it. I...killed myself. I killed a child, and then I killed myself. To atone...I had to do it. To save everyone. To save you. The children. From me...from me…”
He released Vega’s hand and let his arm drop, too ashamed to touch her after his confession. “I didn’t want to die. I had no choice. I love you...and I had no choice. I love them. Kynnet. Klara. I love you all but it’s too late. I’m dead...and you’ll never forgive me. I did what I had to do. I did it for them. For us...to save you. To save you. I’m so sorry.”
He dared to open his eyes. To see her through his watery vision. But it was too blurry. The fog did not relent. There was a streak of red--her hair, so vivid even through the lens of several layers of tears. And...he could discern the shape of her stomach. The bump, ever-growing, ever-expanding. Two months until their birth…
And he wouldn’t be around for it. Because he was dead.
“I am the let down,” he said, his voice so broken and raspy, it was almost rendered intelligible. “I always let you down. But that can’t happen anymore. I liberated you from me. And the children will survive without me...to hurt them.”
Vega thought she was imagining things when she felt the pressure of her vegetative husband squeezing her hand. Truth be told, the Eyraillian princess had not brought a good deal of hope with her, when she’d accompanied Alster to the sanctuary to see Haraldur. These days, she knew better than to hope for any favourable turn of events since learning of her husband’s death--even if that death had been circumvented by someone who the both of them an enemy (or at least, an entirely loathsome individual). At first, she thought she’d imagined the response, until she saw his lips move, and his breath formed words. No, there is no possible way she could have imagined that, and her heart leaped and sped up with such vigor that she felt light-headed at the sensation.
“Haraldur.” The Skyknight breathed, her hands shaking with relief, along with disbelief. “It’s okay… it’s okay. You’re not dead. You’re alive. I… I don’t understand how, but you are alive. You’re here with me, in the Night Garden, in Galeyn. See? I’m alive, too.” She took his hand then and pressed it to her breast, just above her racing heart. “I knew you were not gone, I knew it… you’re here. I am here. It is going to be okay…”
It wasn’t clear, however, as to whether the Eyraillian prince was hearing her words. He might have come out of the fog that had kept him trapped in his own body for days on end, but something held fast to his doubt, and kept him held fast to disbelief that any of this was real. “You have every right to our children, Haraldur. To our family--without you, we are not a family.” The Skyknight princess assured him gently, unable to sift through the tremors in her voice. “You are their father. They need a father, and I need a husband. In no way have you let us down, and you are not going anywhere. You are here--I need you here, Haraldur…”
Her reassurance did not matter, because they did register. The words slid off him like oil on water, but… so, too, did his words to her, when he gave them voice. I did it. I killed myself. I killed myself… The first time he said it, it was as though Vega did not understand the words, like he was speaking a foreign language. It was not until he repeated himself that the meaning of the words sunk in. I. I killed. I killed myself. It did not even sink in that he confessed to killing a child. The princess’s eyes were fixed on the bandage that concealed a wound on his neck. A wound that must have been particularly clean cut, and not the result of a fight or a struggle, for such a small bandage to contain it...
“I… don’t understand.” When he took his hand from hers, she did not reach for it again, and not because she didn’t want to hold it, but because she hadn’t registered the absence of that warm pressure against her palm. “Why… no, it does not make sense. Why would you want to leave me like that? Why would you leave… us? Your family… no, I don’t believe that! I don’t… I don’t…”
Both Alster and Daphni anticipated what was about to happen next. Luckily, the two of them had taken to either side of the Eyraillian princess, and grabbed her by the arms before her legs could give out. Daphni and Elias had determined days before that the progression of Vega’s pregnancy had caused her blood pressure to drop dramatically, something that was not particularly uncommon among pregnant women, especially those carrying more than one child. Vega had only half-listened to their explanation in the shadow of her grief following Haraldur’s near death (or… temporary death, as it was). Something about blood and iron being delegated to the fetuses at the expense of the mother. This did not play in her favour, particularly not in light of the deluge of terrible news that came her way. Fortunately, when she collapsed this time around, she had allies nearby to catch her before she hit the ground. Between the two of them, Alster and Daphni helped maneuver Vega into one of the beds next to Haraldur, at which point the Sybaian healer retrieved a cloth and wet it with some water in a basic at the other side of the small shack. “Vega,” she said, returning to wet the pregnant princess’s cheeks and forehead. “Can you hear my voice, Vega?”
As soon as the cool cloth hit her suddenly very pale face, the princess stirred with a soft groan, but did not open her eyes; awake, but not quite aware. “It’s… a nightmare. Too many nightmares…” She breathed, her hands shaking as she struggled to sit up without the strength to do so. Daphni kept her at bay with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Haraldur… Haraldur…” The Skyknight craned her neck to look at the man in the bed next to hers, panic gathering anew in her azure eyes as she registered the bandage on his neck again.
“Vega, listen to me.” The Sybaian healer redirected her attention, and took a seat on her bed. “What happened days ago is irrelevant. You cannot move forward if you are living in the past. What is important now is that he is alive. You and your children are alive, and the four of you can unite as a family. Do no shirk the gift of the present by dwelling on the hardships of the past…”
“But I don’t… I don’t understand.” Vega breathed, looking down at her trembling hands. How long had they been shaking? “Haraldur… why…” Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she rested them on her pregnant belly, suddenly assaulted by a wave of dizziness and vertigo. Did the children feel her despair, as well…? “Why did you want… to leave us? Before we ever had a chance…?”
“It wasn’t his fault, your Highness. Your husband. He was… manipulated. And likely in more ways than one.”
Another voice captured their attention from the doorway. There stood young Teselin, her face and posture ever tentative, as if unsure of the degree of welcomeness in this heavy situation, but there was no hesitation in her voice or her face. Whether or not her words were true (although she was far from being known as a liar), she certainly believed them with enough conviction to declare it to Vega, herself.
“Teselin… is it?” Daphni had only crossed paths with the girl who was claimed to be a powerful summoner a handful of times, without ever truly interacting. Perplexed, her brows gathered in the middle. What could this girl know about the situation at hand. “Is there something you feel inclined to report to us? If it has to do with Haraldur, and the circumstances of his… death, then I am confused as to why you did not come forth sooner.”
“I wasn’t… we weren’t sure. And we didn’t know, right away.” The young summoner absently rubbed her arm and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The Night Garden beyond appeared empty, save for the Gardeners tending to it, but just in case there was an errant ear keen to pick up on the details for juicy gossip, she preferred not to spread the news too far. “A few days after the… incident, I ventured out to where the scene took place with Hadwin--the wolf that had your significant other fooled for the duration of the Missing Links’ show, on Alster’s birthday.”
“How can I forget a name like that.” Daphni murmured in a flat tone, colour creeping into her cheeks. “And Elias is… well, I mean, we…” For all they had determined to have a child together, neither the Clematis nor the Sybaian healer had attempted to place a label on their relationship or what it meant. Perhaps it was merely that they both wanted the same thing, the same end goal, and were determined to cooperate to make it possible, though… she liked to think it meant more to him than the mere possibility of a child. Regardless, that issue was neither here nor there, at a time like this. Daphni cleared her throat and changed the topic immediately. “And what did you and your lupine companion find? What made you want to investigate, in the first place? Tivia Rigas and the necromancer bore witness to the aftermath supposedly moments after it took place. We have her account of it, word for word.”
“And I don’t doubt for a moment that everything she told you was true. What we were curious about was the fact that Haraldur’s blood was not the only blood found at the scene. Someone was there with him--and whoever it was, they got away. Haraldur…” Teselin turned to the bedridden man, who was himself barely awake from his self-inflicted catatonia, green eyes still haunted with guilt and grief. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t eavesdropping, but just now, I you said you killed a child. And I am here to tell you that you didn’t.” She advanced several paces toward his bed, and sat at the end of it, upon an empty wooden trunk meant to contain a patient’s belongings. “There was no other body found at the scene, and while blood other than yours was spilled, Hadwin and I followed the the trail of it to see if the wounded had wandered off. It appeared as though they made it some meager distance before the trail ends, entirely. Like someone almost immediately came to their aid and spirited them away before they could be caught. Whatever happened… it was premeditated. And for whatever reason, they wanted you to think you’d killed a child. Because nothing else would destroy you so thoroughly.”
Having regained her composure relatively quickly, Vega finally sat up in bed, despite Daphni’s gentle protests. “Premeditated… how? My husband is not exactly an open book. Few are familiar with his past… who,” her brows furrowed in suspicion, “aside from your fear-seeing friend would know that making him think he’d ended a child’s life would do him it? He knew Haraldur had been compelled to kill him if he saw him. Why wouldn’t he take the opportunity to get to my husband before Haraldur had the chance to lay a hand on him.”
“It wasn’t Hadwin!” Teselin rapidly amended, shaking her hands in front of her. “I’m not just saying that to protect him. He has an alibi. Go and ask him exactly what he was doing with the acrobat, Briery Frealy the night that took place, and I guarantee he will be more than happy to give you all of the details you don’t want to hear.” The very notion made her blush, and she shook her head. “In any case, Hadwin, for one, isn’t stupid enough to walk right up to the person who has no choice but to run him through with a blade… nor is he cunning enough to devise something so sinister. At least, not in the sense that he would have a reason to compromise his alliances.”
“Then who?” Vega demaded. Gone was trauma-stricken princess who’d collapsed from stress-induced shock for the second time in a week, replaced with the fiery and hard-headed Sorde princess, determined to defend her pride like a lioness. “Who would know, and who would do such a thing? And why?”
Teselin hesitated, but only for a beat, before she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I was not able to pick on up any particular magic signatures, in the aftermath.” But Hadwin picked up a scent, was the part she kept to herself, and not without the burden of guilt weighing on her small shoulders. One that smelled unmistakably like Rowen… but that isn’t my secret to tell. “It could be that we waited too long to investigate. But whether or not magic was used, whoever provoked Haraldur knew what they were doing, and knew how to get to him. How they happened to know… that remains a mystery.”
“No magic signature… but by the sounds of it, it sounds as though magic was a tool in their arsenal, if they could pry into Haraldur’s deep-seated insecurities.” Daphni observed, and turned to Alster. Her face had gone a shade paler. “This sounds terribly familiar. Alster… you said that when Elespeth was compelled to murder, you also could not pick up on any distinct magic signatures, despite knowing her mind and will had been infiltrated. Do you think… could it be that Locque is…”
“We cannot jump to that conclusion so hastily. It about tore Braighdath apart.” the young summoner butt in, raising her voice by a decibel or two. “The last thing we need is for Galeyn to succumb to that level of all-consuming panic. Whoever is responsible, we must investigate further, but that’s not why I’m here. I just needed you to know--both of you to know,” she looked from Haraldur to Vega, and back again, “this was a ploy. Your husband did not try to take his life to spite yours or your children’s; he was played. But… those details are not for me to interpret. What happens now is up to you.”
Teselin stood from the chest and smoothed her skirts over her legs. She’d thought that telling them what she knew (to the extent that she was still able to maintain Hadwin’s secret) would alleviate some of her guilt, but the young summoner, if anything, only felt more burdened than before. “I plan on visiting my brother this evening. If you like, I can ask if there was anything he might have sensed that even Tivia may have missed. His magic resonates on a different level; and no one has of yet spoken to him directly about his take on what he saw… er, well, what he ‘experienced’.”
“It just so happens that I would love nothing more than to have a word with your brother about this very situation.” Vega chimed in, throwing her legs over the side of the bed, her anger toward the necromancer only thinly veiled by a guise of determination and regal conviction. “If you don’t mind, Teselin, I’d like to accompany you. There are a number of answers that I believe your brother has that are of great interest--and importance--to me.”
“No,” Haraldur breathed, too winded from speaking his onerous truth, full in knowing how badly it would affect her. How it would hurt her, and the babies. They needed ideal conditions in which to grow and flourish, and yet...he continued to hinder their development by causing their mother so much stress. What a disappointment of a father. It was best if they never learned of his identity. Let the dead stay dead and forgotten. “I didn’t want...I never wanted...but I had to,” his words, segmented and broken, came out in airy spurts which quickly lost coherency. “I killed...I swore never...I would never kill a child. Our children… Protect. From me. I’m sorry. I deserve hell. Give me hell. This death is too kind…”
Or was it? He looked on in horror as Vega’s knees buckled and her top-heavy form lost its balance. He sat straight up on his cot and reached for her, but he was too far, and his head swam from the suddenness of the movement--a peculiar detail that did not fit the experience of being dead. Before he could tumble out of bed to grab her, two figures congregated on the swooning princess and secured her upright. As they took care to relocate her to the bed beside him, he squinted through the blurry film of his tear-filled eyes so he could make them out better. He knew them in life. Why did they inhabit his afterlife? For what purpose? Did he personally betray them, too?
“Alster. Daphni.” He sagged forward, resting his headache-heavy head into his hands. “Why...are you here?”
While the Sybaian healer tended to Vega’s needs, providing her a cool cloth and elevating her feet, Alster focused his attention on the distressed man. Fresh out of his fugue, the Rigas caster was surprised at how quickly he’d stirred into awareness after laying eyes on his wife. “Vega’s right. You’re not dead. This isn’t the other side. You’re very much alive.” He blocked the Eyraillian prince’s view to spare him from the sight of Vega, who, newly conscious, was on the verge of hyperventilating from the news. Her eyes could not avert from the bandage around Haraldur’s neck--proof of the deed. Proof that it was his hand and his will that opened the wound and ended his life. “Your question is the right one; after all, why would we be here with you?”
“Because...you and a Sybaian saved me once before. And--”
“And we can only save you when you’re alive, right?” Alster interrupted with a tight-lipped smile. “So it stands to reason that you’re not dead. Because we’re here.”
Haraldur, either baffled into silence or too confused to answer, sat, unresponsive. His stillness reminded Alster of a statue of a weeping angel hunched over a gravestone, his hands curled over his face like sharp flecks of granite. He looked so determined to disappear that Alster feared he’d reverted back to a state of catatonia--especially when he did not answer Vega’s pleas asking ‘why?’
Blessedly, a third party redirected the tension from the two lovers. Alster glanced at the doorway and raised an eyebrow at Teselin’s curious presence among them.
“Teselin…” He invited the girl into the sanctuary, half as a courtesy, half to keep the conversation between them all relatively private. One could never be too careful about eavesdroppers. “What do you know?” As he listened to the summoner’s brief account of visiting the scene with Hadwin in tow, Alster creased his brow in deep thought. “Now that you mention it, Tivia did mention seeing a pool of blood that did not belong to Haraldur. She attributed it to ‘The Wolf,’ but,” he chewed the inside of his cheek, not wanting to cast blame on the free-spirited faoladh and his tendency to flirt with trouble and instigate with his uncanny Fear Sight, “I cannot fathom why he would be involved. He’s done more good than harm, lately. If not for him, Chara and Elespeth would have,” he sighed, “been lost. That’s not to say he isn’t capable. But,” he nodded to Teselin, “he has nothing to gain in an arrangement where he stands to lose all the alliances he’s built. He’s a little mad, but not entirely without sense.”
Haraldur, who didn’t even notice the new arrival, would have continued to rot inside the self-imposed prison of his mind, if not for the summoner’s words which called for his exoneration.
You didn’t.
You didn’t kill a child.
He shot his head upward and stared at Teselin--herself a child, in many ways. Those large, sonorous eyes, the baby fat around her cheeks, the smallness of her frame, and her plaintive, youthful voice…
He froze with fear.
Alster wondered if he was too lost to understand the conversation or its implications, not when his green eyes flickered with the threat of retreat. “Haraldur…”
The grief-stricken man shook his head, but said nothing. Given the state of his reticence, Alster questioned if it was wise to resume their conversation within his listening range, but if even vaguely comprehending his innocence would shake him free of some of his guilt, it was worth a try.
“It’s possible...that Locque is responsible,” Alster said, attempting to keep an even tone to his voice. Whenever thoughts of the cursed sorceress percolated to the surface, the raging sun borne in the pit of his stomach flared with an intensity that burned his arm along where steel met flesh. He ground his teeth and held the prosthesis close to his thumping chest. Somehow, the contact eased the burns and normalized the temperature within the rapidly heating steel. Another attack from Locque...he didn’t want to believe it. Perhaps it was why he cast aside all suspicions and instead focused on Haraldur’s recovery. But there was no use in delaying the evidence anymore--not when all seemed so clear. “With what little we know of her, she is able to manipulate others based on their insecurities. Haraldur--no offense--” he dipped his head in apology, though he doubted the man even heard, “you were a vulnerable target. Just like Elespeth. She, too, was vulnerable, and alone. Haraldur is a strategic mark. To eliminate him is to eliminate his control over the Forbanne. Plunging a magic-resistant army into directionless chaos creates holes in Galeyn’s security. It appears that this attack serves as an opportunity, and…though I don’t want to repeat the same mistakes that happened in Braighdath, we cannot refuse to act, either. Who knows who she’ll target next? Or what she’ll do now that the Forbanne are untethered to a commander?”
However much he wanted to devise a plan of action, everyone in the sanctuary was far more invested in the necromancer in terms of his intentions for Haraldur’s revival. But he reasoned that Vitali Kristeva could have some insights about what truly took place that evening. It would not be a wasted trip should he accompany both Vega and Teselin. Just because he was not currently acting as Rigas Head did not mean he ceased investigating any leads pertaining to Locque. Since day one, the fight against the sorceress was a personal one, and if there was any way to gain the upper hand over her, it was worth it to make the trip. Besides--someone needed to keep watch over Vega. The pregnant woman could act unpredictably in violent ways towards Vitali, and he wouldn’t blame her for the reaction. But the last thing anyone wanted was to see Vega injure herself or the babies, and thus propagate the ongoing tragedy between her and Haraldur.
“I’ll accompany you, too,” Alster said. “I’ve already agreed to wanting to talk to him. Tonight, we’ll all go to the farmhouse. But,” he gently pressed his good arm on Vega’s shoulder to prevent her from rising off the bed, “it’s still the morning, Vega. There’s no need to make haste now. Please, try to relax. The sanctuary will provide you a reprieve so long as you stay here. And--” he bit his lip, ready to dispense an unpopular opinion. “While I understand your anger, it is aimed in the wrong direction. It’s Locque you should be mad at, not the man who kept your husband alive. Whether done for nefarious reasons or not, it doesn’t matter. We can work with this result, Vega. It’s not beyond our means. We’re all in this together.”
“...The necromancer.” Alster turned his head to the quiet observer on the bed next to Vega. Haraldur presumably had been paying attention, and was trying to follow along despite the trauma that weighed on his mental faculties and overwhelmed his ability to focus, to concentrate. “You say I’m… ‘alive’ because of him? I was wrong.” He looked down at his hands, which had since fallen from his face. “This place is not kind. It must be hell.”
“Is she part of your hell, Haraldur?” It sounded accusatory, but Alster’s voice was a soft whisper as he gestured to Vega, whose shoulder he still gripped. “Contrary to what you believe, she’s not here to torture you. Everyone here is just trying to understand what happened. Please don’t think this is Judgement for your immortal soul and its sins.”
But for all he knew, his words fell on deaf ears. Haraldur stared at his hands and did not respond or retort. He truly seemed to be contemplating the validity of his beliefs about his status as a dead man. If so, there was hope for him yet.
“Stay here,” Alster turned back to address Vega. “For now. Talk to him. He’s not gone, but he needs you. He needs to be surrounded by people he loves and trusts.” Speaking of…
“I’ll return,” he said, and with a hasty bow of retreat, left the sanctuary. Next to depart from the small hut was Teselin, who, perhaps out of respect and discomfort, removed herself from the company of a man who could not stop viewing the summoner as a tiny angel of death, come to wreak vengeance on the kinderslayer for all his accumulated deaths of the innocent. Soon afterward, Daphni, once checking the conditions of both husband and wife and deeming them stable enough to be left alone for a while, made her egress. They now had the room to themselves.
Haraldur was the first to break the silence, and speak. “...I don’t know which is worse.” He ran over the old scar on his wrist. The killing hand. “Killing a child, or dying in vain because I was manipulated into thinking I killed a child. But...there’s not enough evidence. Teselin--she saw the blood trail end but it doesn’t mean the child still didn’t die after dragging herself away a few yards. Perhaps a good Samaritan picked up her corpse afterward. And...the fact that there is a blood trail at all means that I did...that I ran her through with the intent to kill.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “She was real, but all this time I thought she was an apparition. A manifestation of all my greatest fears. The darkest parts of me...on display. Everyone here was giving me the benefit of the doubt, but no one thought to suggest a simpler explanation; I went mad. That I projected this mad apparition onto some innocent girl who got caught in my crossfire and paid the price. I’m ultimately responsible. For what I did. For how I ended it all.”
His killing hand flew up to his throat, tracing the bandages over the grisly evidence that displayed his cause of death for all to see. But his fingers caught the chain of his necklace, and he followed the braided links to the circular weight that sagged to the bottom. It was crusted with dried blood, but the ring was still there, a disapproving witness to the double murder of that night. “...It tried to stop me. This necklace.” He held it up for her to see. “The chain caught in my blade when I...did it.” He dropped the ring, too ashamed to cradle the evidence of their fidelity when he himself had committed infidelity by flirting with death and choosing death. It smacked him against the chest in the lightest of punishments. Even an inanimate object spurned him for his inane decisions.
“Whether this is purgatory, or...or if it’s actually a second chance at life, is there...is there really any hope for me, Vega? Please, tell me. I’ve done so much that can’t be forgiven. I can’t stop seeing images of our children and my hands on their…” he could not finish the statement. He swallowed hard, and the ensuing lump agitated the healing wound on his neck. He opened his eyes and dared to look at the woman, his wife, in the other bed. His eyes carried the verdant, ancient sorrow of moss clinging to the ruins of a once happy, vibrant home. “Answer me honestly, Vega. And...regardless of your answer, I would...would you let me…?” His eyes averted to her stomach. “...To hold them? I mean...the closest I have to holding them right now. I realize if...it’s too much to ask.”
For the second time that day, Alster advanced down the hallways of the palace with purposeful steps. There was plenty he needed to arrange before joining the small entourage en route to Vitali and Tivia’s farmhouse that evening. He needed to inform Lilica and Chara about the latest probable Locque encounter, check on the status of the leaderless Forbanne, scour the area for any holes in security, which by now were more numerous and noticeable without the magic-resistant soldiers taking root at all the entrances and exits. He needed to see to Elespeth’s well-being--just in case--and finally, locate Hadwin to inquire about his interpretation of the blood-trail he and Teselin had found. It was hard to believe that the faoladh, who had located a mud-soaked Elespeth in the wilderness with only his sense of smell, could draw such a blank conclusion. He also attributed a distinct scent to Locque from when he was present at Elespeth’s unfortunate run-in with the sorceress. If she were involved...wouldn’t he have known?
Something isn’t right, he thought. I want to believe he isn’t involved, but this is too suspicious. He couldn’t discount what Tivia claimed about The Wolf and its relation to the blood found at the scene. While the star-seer and her visions were often unclear, roundabout, or peripherally related, they were seldom inaccurate. At the very least, if Hadwin weren’t responsible, he knew more about the situation than what Teselin was admitting.
Alas, Alster had planned another stop on his long list of errand running, and he prioritized it before the others. He could not forget that above revenge, above Rigas Head duties, and above sleuthing around for solutions to mysteries, he was a self-proclaimed healer. And with the soon-to-be absent Vega, someone needed to watch over Haraldur while she and Alster visited the necromancer’s residence. Surrounded by people he loves. People he trusts. That’s what he told Vega, just earlier. Unfortunately, only one other person vaguely met that description. Estranged as they were, there were precious few options available for the reserved man, who, as of late, lacked in strong relationships.
It was still pretty early in the morning; early enough that she would not have left for her duties with the Dawn Guard--unless her schedule had changed in the mad scramble of the past few days. It was worth a chance, regardless. Stopping by Sigrid’s door, he rapped his knuckles on the wood surface, and knocked.
Luckily, she did answer. The tall, blonde woman was already dressed and armed for the day ahead. “Good morning, Sigrid,” he said, bowing his head in greeting. “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time, and I won’t keep you if that is the case. I just wanted to say--and forgive me for sounding rude--I think it’s nigh time you and your cousin reconciled with each other.”
