Isidor looked as though he regretted ever getting involved with Hadwin and what the faoladh wanted to do to prevent his sister from ever taking another life. And Elespeth, on the other hand, appeared just as remorseful, despite that she was the one who had brought Hadwin back in the nick of time. No one seemed to know what to do or what to say that would placate Bronwyn at that time, because no one blamed her for her anger, her frustration, and her disappointment. The only person who, oddly enough, seemed to get through to her… was Nia.
As much as people could gripe about the Ardane woman, there was no denying that she was intuitive and genuinely empathetic when she saw people in need. And Bronwyn was most definitely someone who was in need--particularly, she was in need of someone spelling out to her just how and why everything was alright, but also why it was perfectly reasonable for her to experience the excess of feelings leading to this outburst. She was hurting; you didn’t let go of whatever verbal or emotional filter kept you sane and diplomatic unless you had nothing left to lose. Because you already felt as though you had lost everything.
“That’s just the shit that siblings do when they care about you: try to spare you all the pain and overthinking. It’s just easier to leave you out of it than to try and figure out how to put you on board with it… in a way that ensures you won’t get hurt.” A flicker of familiar pain read across Nia’s face. She tried to counter it with a smile. “My sisters, older and younger… they did the same. Never let me in the know when something was wrong, because they didn’t want me worrying or risking my own skin to help them. So I just… watched. As everything and everything I ever knew fell apart around me. And hell, I wanted to blame people, too, but the only person left standing was myself. So in the end… that’s who I blamed. But let me tell you, whether you blame yourself or someone else, it’s not gonna make it any easier for you.”
Of all the things she expected Bronwyn to do, lean into her and rest her head on her shoulder as she unleashed a deluge of tears was not one of them. How desperate, how broken she had to have been, to find herself in such a vulnerable position with one of Galeyn’s most controversial and polarizing people. I’ve hurt the same way, though. And she must know that. “It’s got nothing to do with your capability. Not about what you can or can’t do. Look, I know you wanna take this personally. I know I sure as hell did… but this was just Hadwin protecting you. From having to choose between him and Rowen, from getting too involved and having it end poorly. He’d planned to do this alone from the moment he planned it, so… you’ve gotta look at the bigger picture, here. Look at who he saved. All the people he saved. And…” She looked over her shoulder, at the unconscious faoladh on the cot. He was clothed, now, and his breathing appeared steadier. Far more stable than before, and… serene, somehow. “He’s gonna be fine. So save your energy from all this crying, because when he wakes up, someone’s gonna have to bitch him out for being reckless as fuck, and it sure as hell won’t be Teselin over there.” She nodded to the young summoner, and winked. “She’s too kind-hearted. And there’s nothing like a tongue-lashing from a big sister.”
Bronwyn had a lot of frustration to get out by way of tears, and Nia didn’t interrupt her; she let her do it, and for whatever reason the faoladh woman needed it, sat as that pillar of support until her tears ran out. Sometimes, people just needed a good cry; Ari had been the first person to let her cry on a shoulder in a long, long time. And she’d definitely felt better about whatever was bringing her down, ever since. Only when Hadwin’s eldest sister had finally cried herself all out of steam did Nia finally shift on the cot and beckon Elespeth over. Even through her frustrations, any idiot could see that ever since Browyn had breached her fear of erratic magic, she was closer to Elespeth than perhaps any other person who wasn’t family, and the former knight wanted to be there for her as a friend. Elespeth did not hesitate to take Nia’s place at Bronwyn’s side and slide a supportive arm around her friend, but crinkled her brow in confusion when Bronwyn made her way to the door. “Where are you going?”
Nia didn’t miss a beat. “To counsel a queen who has no idea what she is doing before she runs herself into the ground. There are worse things for her right now than being seen in the presence of someone who Rowen made all the more controversial.”
“Wait… Nia.” Before the Ardane alchemist could leave, Elespeth reached out with a free hand. Her face, which was usually reserved for resentment in Nia’s presence, was instead lined with what could have been… concern? “Two people are dead because Locque refused to deal with Rowen when it might have still been possible to prevent further tragedy. This is not sitting well with the kingdom… there is no telling how things are going to proceed, going forward, now, but it isn’t looking good for her.”
“Yeah, no shit. This is why I’ve gotta fix things before they--”
“What if they can’t be fixed? Nia… all you’ve wanted since you came here is acceptance. A place to call a home. And, contrary to what you believe, we accept you.” Elespeth couldn’t believe those words were coming out of her mouth… but they had to be said. Someone had to say them out loud, or the Master Alchemist might never get the picture. “We… hells, we trust you. But, Nia, if you continue to run to the wrong side… to the wrong person,” she paused to allow time for what she was insinuating to sink it. “Then we cannot guarantee your protection, if things do not work out the way you hoped.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing I don’t need your protection.” Nia replied, with an air of affront. This was not a conversation she was willing to have right now, when the world could very well start falling apart in front of her. “Please trust that I’m trying to work things out for all of us, Elespeth. There are no ‘sides’, here. At least, not from my perspective. Feel free to follow if you’re so beholden to your Commander, big guy.” She said to the Forbanne soldier as she opened the door. “But I’m gonna be of better use at the palace than I will be here.”
Although Nia didn’t realize it at the time, she had been right to assume that the world as far as Galeyn was concerned was going to fall apart as far as Galeyn was concerned. The summoner queen could not be found that evening, following her visitations with both Haraldur and Lilica. She wanted to be alone, and when she wanted to be alone, she made sure that she was untraceable to anyone seeking her… and this did not bode well. Nia spent the entirety of that evening, and up until morning, looking for the woman whose reign was crumbing at her very feet, but when at last dawn peaked over the horizon, she decided it was time to give up, and to get some shut-eye before the funeral rites for both Breane, Osric, and Rowen were to take place.
After much deliberation and empathy on the part of Senyiah and the other Gardeners, it was decided that Rowen, now free from the curse of her sight, would be sent off along with her young and old victims. It occurred to both Senyiah and Haraldur that this is what Breane would have wanted for the youngest faoladh, because Breane had seen her as a victim of her own circumstances, as opposed to a cold-hearted and remorseless killer. Of course, this did not sit well with the majority of the kingdom who had suffered at the hands of Rowen Kavanagh, and as a result, this funeral was not nearly as well attended as that of Naimah’s and the other victims from months ago. The majority of attendees at that gathered before the three bodies (Rowen’s covered with a decorative sheet, for not even magic could make her look whole again) were burned to have their ashes returned to the ever-giving earth were Gardeners, Osric’s family and friends, and those who had once been acquainted with Breane’s family. Nonetheless, the small ceremony was kept sacred, and even if all of the tears spilled were not for Rowen, but for young Breane and Osric, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that all spirits were finally at rest.
Haraldur attended that morning, along with Teselin and Bronwyn, who accompanied a very weak (albeit conscious) Hadwin in his wheeled chair, unable to walk on his own at this stage of his recovery. And, although she did not make herself seen, but kept herself hidden beneath baggy clothes and a hood, lest she be chased away by angry onlookers, Nia watched the flames lick the sky after Senyiah’s final words for the departed souls. And she wept, just as thoroughly as Teselin and Osric’s family. She wept for the fallen inkeep and the young Gardener, and part of her even wept for Rowen, whom a part of her, however small, had wanted to see succeed under the Night Garden’s care. The Master Alchemist needed this closure…even if Locque, evidently, had not seen fit to attend.
This did not surpass the attention of the other attendees. And it was only a matter of time before, toward the end of the ceremony, someone glimpsed at the face of the woman beneath the hood, and recognized her as Nia. “You have the gall to show up here, today… when your Lady did not.” A man commented, his voice full of disdain. Suddenly, all eyes were on the Master Alchemist. “To think you would show your face, here, after all that has happened.”
“What is she doing here? How dare she… how dare you!” Osric’s wife shouted at Nia, weeping as she held her older son close. “Is it not enough that he is dead because of you? You have no right to be here! You,” she turned her teary-eyed gaze to Haraldur, who stood without his wife, as he’d instructed them to relocate and keep safe on his suspicions that something terrible was about to happen. “Aren’t you in charge of keeping us all safe? Get her out of here; her ties to Locque are a danger to all of us!”
“No--no, you’re wrong.” Since there was no more use hiding, Nia lowered her hood and put her hands up to try and calm the small crowd before Osric’s family could stir them all into volatile dissent. “Believe what you want, but I’m here crying over the same thing the rest of you are. Osric was… he was important to me. Even if the feeling wasn’t mutual.” The Master Alchemist ran a hand beneath her bloodshot eyes to rid herself of the evidence of her tears. “I need the closure as much as you do.”
“Then why don’t you tell your witch to protect the people she wants to rule!” Osric’s son snapped; he looked as though he wanted to do more than yell at the Master Alchemist. “If you will now sway Locque to do what is right… if we must continue to take our safety into our own hands, then you have no business being here!”
“I get it! I do… and I am going to bring this up. I’m going to make her work this out. I just…” Nia hesitated to declare she could not find the summoner queen, for that would not look good at all on her part. They already suspected she lacked control over the situation and lacked sway over Locque, because she couldn’t even fucking find her…
Well, that last thought changed very quickly, when the summoner queen finally made herself known. Everyone drew in a quick, sharp breath, Nia included, when Locque materialized before the two burning bodies. Her face was expressionless, yet all the same… it was unsettling. Even Nia had a bad feeling. How long had she been there, unseen? So many had requested and suggested she attend this ceremony… why did she hide, when it would have looked good on her to pay her respects to the fallen? The Master Alchemist jumped in before anyone could break the silence with the wrong words. “You’re here!” The false cheer she injected into her voice was too obvious to fool anyone, she knew. “I wondered if--”
“Tell me the truth. Would it have mattered if you saw my presence here, today? If I told you I have done what I can to protect you? Would you believe me if I said that, from this day forward, there would be no more unnecessary death?” Locque’s voice was impassive, but there was an underlying current of foreboding. “Tell me. Is there any point in trying?”
“Your Majesty. I cannot speak on behalf of all of the people of Galeyn… but many are concerned that you have not made a solid effort to keep them safe, like you’d promised. That you favour the lives of those who directly served you, regardless of what they do to harm innocent people.” It was Senyiah who spoke up, stepping through the crowd to speak her mind, and what was on the mind of every Galeynian (and D’Marian) in the kingdom. “Their concern--no, our concern is that you have broken your promise before. The evidence is here, burning as we speak.” She gestured to the two bodies. “What reassurance do we have now, if you make that promise all over again? Rowen Kavanagh is gone, but what of the next threat that comes our way? What, Your Majesty… will you do for your kingdom?”
All of the colour drained from Nia’s face, and she stared at Senyiah with wide eyes. “Stop.” She hissed in a sharp whisper. “You’re not helping…” Did the Head Gardener realize what her words would do to an already irate Locque?
It didn’t matter: it was already too late. “It does not matter what I do or do not do. You won’t have me; you would never have me. This kingdom, my home… it would never have me, would it?” For the first time, a flicker of emotion… no, something more serious glimmered in the summoner queen’s brown eyes. Something dangerous.
Teselin, who stood at Hadwin’s side, felt it before anyone else did. “Your Majesty Locque--I can help you! Like I began to help Rowen… we can work toward the Night Garden recognizing you again. Accepting you. I’m offering my help, won’t you take it?”
“There is nothing the Night Garden can do for me. I tire of its rejection… and everyone else’s.” Her eyes scanned the crowd one more time, before she turned away… and vanished.
And that was when the early dawn light dissipated, and the sky went very, very dark.
For those who dreaded the coming of morning, the preceding hours before dawn dragged and scuffed their feet against the starry sky, trudging along like petulant children who refused to sleep. So was the mood shared by people like Haraldur, Chara, and Alster, who, too, clung to the night and coped by shirking sleep, or embracing sleep—and preparing for calamity.
Placated by the strategic relocation of Vega and his children—and accompanied by the most formidable Forbanne soldiers—Haraldur, who hadn’t received adequate rest in over forty-eight hours, abandoned the concept altogether as he flung himself into security protocol, including providing an escort service to those who wished to attend the triad of funerals, which mostly extended to Osric’s family and friends of Breane’s family.
As for Rowen’s family…
Hadwin awakened early that morning, half-cognizant and too dazed from weakness to understand what was going on. Bronwyn and Teselin, who never left the sanctuary, deemed his confusion a blessing in disguise, for now, as he presented as more docile, obedient, and too numb to recall his hand in killing Rowen. When Bronwyn asked him if he wanted to attend their late sister’s funeral, he nodded, though by the glaze in his eyes, he did not quite know what he was agreeing to. Without complaint or outburst, he allowed his helpers to transfer him from the bed and into the wheeled contraption. Once secured, he slumped against the backrest, head lolled forward and his mouth hanging open, panting for breath.
In his condition, Bronwyn couldn’t even take Nia up on her advice and yell at him for his stupidity, or punch him in the face, or just ask—Why? Why would you ever do that to our sister? No one would ever ask you to do such a thing!
But they were matters for another day. Even if Hadwin were aware enough to explain his reasoning, today was not about evaluating the necessity behind his drive to kill their murder-hungry sister. Today was about reflection and forgiveness...if applicable. But surrounded as she was by friends and family of Rowen’s victims, she wasn’t sure she could find it in her heart to forgive the girl who caused so much pain and suffering and loss. Looking around at the small congregation, who gathered around the triple pyre of bodies inflamed in smoke, she didn’t know what to say, especially to Osric’s next of kin. I’m sorry my sister killed your father, your husband? No amount of eloquent or heartfelt apologies would suffice, not if they amounted to a slap in the face already stinging from the last slap.
So she stayed silent. In fact, most everyone did: Hadwin and Teselin and Haraldur, who, accompanied by an honor guard, had positioned himself near Breane, sonorous eyes wishing her one last goodbye. She also noticed Nia in the crowd, lingering on the outer fringes, hood drawn up, the flames capturing the shine of her tears. Although her body was tilted in favor of the burning innkeep, sometimes she peered across, at the decorative sheet beneath which rested Rowen’s corpse, and shed some tears in that wayward direction—and it stymied Bronwyn, to the point where she had to blink to verify its reality. Why cry for her? She hurt you so much. Hurt all of us. I won’t do it. I won’t shed tears for her. Last night was for Hadwin. For me. For her death. But not for her. She gets no more of my grief. Not for everything she put me through.
Did that make Bronwyn a bad person?
But her self-analysis was cut short by a disturbance that kicked up like sand in a windstorm after so much calm and stillness. Osric’s family, who detected an unwanted guest in Nia, turned on her and yelled their outrage, just as the last of the pyre’s flames dwindled down to smoldering embers and soot.
“This is a funeral service, a sacred rite welcome to everyone who honors the dead, heedless of who they are,” Haraldur stepped in between the family and Nia, interceding before a full-blown altercation could arise, his tone authoritative but also empathetic. “The woman responsible for your husband’s death burns on the pyre,” he said to the grieving widow. “I arranged to have her there, in between the people she’s killed. She burns alongside the innocent. Because when you’re dead, you burn the same. Good or bad, it’s all the same.” He gestured to Nia. “And right now, we are all made the same in our grief. We are all here because we feel loss. This is a protected space for anyone who wants to pay their respects. You may settle your disputes later, but they are not to be done here.”
But no one was listening. The two parties, undeterred, resolved to argue around him, and as he sighed, in no mood to partake or to drag away hysterical family members by force, another presence imposed itself on the small gathering. Locque. Haraldur frowned at the summoner queen, a front to hide his trepidation, the discomfort of his old wrist injury, throbbing and pulsing like a sick heartbeat, portending disaster. Like Nia, he wondered; how long had she been standing there, vanished from view? And would she have deigned to materialize and show her solidarity among her fellow Galeynians, if not for the rising dispute between Osric’s family and her former advisor?
While Haraldur elected to say nothing on the subject, having said his peace and having moved on to the next phase since last night, that didn’t stop Senyiah from speaking out against their would-be queen. But the criticisms were too much for her to take, and she broke upon its surface like a million obsidian shards. But obsidian shards were mirrors into the darkness. And possessed a million wicked edges.
It didn’t matter. Now or later, Locque was always going to unravel because she couldn’t handle the demands of the position, nor the demands of the people calling for change and reform. He gave Nia a pointed look, tired of the constant tiptoeing around this woman’s volatile feelings. They catered to her whims for too long, now, and if Nia didn’t see that by now, there was no reasoning with her. Still, he gave one half-hearted attempt. “And you can’t help, either,” he said to the Master Alchemist in a tense whisper. “It’s over. Focus on who you can help.” Us.
Of course, there was one other person in the crowd who didn’t deem it as over. Idealistic-to-a-fault Teselin offered her ever-naive perspective, and services, and the inane prospect startled Hadwin out of his half-fugue long enough to grab her arm with all his failing strength reserves and growl, “Don’t you fucking dare.”
And then, Locque blinked out of existence. And then, the sun disappeared from the sky.
And then…
A shadow overtook the world.
“What’s...what’s happening?!” A Galeynian woman screamed, stumbling around in the darkness to get far, far away, but falling to the ground on trembling legs.
“Stop!” Haraldur barked, establishing order as best as he could manage. His honor guard fanned into formation, ready to face whatever threats popped their way out of the darkness. “I need everyone to stay calm and to stay close. Spread out and I can’t guarantee your safety. First, we need some light.”
As if on cue, the Garden’s host of bioluminescent mushrooms, tricked into believing it was night, sprouted from the ground and flaunted their pale cobalt-blue glow across the Night Garden, illuminating the pathways in faint outlines. A small comfort, considering the reality of their new, eclipsed landscape, but it was something to work with, and anything was preferable to nothing.
But Bronwyn didn’t think so.
Paralyzed by fear, she stood, forgetting to breathe. Apelrade. She couldn’t relive another apocalypse. Not like Apelrade. Again, she was forced to pose dreadful questions to herself. How was she most likely to die? What would swallow them first? The sky or the ground? For now, the earth was firm, stable, but Locque was a summoner and with her unlimited potential, couldn’t she liquefy the ground and bury them all alive? Frantically, she searched for an exit. For a Night steed. She could spur it forward, gallop far far away, out of Galeyn, bursting free of the black bubble, never to look back and...
But Hadwin, who lived hell every minute of his life vis a vis his fears and the fears of others, stared heavenwards, breaking into a mad, fatalistic grin. “And the sky comes tumbling down again.”
And Bronwyn couldn’t leave. Couldn’t leave him. In his condition, he wouldn’t make it on a horse, let alone survive hard travel. Nor could they flee when he required the life-saving serums from Isidor to regulate his body. No, they were stuck in their predicament, stuck, again, in a hellscape from which there was no exit. So against her better instincts, she planted her feet into the ground, sawed her bottom lip until it bled, and waited for a strategy. A plan.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much a Forbanne Commander and his soldiers, who addressed enemies of the flesh, could do against a mysterious, magical layer of darkness other than calm and assure the crowd. The ambient light produced by the Night Garden prevented their surroundings from turning pitch black, but provided no clarification, no elucidation, as to what to do next. Even Haraldur was uncertain of the path to take. The palace offered cover, light sources, and a physical barrier concealing the settling sky overhead, but the Night Garden also offered healing and death prevention if anyone sustained a life-threatening injury on the premises. Ultimately deciding on the former option, Haraldur gathered the people and beckoned them to follow him into the palace, where at least, there was no exposure to the frightening unknown parading before everyone’s limited scope of vision.
While Haraldur busied himself ushering people inside the palace and giving them temporary sanctuary within the always-vacant banquet hall, Alster, accompanied by Elespeth and Chara, hurried around the corner, requesting information on what, exactly, had happened during the funeral.
“I don’t know what she did,” Haraldur admitted, after ushering the last terrified Galeynian into the hall and sending in soldiers to establish order. He closed the door to the banquet hall and addressed the trio. “One moment Locque was here, the next, she wasn’t, and then the sky turned black. Whatever’s going on, it’s bad. Really bad. She gave up on protecting anyone in this kingdom because she’s sore about no one liking her,” he snorted, a humorless interjection that, funnily enough, was the closest thing to approaching humor. “Everyone’s safety is in jeopardy. We have to shelter the people. It’s too late to start a large-scale operation. We’d have no time. But we can start by getting people off the streets. Anyone within proximity of the palace needs to be relocated here.”
“I’ll inform Lilica straight away. We’ll do what we can.” Chara picked up her skirts and broke into a dead run down the hallway.
Alster, in swift response to the news, whipped out his resonance stone and contacted Ari on the other side, who responded in moments. “Evacuate the D’Marians. Immediately. To the tunnels. We have a dire situation outside. It’s Locque. Be prepared for anything and everything.”
The voice on the other side confirmed the evacuation was currently underway and that he was in the midst of conveying all D’Marians safely underground. He mumbled something else into the stone, to which Alster replied in the affirmative. He turned towards Nia, who seemed about to wander off from the group at any moment, and plopped the stone into her hand. “He wants to talk to you.”
The second the stone transferred hands, Ari wasted no time. “Nia. Listen,” his voice was composed, yet at the same time, fraying. “Find a place where you will be safe, and stay there. Locque is not your priority; she has abandoned her people and her alliances. Worry for yourself, do you understand? We must survive this. All of us. You and I. There are fireflies you have yet to show me. I am holding you to your promise.” Then, in a quieter, lower tone, a whisper almost lost to the crackle of the stone’s faraway, underwater sound, he said, “I love you.” And then nothing.
No sooner had the resonance stone gone silent than an enormous tremor erupted, rocking the walls and floors of the palace. A nearby crash of mortar, a crumbling of stone. Everyone among the group who experienced the Serpent’s rampage on Stella D’Mare went eerily still, eyes going wide, the similarities too telling to ignore.
Haraldur froze. “That can’t be…”
Another crash. Another powerful tremor. Chunks of plaster crumbled down from the ceiling.
“It’s coming from the observatory!” A Forbanne soldier ran to join his commander after having rushed in from outside. “It’s being assaulted by...something. It’s too dark to see, but it’s raining masonry out there!”
It was all the motivation needed for Haraldur, Alster, and Elespeth to act. Immediately, they were outside, glancing up at the thick soup of the sky in the direction of the observatory tower.
Alster conjured a ball of etherea in his hand and released it overhead, casting a celestial spotlight upon the tower. Half of the edifice was gone, blasted off the structure like a powerful stroke of lightning, but nothing, save for the damage, was accounted for from their vantage point.
“It’s not there anymore.” Alster tensed his fingers, searching the area with his floating ball, but it yielded no discoveries.
“Wait…’It’?” Haraldur didn’t like the sound of Alster’s vague analysis, and the Rigas caster, motivated into taking action, hurriedly explained the situation.
“I sense them. Coming from up there.” He shifted the light, diffusing it against the backdrop of inky sky. Where the sun once shone that morning, a narrow split, like popped stitches on a black-silk garment, revealed a darker than dark chasm. An unsightly tear...and it was widening. “Creatures like the Serpent, they’re here. They can’t be seen but I feel them. They...they feed on the darkness and move freely in it.” He faced his wife and his comrade, his expression wrinkled and grave...and determined. “We have to keep this area well-lit! It’s our best deterrent against the unseen.” To speed along the process, Alster threw his signature blue fire at every unlit sconce and lamp in his path. He decorated the rooftops with witchlights, and kept the fiery ball of etherea circling the perimeter of the palace like a free-moving sentinel of the sun, making its patrol.
“I can’t stay here. I have to go before they spread out and attack less protected places.” He closed his eyes, closing a hand over his chest. Their emotions overwhelmed him. As someone no longer considered fully human, having since assimilated with the Serpent, his frequencies sang on a similar level and resonated with other-dimensional beasts to the point where it ached. “They’re angry. They’re confused. I can send them home, like I did for the Serpent. I can close the rift.” When he opened his eyes, he landed a gentle kiss on Elespeth’s mouth, smiling sadly. “This is something I’m more than capable of handling. It’s as you said before, El. This is what my magic is needed for. To protect this kingdom. To protect us from Locque. I’ve been preparing for this day for months.” He retreated a step. “Stay here. Help Haraldur. Help the Galeynians. If you encounter one of the unseen, your lightning magic will ward them away. I’ll see you later.” And, just like Locque, he blinked out of their realm, vanishing into the ether.
Nia didn’t hesitate to follow Haraldur to the palace, ushering people inside and convincing others to return to their homes immediately. Sadly, neither Osric nor Rowen got the funeral they deserved--but there was no time to mourn that now. It came as no surprise that Alster, Elespeth, and Chara Rigas met them at the doors, already well aware that something was far from ‘right’ when the sky went dark again as soon as the sun had risen. Alster had a resonance stone in hand, speaking urgent words to someone, when suddenly he thrust the stone in her direction. She took it in her fumbling hands; it was Ari. But… “Ari… how did you know I am here with Alster?” A stupid and unimportant question, given the current events, and not one that Ari had time to answer. He said his peace, and without waiting for her to respond… was gone. “Ari? Ari… you had better be somewhere safe!” She shouted at the stone, tears pricking her eyes. “You had better survive this. You promised me a future… I’m going to keep that promise, too.”
Nia didn't even think to hand the resonance stone back to Alster, and without another word, she set off. Perhaps Ari was right: maybe there was no going back for Locque, now. Not in terms of her ever ruling Galeyn peacefully. But the dangerous summoner listened to her… and no one else was capable of getting through to her. If only she could find her, then maybe, maybe she could mitigate the damage.
She had to believe it was worth the try.
Meanwhile, as Nia took off, so too did Alster, before Elespteh had a fraction of a chance to voice her concern. Of course she was wholeheartedly against anything that would put her husband in danger, but… there was also no denying that he was more capable than anyone else when it came to dealing with beasts of other dimensions. However, the last time, he had needed her help. Was he really so confident that he could deal with this rift, these creatures, all by himself?
With she and Haraldur left standing alone beyond the palace gates, Elespeth looked to the Forbanne Commander. “Normally I would suggest we all stick together… but there are too many people, in too many places, to return to safety. I’ll see what I can do inside and around the perimeter. Haraldur--please take care.”
And with that, Haraldur was left alone to command the soldiers who approached him for orders, and to inform those who had yet to return to their homes to arm themselves with a light source to keep them safe. But as he turned a corner, just a few yards beyond the palace, the next familiar figure he faced was not that of his frantic allies or his stalwart soldiers. Haraldur came face to face with none other than his very own cousin, Sigrid Sorenson. Former Dawn Warrior… and current puppet of the witch. The tall blonde did not sport any armor, but a sword--the sword--was strapped across her back. Her blue eyes, visible in the light of surrounding people and their torches and witchlights, were at once vacant, and determined.
“I have orders to see to it that you are exterminated.” Those were the only words from her lips before, without any hesitation, she drew Gaolithe from its sheath.
Lilica had not attended the funerals that morning, and not out of disrespect for the fallen, but for fear of what was going to happen next. Galeynians had died: so had their killer, and yet… she knew this was not the end of the danger. After all, Rowen Kavanagh had not been the isolated cause for all of the loss Galeyn had experienced. She had simply been a symptom of something far more dangerous, and the real danger had yet to be dealt with: she needed to be available and prepared for when it did happen.
Word had it that Locque, following Rowen’s death, had vanished, and there was no finding her when she did not want to be found. Several cursory trips around the palace, not leaving a single room unchecked, confirmed this… and then, as if to emphasize why the summoner queen’s absence was going to be such a problem, the sunlight beyond was suddenly swallowed by pitch darkness. It wasn’t even comparable to night: in the late evening hours, the sky was illuminated with moonlight and speckled with stars. But this, what hovered about the kingdom of Galeyn, was nothingness. And there were only two people to Lilica’s knowledge who were capable of this.
This did not look like the work of Teselin's errant magic. Her destructive magic was more direct, and somehow, less foreboding. This… all of this reeked of Locque. Something must have snapped in the witch at Rowen’s death, and she had finally given up on trying to fit the mould of a ruler that Galeyn needed. These were her true colours, which the kingdom had suspected all along. An event that had been imminent from the very start. It had only been a matter of time before this kingdom would suffer the wrath of a vengeful once again. This… this was why Lilica’s father had made the call to send the kingdom to sleep for a hundred years. To make it disappear from view. Contrary to her previous sentiments toward the lost Galeynian king, Theomyr Tenebris had not been a coward: he had recognized that he was out of options, and that the kingdom did not have what was necessary to oppose the angry summoner, who had been exiled from her own home centuries ago. His spell, the child he bore, and his imminent disappearance had all been a final act of love and hope for the home (and family) that he would never see again.
But that was then; this was now. Back then, Galeyn had not had Chara or Vega Sorde, whose diplomatic and organization skills combined could convince the people where they needed to go and why. They had not had the muscle and capability of the magic-resilient Forbanne soldiers and their stalwart Commander. They had not had Teselin, or Alster, two very powerful beings who, if they so chose, could be forces to be reckoned with. They had not had Lilica.
This time would be different. And if it was the last thing she ever did… Lilica Tenebris, rightful heir to the Galeynian throne, would not let this kingdom fall again.
“Locque!” Having long since lost her patience, Lilica shouted the vengeful summoner’s name as she moved through the palace. Just because she could not be seen did not mean she did not see and hear all. She could manifest anywhere, at any time, should she so desire. “Where are you? We need to talk… Locque!”
She did not find the summoner queen. However, she did find Chara, who took her by the arms and provided a quick explanation with regard to the darkness that had suddenly enveloped the entire kingdom. Lilica did not require reassurance that this was due to Locque. “Where is she?” She demanded, her dark eyes frantic. “You say she attended the funerals… Where is she now? Do we know what’s going on?”
Before Chara had a chance to answer, a tremor wracked the palace, shaking it from its very core. Debris tumbled from parts of the ceiling… as if part of the dwelling, the topmost room, had been ripped away. The proud blonde hardly had the time to relay what she had heard from Haraldur. It came as no surprise: the summoner queen had had enough. And as a result, she had given up on the kingdom that she had gone to such lengths to claim for her own. Sitting and waiting for an opportune moment to overthrow the summoner was over: it was time to act now. “...no. I won’t let her destroy this kingdom out of spite. I’m going to find her. Chara,” she took the Rigas mage’s hands. Her own were already trembling. “I need you to round up the palace occupants and lead them below ground. The Forbanne and the Dawn Guard will take care of the denizens beyond. I won’t let this kingdom see any more casualties as a result of that witch. We will reunite later.”
Lilica did not tell Chara what she planned to do next. The idea had come to her in a fraction of a second, and admittedly, she had not thought it through very thoroughly. But if she knew anything, she knew that, as things were, as she was, there would be no defeating Locque. No taking her down for good. But maybe… maybe, she could change that. And in order to do so, she first needed to find another summoner.
The world beyond the palace was pitch dark, and there would be no finding her way to the Night Garden without a light source. Lilica reached for a wall torch that gave off ethereal witchlight, powered by the leylines beneath the soil of the kingdom, and was about to make for the darkness beyond when a hand on her shoulder drew her back. “Lilica!” It was Elespeth, whose eyes were bright and frantic amid the chaos. “You have to stay inside; we don’t know what’s out there. Something… something tore the entire observatory off the top of the palace. We can’t see them, but Alster suspects they thrive on darkness and are repelled by light. Alster has set out to deal with it, and if anyone can close it, it is him, but right now we are far from safe outside. If you go out there--”
“I have light.” The Galeynian queen nodded to the torch in her hand. “I will not see my kingdom fall, Elespeth. But thank you for your concern.”
Holding her torch high, Lilica felt the atmosphere change as soon as she stepped outside. The former knight had not been wrong: beyond the darkness, the peoples’ panic, and soldiers running to and fro to ascertain the safety of as many citizens as possible, something distinctly alien lurked beyond. Sounds and feelings she could not identify, but one glance at that suspicious, ever growing ‘tear’ in the dark sky provided her the answer. Locque, in her rage, had opened something that not only wouldn’t close on its own… but appeared to be growing. She hoped that Elespeth was right, and that Alster had what it took to deal with it. The rift in the air was merely a symptom of something--of someone--much more dangerous. If they did not take out Locque now, then there was nothing preventing crises such as this from happening again and again.
Lilica found Teselin, along with Bronwyn and a barely conscious Hadwin, taking shelter in the sanctuary. The rest of the Gardeners had returned to their homes or barracks to remove themselves from immediate danger. Fortunately, every home she’d passed, beyond the Night Garden, looked as though it was illuminated from the inside. “Queen Lilica… what are you doing here?” The young summoner sprung up from Hadwin’s bedside, her eyes wide with concern. “You shouldn’t be outside at all. There are… there are these things… I can’t see them, but I can hear them. They are everywhere…”
“According to Alster, they cannot tolerate the light. You’re safe near illumination.” The Galeynian queen reassured her, and reached out with her hand. “Teselin… I’m afraid I have a great favour to ask of you. One that you might not want to agree to, but please hear me out.” Lilica glanced in Hadwin’s direction, as he seemed to perk up ever so slightly at someone requesting the young summoner’s services. “Please rest assured--I don’t intend to put her in any danger. She will not be far, and she will remain safe. We will take ample light. Teselin,” she returned her gaze to the worried young girl. “I know you have harboured hope for Locque in the past. But this… this has gone too far, and she must be stopped. I may have a means of stopping her, but I can’t do it without your help. Alster might be the only alternative, but…” She looked over her shoulder at the ominous sky beyond the horizon. “He is dealing with the rift in the sky. Please, will you come with me? At least hear me out. I would never make you do something that you thoroughly oppose, but I hope you’ll at least consider it.”
“I…” The young summoner looked over her shoulder at Bronwyn, and at Hadwin. Hadwin would be safe with his sister; and the eldest faoladh would remain safe for as long as she steered clear of whatever was going on beyond the well-lit sanctuary (and, knowing her fear of magic, Teselin could rest assured Bronwyn would not leave). “...I’ll be back, I promise. I trust Lilica to keep us safe.”
Reaching for one of the sanctuary’s wall sconces, she followed Lilica outside, just a little ways beyond the door. The Night Garden’s bioluminescence as a response to the sudden darkness had, it seemed, kept it relatively safe from the invisible creatures wreaking havoc on the rest of the kingdom. Nothing was destroyed or uprooted or out of sorts: it was possibly the safest place to stand without a light source, but neither one of the women was going to take that chance. “Teselin, I want you to tell me honestly… can you feel it? The darkness in me?” The Galeynian queen gently took the summoner’s hand and pressed it to her chest, over her heart. “The Night Garden purged it from the forefront of my existence--that much I am sure of, but… it is still there. It has to be, because there is no light without darkness. None of us could exist without embodying it in some way. It no longer stands at the forefront of my existence, but it is there. And… and I need someone who is capable of bringing it out again.”
“Queen Lilica, I…” Teselin stared at the tips of her boots. “It’s there. It’s buried, but I can feel it. And I think I could reach it, but Lilica… what would that mean for you?” She looked up and locked eyes with the dark mage. “I still cannot control my magic. I don’t know if I’d be able to bring you back to where you are now…”
“Don’t be concerned with that. My darkness was pushed aside before; it could happen again. But this is a risk that I must take. So…” She dropped her arms to her sides. “Will you help me, Teselin?”
With everyone going their separate ways to cover more ground or to offer up their specific skill-sets, Haraldur fell into familiar rhythms, familiar patterns, an uncomplicated feat for a soldier who never stopped being a soldier. Even when he acquired princely titles, fatherhood, and a sniff of a possibility as a Gardener—which fell to the wayside with Breane’s death—he could easily forget everything in favor of a single-minded duty. A mission. Kill. Defend. Take charge. To partition the man from the soldier was like toggling a switch in his brain. On or off. A scary observation, but Forbanne were never truly unmade. They just went dormant until something awoke them. And he was awake. The sky was falling, literally, littering the landscape with unseen beasts, but nothing changed from his normal functions. And he would keep telling himself that; nothing differed. Focus on safety, on efficiency, and banish all other worrisome thoughts. They didn’t serve him in the heat of battle. Not Vega, or his children; he trusted they were safe because to consider the opposite was to impale himself in the chest and fall before the enemy could strike him first. And he could not wrest in defeat.
Sometime during the process of mobilizing troops to the surrounding villages to supply everyone with adequate light sources—lanterns, torches, candles, bonfires on every corner—Haraldur found himself alone under the permanent vastness of the night sky. With all other soldiers in the area otherwise occupied, he stood by the outer palace wall, supervising from afar. Since taking Alster’s precautionary measures, no unprecedented attacks befell the palace and its surrounding pockets of civilization, but despite their small successes, Haraldur kept one ear perked for any aberrations in the night before his next planned course of action. Perhaps he would regroup with the unit heading southbound. As a commander, it wasn’t wise to be stranded from his command for any stretch of time, especially at such a critical period of kingdom-wide disorder and anarchy.
His decision made, he stepped away from the wall, en route to the south...
But he stopped short. He found an aberration—and not the one he expected.
“Sigrid.” As always, Haraldur welcomed every morning, including this one (before it sank and collapsed), wearing full leather armor, his sword, and a cadre of other weapons, another stubborn holdover from his Forbanne days. No matter the scenario, be it a light jaunt outside or an off-duty day exploring the Night Garden, he never ventured from his chambers sans armor and weapons. And now, that precaution might come to save his life. Or, at the very least, buy him some time. Some protection.
For Locque to send Sigrid especially after him...he must have made one hell of a bad impression, to reach the near top of her list of vendettas. And to choose to approach him now, free of the Night Garden’s death-resistant energies, was nothing short of planned. Premeditated.
There would be no talking between them. No pleas, no appeals, no reason. He didn’t need a light source to sense the imperviousness in her muted, dead blue eyes. He wasn’t enough for her then, before falling to Locque’s thrall, and he certainly wouldn’t be enough now.
He never was.
His sword slid out of its sheath, an equal match to the speed and efficiency in which Sigrid drew Gaolithe. But their battle would be anything but equal, for he had no intention of killing her—and she did. The second Gaolithe made contact with his skin, it was all over. Dead, in moments. To survive, he needed to meet a few goals: to deter her from sliding forward, into striking distance. To find Forbanne archers or lancers to surround and immobilize her. And to funnel the fight into the Night Garden.
“Very well,” he said to his puppet of a cousin. “But I won’t make it easy for you.” A sharp, shrill whistle sounded from his lips, revealing his position to any available Forbanne in his general vicinity. And then...he ran. In the direction of the Night Garden.
Meanwhile, at the D’Marian settlement, the bells sounded in the village square, impelling everyone to file out of their homes and relocate to the tunnels.
The Canaveris tunnels, an underground marvel functioning as both a clandestine transportation network and a second, auxiliary city, had three entry points on the surface level: one near the docks of the lake, one in the crag of a mountain outside of town, and one under the floorboards of the Canaveris villa ballroom. To account for the scale of the operation, the settlement was designated into three sections based on proximity to the closest entry point. With Lazarus assisting at the docks and other family members stationed near the crags, Ari and Nadira remained at the villa to escort their group into the subterranean bunkers. Not long after Alster confirmed Locque’s black sky as an act of reckoning, the crowd was beginning to whittle, trickling down to small families and stragglers.
Ari turned to the last man in the room, an elderly gentleman stooped and struggling to balance on his cane. “My good sir, please allow me to assist you. The way down is quite steep.”
“No such need, Ari. Allow me to do the honors,” Nadira said, linking arms with the man and spreading on a smile, laying on the charm and panache that her son inherited. “It would be my pleasure to deliver your silver-haired grace to the bottom of this stairwell. In fact, it may be you who will deliver me. My legs are not so spry; not since the springtide days of my youth.”
“Oh, well in that case…” The man, well-known among the settlement for his difficult and cantankerous demeanor, melted like butter in front of Nadira, taken by her flattery. Gone was the stubborn and uncompromising wrinkle in his brow. He complied, readily. “I’ll lead you down then, my Lady. Follow my step.”
The two of them disappeared into the cellar, leaving Ari alone in the expansive ballroom. Before brimming with activity, of anxious faces, broken spirits, and hysterical persons, it now sat empty, abandoned but for one other undeniable presence.
“Casimiro,” Ari faced the marble statue of his late brother, its stern expression immortalized into ethereal-white relief. Even in the smothering darkness, it glowed, an incorruptible beacon of seashell white. “Pray this does not end like Stella D’Mare. Pray we find an absolution. We must live on. Lend me your strength.”
I must live on. Nia must live on. For our future.
The thought had little time to breathe when a terrible tremor rocked the walls, sending the lighted chandelier overhead into a high-tingling clatter, like chattering teeth during midwinter frost. An impossible darkness encroached, bleeding through the room as the tremors escalated. The bioluminescent crystals illuminating the vast chamber all winked and died. Then...silence.
Ari withdrew from the statue, stumbling and startled, but his actions were too delayed. Too sluggish.
The world around him exploded.
When he came around, it was to an acute ringing in his ears. He heard nothing else and saw nothing else. The vastness of space took hostage over his vision, transmitting nothingness into his eyes. No light was reaching. Were they open or closed?
An uncomfortable pressure closed over his legs. The all-too-familiar tingle of a flare-up, spreading, far and fast. It brought him comfort. Wherever he was, he was still alive, but…
Thick, syrupy wetness soaked into his clothes. The warm ichor expanded in a race to overtake the wildfire swiftness of his limbs petrifying to stone. He tried to move, but something kept him pinned. He saw a flash of it in the impossible darkness. Ethereal white. Hunks of pulverized marble.
The buzzing of his ears quietened, supplanted by another noise, scritching and keening...centimeters from his face. Hot breath stirred the follicles of hair off his perspiring forehead. The clicking of teeth kept him company. The clicking of teeth and…
A low, unearthly rumble. It whirred and buzzed, like staccatoed cicadas facing electrocution. Ari might have been alive...but not for long.
His heart seized, squeezed, and grew heavy, sinking like a lodestone and weighing against his ribcage. The spike of his mortal fear vanished, giving way to...weariness. He was so tired. So impossibly sleepy.
I will not uphold my promise to you after all, Nia. There will be no fireflies for us to see.
There was only darkness, and the thing lurking inside of it.
“Hear me, lost one. You are far from home.”
Alster stepped through the darkness, his aura radiating chthonic energy. No speck of light existed for the Rigas mage, who shed his outer skin to reveal the Serpent aspect underneath. He was one with his surroundings, a king among lesser beings, the influence too tantalizing, too hypnotizing to ignore. The unseen creature skittered away from its quarry, attention on the curious hybrid, who straddled the planar and the interplanar and stank of the thing it hated most and the thing it cherished most.
Home.
“We can send you home.” Alster didn’t communicate with words, but ideas. Thoughts, pressed into the darkness and transmitted, as sure as light passed through a prism to display a full spectrum of form and hue, only this antithesis was detected by a denizen which understood how to navigate a universe absent of color. These thoughts had no voice, no sight, no body. Only energy, and that energy bounced, making the darkness shiver and twirl.
“Enter us,” The Alster-Serpent hybrid hummed, coaxing the void. “Pass through and assimilate. We are a portal. Beyond, your domain awaits.”
Energies this pure didn’t lie. The creature hid no deceptions, a distinctly human concept, and neither did the Alster-Serpent hybrid. Welcoming the opportunity, the creature whispered through the conductor’s mind, establishing a link, a connection, and, as soon as the two forces made contact, it vanished through the ether realms, to its home.
The chandelier flickered, the green and purple glow-stones reilluminating to their former glory. They cast a diffuse light over the ballroom, revealing a debris-strewn chamber of splintered furniture, dislodged paintings, a massive hole in the ceiling, and a half-blasted statue, tilted on its side. Beneath it, an unconscious figure lay, crushed under its bulk and soaked in blood.
“Ari! Ari!”
Alster, dazed, snapped out of his hybrid state, hurriedly donning the sheep’s clothing that concealed the wolf beneath. He turned to see Nadira emerge from the trapdoor, with Lazarus close behind. Too distressed by what she saw, the Canaveris matron rushed past Alster, not even registering his presence, and knelt to her son’s side, her panic as palpable and charged as the light-eating darkness that before encapsulated the room.
“Ari!” She laid her hands on the statue that pinned her son to the ground. Hairline cracks appeared on the marble and then crumbled to the sides in a miniature avalanche of rocks and pebbles. She cradled him in her arms, her frantic eyes assessing the damage, and for signs of life.
Alster swept through the small debris field and crouched over Ari, lowering a hand to his chest. At his approach, Nadira bristled, immediately on the defensive.
“What are you doing, Rigas?” She shouted, hand poised as though to slap him away from her son.
Alster closed his eyes, filtering away the barb-tipped suspicions lobbed at him by an understandably distressed mother. “Trying to save his life.”
As he plunged into concentration, the sounds of Nadira’s protestations ebbed from his cognizance, replaced with the languorous pump of a very sick and failing heartbeat—which was ever-so gradually hardening to stone.
“He’s alive,” Alster’s eyes fluttered open. “But...it’s his heart. It’s been compromised. If it encases completely over…” He bit his lip and met Nadira’s fierce eyes. “You’ll have to trust me.” Before he could obtain her approval or answer her sputtering questions demanding just what he intended to do, a shroud of chthonic magic erupted from the ground and enveloped the Canaveris Lord in a diaphanous cocoon.
“I’ve placed him in a stasis.” He sprang to his feet. “The stasis puts his body on pause, delaying the spread of the curse from overtaking his heart, and elsewhere.” He nodded to Ari’s legs, two monoliths of stone, from foot to femur. “But it won’t last. The curse resists my magic. I need to find Nia.”
“She’s at the palace,” Nadira said, suddenly cooperative. “Near the East Gate. I’ve marked her location with a pebble golem. Do hurry, Rigas!”
“Then that’s where I’ll look.” Alster raised his hands to split the air...and vanished.
He reappeared at the palace in a blink, searching for the Ardane alchemist. His wanderings didn’t take him far. Rounding the corner, he about collided into the very person he was most eager to find.
“Nia!” He grabbed her arms, anchoring her in place. “You have to come with me! It’s Ari!” The name pacified her into compliance and she ceased her mad dash to wherever she was going. “His heart is turning to stone. He’ll die if you don’t help him. We have to go, now!”
Granting her no time to process their method of travel, Alster’s hands tightened as the two plunged into oblivion, into a cold vacuum as unforgiving as a naked plunge into an ice bath. But the sensation didn’t last. In milliseconds, they reconstituted into existence, standing in the half-ruined ballroom where the half-ruined man received vigil from his disconsolate mother.
“Nia!” Nadira buried her bewilderment at the haste in which Alster plucked Nia from another point in space and shifted her into the room. Even if he had the time to explain, Alster would omit the disturbing detail that fast travel between realms and between two fixed radials along a plane was for him a fledgling ability—at least in terms of inviting a guest to tag along. He seldom relied on it because too many variables impinged on its reliability and safety. But Nia suffered no adverse effects, so nothing needn’t be said.
“His heart,” Nadira yanked the Master Alchemist out of Alster’s grip and pulled her into a kneel, forcing her to Ari’s level. “Unpetrify his heart. Please.” Tears gathered in the corners of her desperate, grief-stricken eyes. “He is my only son. He is all I have left. Save him, Nia," she choked back a sob. "Save my precious boy.”
“It will be done. He’s in good hands,” Alster promised Ari’s devastated mother. He leaned over Nia’s kneeling form and whispered into her ear so Nadira wouldn’t hear. “I am going to lift the preservation shroud I placed over Ari. You must be ready to act the moment this happens, because I can’t stick around to assist. There’s still a rift that needs closing, creatures that need to be sent home before they attack other people like Ari. So when you’re ready,” his hand perched in mid-air, waiting to strip the shadow shroud off the Canaveris lord like delicate lace from a tabletop, “let me know.”
“Locque!” Nia wandered the palace aimlessly, one witchlight torch in hand as she boldly searched for the person singularly responsible for this devastating mess. “Locque, it’s me! I know you can hear me--you need to stop! We can turn this around… I can help you!”
No response. The sorceress did not materialize or respond to the summons. She had been too triggered by the kingdom’s collective rejection of her as queen: this was it. Her patience had been depleted, and there was no going back, now. “Damnit!” The frustrated Master Alchemist exclaimed, stomping her foot at her futile effort to try and make things right. How hard had she tried to balance the kingdom’s and the sorceress’s needs? And how the fuck did she even have to show for it?
Her futile effort to find Locque was interrupted when something--someone--materialized before her. Thinking that one of the creatures causing destruction throughout the kingdom had finally found a way to make itself visible in the atmosphere of this dimension, Nia shrieked and stumbled backward several paces… until she realized it was not a creature at all. It was Alster Rigas. “Als--” She was hardly able to get a word out before the Rigas mage grabbed her arms and uttered something about Ari. Nia drew in a sharp breath. “Ari? What’s--”
Alster did not hesitate, however, and before she could finish her question, a shocking cold overtook her body, stealing the breath from her lungs. And then… it was gone, and the Master Alchemist found herself gasping in an entirely unfamiliar place.
Except, it wasn’t so unfamiliar, once she regained her composure. It was just… different. Ruined, as most of the palace was ruine. The Canaveris estate: she was in the ballroom, and Nadria was there, illuminated by glowing stones, over a body… a body…
No. “No… no, no, no!” The Canaveris lord lay unconscious on the ground, the entire lower half of his body petrified. His mother grabbed Nia by the arms and drew her down to his level before she could ask any further questions. His heart. It was her worst fear: that the curse had finally found its way to something far more serious than a limb. She could feel it as soon as her hands came into contact with his skin. His heart… it was slowly turning to stone.
“You promised me… you made a fucking promise, Ari!” Nia didn’t hear Alster. She didn’t hear Nadira’s please, or anything at all. Reaching into her boot, she sliced Ari’s palm to draw blood--a little more carelessly than she usually would--and tore open his shirt. “Don’t you dare break your promise. I won’t forgive you, you hear me? I won’t forgive you if you leave me, just like everyone else who has ever fucking mattered to me!”
Placing a palm on his chest, she concentrated, feeling the slow, languid beats of his struggling heart. This was different from before: her alchemy wasn’t reversing the effects of the curse, it was actively fighting it, as it sought to turn his heart to stone. At first, the petrification only slowed. Then, it stopped, but did not dissipate, and the Master Alchemist began to doubt her abilities. What if I’m not capable enough? What if I can’t save him? Nothing I’ve ever learned will matter if I can’t save him now…! Tears streamed down her cheeks as she fought to concentrate against her own emotions, and her own heart raced with the effort. No. I can’t think like that. I can’t let this happen. I am… we are going to have a future. You’re keeping your promise to me, Ari!
Slowly, but surely, the stone encasing his heart began to dissipate. Cell by cell, it returned to organic muscle, and as its weight grew lighter and lighter, it laboured less and less to circulate blood throughout his body. She could feel the pressure in his arteries lessen, a little bit at a time, and felt his shallow breath on her face grow a little stronger with each passing second. In her opposite hand, the one collecting his blood that still flowed from the wound she had carved into his palm, dust poured to the ground.
Nia didn’t remove her hand until she felt the familiar strong, steady heartbeat of the man she loved beneath his ribcage. All right… Ari was going to be all right. While still unconscious, his heart had been restored and he had never fully ceased breathing. However Alster Rigas had managed to find her and bring her through a tear in time and space, she really had come in the nick of time. A few more moments, and she wasn’t sure the Canaveris lord would have had a chance of recovering without complications. “He’s still going to need to run.” She mentioned breathlessly, and without asking permission, the Master Alchemist unfastened his belt and rid his petrified lower body of all essence of cloth and leather. The feat she had performed in fighting off his active curse had already left her light-headed, but all would be for nought if he and Nadira could not take refuge belowground because he was unable to move. “Sorry, Ari… you’re gonna want to bandage this when it’s all done,” she murmured a shaky apology, and widened the wound on his palm to access more blood.
She began from his waist, restoring certain precious organs near his groin before moving to his thighs, his knees, his calves, his feet… Nia had no idea how long she spent kneeling over Ari’s unconscious form, blood trickling from his palm and dust trickling from her own palm. There was no sense of time in such a state of urgency. She wasn’t going to stop, no matter how light-headed she became, or how her stomach clenched and her limbs ached as she overexerted herself in what was perhaps the biggest and most dire situation in which she had ever put her alchemy to use. She wouldn’t stop until she was sure he was well, and that he could run when he awoke…
At last, the tips of Ari’s toes were rid of any residual essence of stone, and Lord Canaveris of the D’Marians was restored to flesh, muscle, and bone in his entirety. His curse slept once again, and when he awoke, he would be able to run and seek safety. “He’s okay. He’s okay… You need to… to get him to…”
Nia turned her head suddenly and vomited, the exertion of her craft on her own body taking its toll. But it had been since time since she’d last eaten; all that came up was bile and blood. In an ideal situation, she needed rest, and water, and stomach-safe foods, but there was no time or opportunity for that. Especially not when she was already so aware that Ari was not the only one whose safety she needed to ensure.
“...try to wake him up. Take refuge immediately,” she said to Nadira, wiping her mouth on her sleeve as she struggled to her feet. “He’s going to be okay. You need to take care of him until we reunite.” We still have fireflies to find. I am holding you to that, Ari. You can fucking bet I am holding you to your promise…
Picking up her witchlight torch, Nia said not another word before hurrying toward what she remembered to be the exit. Ari would be fine. She had to believe that Nadira had the common sense and know-how to keep them safe until this all blew over. Until Alster found a way to close this rift and send these beasts home… because they could not rely on Locque to relent. And as this slow, depressing realization dawned on her, another dark possibility surfaced in her mind as well. That if Locque was defeated--and seeing Alster Rigas’s unbridled power just now, she was now convinced such a possibility was not so farfetched--then there was no hope for her residing within this kingdom unscathed. What little protected the sorceress had provided her was, even as of now, gone. Nia was on her own again, with only her own wits and abilities to rely on, because she could not rely on anyone else as a shield. Galeyn had it in for Locque: so, too, would they have it in for her. And if they stopped at nothing to rid their kingdom of the witch, then who was to say they wouldn’t stop at nothing to rid it of the last of those working for her?
I’m not so sure that future of ours is possible, after all, Ari, Nia thought dismally as she made it outside and stayed a frantic Night Steed. Not immediately… if I have to run again. You’re just going to have to trust that we’ll find each other again, someday. I’ll never stop thinking about you. Please stay safe until I see you again...
But before she fled the kingdom altogether, she could not rest easy without knowing that Osric’s family was safe and well. The least she could do for the kind inkeep was ensure that his family, and his business, survived to see another day.
Sigrid hadn’t expected Haraldur to give in so easily, and was fully prepared to make chase. Like her cousin, the former Dawn Warrior had physical advantages on her side, and had always been known for being quick on her feet. She kept her sword drawn as she hurried after her target, all the way to the Night Garden. It also came as no surprise to her that she found herself intercepted by armed Forbanne whenever she seemed to get a little too close. They must have been instructed to restrain her, and not kill her, as they wielded their weapons only in defense as she wielded Gaolithe against them. Of course, they were the perfect shield between herself and her cousin, as their magical resistance seemed to give them a chance at immunity against falling dead upon so much as touching the ancient blade.
Be that as it may, however, the Forbanne soldiers, however strong and capable, were still human. They could still be cut, could still bleed… and could still die. And in her pursuit of Haraldur, some of his soldiers did fall to her blade, incapacitating limbs or impaling their torsos. Frankly, the witch’s puppet had no real interest in picking off the Forbanne’s lives: they were not her target, and at best, most of them were simply slowed down and rendered unable to fight as their blood stained her sword. Some obtained grievous wounds, unable to match the former Dawn Warrior’s agility and finesse with the blade that had chosen her with its wielder; very few actually succumbed to death. And that was alright: those soldiers were merely the wall that she had to breach in order to reach her prey, the Forbanne Commander who, in her enthralled mind, was only an enemy, and needed to be exterminated.
Unfortunately, Haraldur’s wall of soldiers did ensure that he escaped into the Night Garden before Sigrid was able to reach him, and this registered in the blonde warrior’s mind as a problem. No one, to her knowledge, could truly die in the Night Garden. However, there were instances--such as in Elespeth Rigas’s case--where it could do little more than prevent death. It had not been strong enough to repair the Rigas wife’s diseased heart: she had a feeling there was little it could do for someone who had all of their limbs cut off, or if they were beheaded. Seemed like a pretty painful way to go, to lie bleeding and unable to pass on… Haraldur really hadn’t thought this through.
With the Forbanne soldiers out of the way for the time being, it did not take long for Sigrid to catch up with the Forbanne Commander. He was armed, and there would be armour to get around, but that was no trouble. She was as capable a fighter as he was; and Gaolithe, if cutting down the Forbanne was any indication, was more than capable of cutting through armor.
“Your flight only got your men wounded,” she said to Haraldur as she stalked toward him, her sword and her clothes coated in Forbanne blood. “The Night Garden will protect you from death; it will not protect you from suffering. And it is limited in what degree of health it can restore.”
Her cousin had his sword drawn, but it was in a defensive position. He was not going to strike her: not even to save his own life. She, on the other hand, had no qualms about running him through. “It would have been quicker and more painless if you hadn’t run.”
He was backed against a tree. Now was her chance: the perfect opening to inflict a fatal wound that not even the Night Garden could repair, and he would not retaliate. She could see it in his eyes, that reluctance to put an end to her, even if it meant living to see his wife and children again. Funny, what blood ties could do to you, even when your life depended on it…
Sigrid clutched Gaolithe, her grip assured and ready to make a cut--and then something happened. A voice in her ear, soft, familiar… one that she had heard before. But where? Why was it familiar, and who did it belong to? It startled her enough that she dropped her dominant arm, lowering her blade along with it. That voice… that voice… one that she never thought she’d hear again, for as long as she lived.
Naimah.
Images flooded the blonde warrior’s mind. That beautiful face and lithe body that she had once held against her own. Sleek, effeminate hands, a finger which, only in her death, wore the ring that Sigrid had intended. That voice, that face in her mind, suddenly reminded the former Dawn Warrior of who she was, who she loved… and what really mattered to her.
A single tear trickled down her cheek as her vision cleared, blue eyes sparkling with recognition… and with horror. “Haraldur…” That was the only word she managed to get out before she felt it take over again. That vice-grip on her mind, one that controlled her body… she wasn’t strong enough. Not strong enough to fight it, or resist its call to have her end Haraldur’s life. There was no way out for her: there hadn’t been, not for months. But she… she would not have this on her conscience, if ever she found herself free again. She would not kill the only remaining family she had left. There was still one way she could stop this, put an end to a witch’s control over her mind. And maybe… maybe, see Naimah again.
Sigrid had no time for parting words or apologies to her only surviving family member before she turned her own enchanted blade on herself… and did what no other Chosen wielder had ever done with the blade, before.
She plugged it into her abdomen.
Loathe to be far from her son, Nadira scooted aside to make room for Nia to work, but refused to release his hand. She believed Ari would be able to feel his mother’s touch on a subconscious level, and relax, knowing he was not alone, surrounded by loved ones. Loved ones, including…
Nadira cast one sobering eye on the Master Alchemist, scrounging up enough of her composure to watch the girl’s frenetic movements, her imperfect procedure, the spilling of intense emotion that made every wasted moment so devastating. She cursed and pleaded with Ari’s limp form and her raw emotion, coupled with the tunnel-vision of her dedication in spite of her panic, transformed Nadira’s impressions of the fugitive Ardane woman to...one approaching affection. If Ari succumbed to his affliction, it wouldn’t be because Nia bungled the job on purpose, or cared little for the outcome. Somehow, Nadira trusted that this walking disaster of a woman was Ari’s best hope.
She had not been wrong to place her faith in Nia.
“Ari!” At Nia’s instruction, she gently slapped his cheek in an attempt to wake him. His stone-liberated heart, to compensate for its arrested state, fluttered wildly in his chest, and his legs gave a reflective twitch to test their pliability. She had done it; Nia had lifted Ari’s crushing stone weights with hardly any time to spare. She...saved him. “Oh thank the stars,” she exclaimed, wiping some stray tears off her face when Ari’s eyes slowly slid open, only scarcely aware of his surroundings. “Come, Ari. We must seek shelter immediately. Nia, you—“
But she was gone, having used the opportunity to flee while Nadira’s focus revolved around rousing Ari.
“Who...who was here?” Groggy and disoriented, Ari slowly sat up on his own, but grabbed his mother’s shirt collar when the speed at which he rose rendered him lightheaded.
“No one, dear,” Nadira cooed, supporting the back of his head for stability. Better to lie than to upset him. She nodded over to Lazarus for assistance. The hulking golem scooped Ari into his arms, carefully. “You had a bit of a tumble. Come, let us relocate you downstairs, to the cellar.”
As it stood, Nadira could do nothing for Nia. But if they all survived this day...well, she knew how to find their little flight risk in a pinch.
As expected of an elite soldier, Haraldur possessed many enduring qualities that would make him difficult to kill. Aside from his brute strength, which was admirable on its own but not on par with the behemoths of solid muscle in his army, his true talents lie in stamina, quick adaptability to whatever situation blew his way...and stubborn survival. So he ran because it offered the greatest chance of survival—for them both. On feet well-equipped for feinting, he resolved to throw her off the path, not only by evasive maneuvering, but by sending obstacles to clutter her trajectory. Between the Forbanne who came to his aid and his intimate familiarity with the oft-patrolled passages they traversed near the palace grounds, even in the dark, he liked his chances of keeping Sigrid at bay until the Night Garden. From there…
He didn’t have a plan. No second stage, no contingencies. Nothing beyond one non-negotiable point. No one dies.
He trusted his Forbanne to hold their own and to curb their compulsion to kill that was inculcated in them by the Masters. Over the months under his command, they made great strides reintegrating into society and rediscovering their humanity, no thanks, in a large part, to the efforts of Naimah and her team of companions. Even post mortem, her contributions persisted, carried out by her protégés who continued the work in her honor.
Haraldur watched, out of the corner of his eye, as Sigrid hacked and immobilized his soldiers like a Forbanne awakened. The irony was not lost on him. Because of Naimah, many soldiers were saved, but because of Naimah’s death, the life of one warrior...reflected the fate of the men she felled.
Though all seemed bleak, Haraldur’s fleeting hope led him to the Night Garden, the last holdout for a miracle, for...something. Anything. With a silent thank you to the Forbanne who bought him time, he plunged through the borders denoting the sacred landscape. He got as far as the edge of the sentinel tree’s forest when Sigrid, free of interlopers, bore down on him at full charge. He swerved, escaping her target line, but the movement launched him towards a copse of impenetrable trees, cornering him. Digging his toes into the ground, he spun to his approaching aggressor and slung his sword crosswise in a defensive position. In the bioluminescent glow of the Garden, Gaolithe’s tapered tip ran slick with blood, a detail he found promising, because it meant Gaolithe was unable to end Forbanne lives with just a touch and required a thrust of effort to debilitate. Like the soldiers he led, Haraldur himself was magic-resistant, and he’d handled Gaolithe before, suffering no ill-effects...granted, with help from Teselin, but if he could wrench the cursed blade out of Sigrid’s hands and disarm her, she would be good as defeated.
“My soldiers did their jobs. I commend them,” he said, wondering if he could keep her talking, to distract her while he angled himself to prepare for a risky parry. But if he were to die by her hand either way… “They got me here. I’ve never had protection from suffering, Sigrid, so you’ll find I’m very capable at it. Decades of practice. That’s what happens when you don’t die; all that’s left is the pain, with none of the release. So do it, Sigrid,” he goaded, fingers clutching the hilt of his sword. “Just try to break me.”
As he braced for the sword strike and readied to go all out on a disarming technique, ready to fail, he shifted his priorities for a split second, the only amount he could afford, and thought about his family. Vega. Klara. Kynnet. Were they safe? Secure? And how would they fare, without him? Vega’s strong will would weather her through the tragedy, should he end up good as dead. Much as she believed otherwise, she didn’t need him to raise the kids. Others would step up in his place, eager to raise Galeyn’s first newborns in over a century. She would carry on, along with the twins, and…
Sigrid had paused, mid-stance. She wasn’t moving; her sword stalled midair. Something glistened on her face. Tears?
“Sigrid?” He breathed out her name, disbelieving. Her impassive face sported cracks. She was inside somewhere, fighting to break the shackles enslaving her to Locque’s thrall. “Sigrid!” He shouted in earnest, not hesitating to take the inch she gave him and wrench it open with his fingers. “Fight it, Sigrid! You can fight it! It runs in our blood. We defy our captors. Our destinies! Remember who you are, Sigrid Sorenson!” One hand released from his sword. She was losing the battle; her head jerked this way and that like an errant puppet wresting control over its persistent master. But the strings were still attached.
He lowered his eyes to her sword. Now was the time to snatch it while it fluctuated in her vacillating grip. Disarm her, before she…
Too slow.
“No!” Fingers outstretched, he reached for nothing, because the positioning of her sword made a drastic revolution, retreating its compass point from him and recalibrating North—into her gut.
“No, no, no!” Dropping his sword, he caught her before she collapsed, settling her gently on the ground. “Sigrid. Sigrid!” Her eyes fluttered, but she did not respond.
Fates! How many times? How many damn times?! He wanted to growl and shout and curse at the unfairness of yet again having to bear witness to unprecedented loss while he was too slow, too powerless to prevent another death. What was it about him that inspired people to fall, to die, in his arms?!
Until he realized…
We’re in the Night Garden. I brought us here for a reason. You won’t die; there’s still a chance!
“You’re not dying on me, Sigrid, do you hear me?! I’m done with death!” He frantically searched his surroundings for an idea, a rush of inspiration. The Gardeners had all been dismissed from the premises, leaving...just him. But he wasn’t a Gardener! The purple-leaf tea, the test meant to reveal his potential, had failed. On the night he brewed it, he slept a dreamless sleep. No answers whispered in his ear. No images danced and bade him follow. There was night with no stars, like this night.
Just like this night.
Drawing a knife from his belt, he embedded its point into one of the trees behind him, his would-be prison bars and place of execution now made into a whittled door of opportunity. He carved an incision into the bark, coaxing a river of viscous sap to ooze from the wound. He didn’t know what he was doing, but somehow, it made sense. Somehow, they were meant to end up here, near this particular copse of trees.
There remained one thing left to do, before he administered emergency healing by way of slathering his cousin with tree sap.
He stared at Gaolithe, leaning at a sickening angle from its human pedestal. In this light, or lack thereof, its menacing, lethal air seemed...less so. Like he could touch it with absolutely no question of the repercussions. Taking a calculated risk, he sucked in a breath, laid his hands on the sword, and yanked it free of Sigrid’s abdomen. It squelched upon exiting, spurting some blood as it ceased plugging the hole…
But nothing happened to him.
“Good riddance,” he said of Gaolithe as he flung it uselessly aside. One hand pressing on her wound, one hand scooping the sap from the bleeding tree, he bowed his head to the Night Garden in a silent prayer, drew the rune of healing in the air...and went to work.
“Sigrid.”
A voice floated like dandelion spores on the updraft, gentle and tickling.
“Sigrid. You should not be here.”
Naimah cut through the black, swirling miasma, rainbow-colored skirts following after her. The vibrant splashes of color chased and dispersed the stubborn veils of midnight mist. They retreated from her aura, repelled.
“Return from whence you came. I will not deliver you on this day, else all my efforts to save your life will have been in vain.”
Naimah paused before a cavernous gulf, one she could not cross. On the other side, Sigrid. Too far to touch or caress. To cradle in an embrace of reunion. But the gulf was narrowing as it drew ever closer. Soon, their two universes would interact, living and dead.
“The trapped souls inside Gaolithe are freed. You are freed. And I am freed. I had the necromancer implant my soul into your weapon to kill that cursed thing from the inside out and to reach you. And I did. I succeeded on both fronts, finally. But Sigrid,” her lovely face darkened; storm clouds seemed to cling at her dress, “it will mean not a thing if you do not go. Now. This world is not for you yet. But we shall meet again.” She raised a hand, displaying the opalescent angelstone ring on her dainty finger. “Thank you for the ring. It is beautiful, and you are beautiful. I am endlessly grateful to you, my love, for granting me the best moments of my life.”
Smiling sadly, the hand lowered, and the stone vanished. “Alas, I cannot keep this. You must sever yourself of all attachments here. Including me. Live, Sigrid. Live on. Find someone new. Love again. Create new memories; better ones, but do not look for them here, with me. Our time was brief, but wonderful. And it is over.” She gestured to an unseeable place beyond the thicket of clouds. “There are people who wish for your return. Go.” Before their two platforms touched, closing the gap, Naimah disappeared into the smoke and miasma, and the vibrant color retreated, for good, behind the clouds.
Upon leaving the Canaveris villa, Alster stepped through the air, plunging himself into the vacuous space between spaces to resume his search for the unseen creatures peppering the land. Each one left a distinct energy signature, traceable from any distance, even with Alster no longer inhabiting the early plane...currently. Just as he handled the rather menacing horror taking residence at the D’Marian village, flitted around Galeyn, picking off the highest-ranked and dangerous-by-proximity creatures in the same manner as the first one. Since acquiring the coordinates to their homeworld, so to speak, through interactions with who he’d come to understand was the queen-mother to the swarm, it became infinitely easier to convince the rest to join their queen by joining him. After clearing Galeyn of the interdimensional threats roaming the land, Alster set his sights on the widening rift in the sky, where a second swarm could accidentally fall through at the soonest opportunity.
As with any issue involving fast travel, other worlds, and strange, indescribable creatures, Alster recognized the risk of what he was about to do. Alas, it was only a bad investment if he didn’t make it out alive, and no one needed to know the details behind his execution.
He touched down on firm Galeynian soil, breathing in one fresh airful of the floral scents drifting through the artificial night, an olfactory reminder to return home. This is where I belong. Not there. Not anywhere else. Here. With you, El.
Satisfied with his grounding technique, Alster closed his hands together, opened the air...and walked through the rift in the sky, putting himself at the mercy of the creatures he helped. After all, to stitch the tear, it was best to do so on the other side, so the seams wouldn’t show or threaten to snag, pop, and unravel. They won’t harm you, the Serpent in him reassured. You hosted many of these creatures inside of you, accepting their features, attributes, and frequencies as though they were your own. In a sense...haven’t you become their god?
Alster swallowed, the implication too heady to analyze at the moment. A god. The very thing I swore never to become…
The more he did, the further he strayed. But if he did nothing, people would die.
His transformation was bound to happen...wasn’t it?
For the people in Galeyn who watched the sky for answers, they could see, via the spotlight highlighting the location of the jagged, stygian-black tear, that it was repairing itself, flap by flap, until...all evidence of its existence lived on as nothing but a fever dream. The rift was gone...but so was Alster.
Ari and Nadira may never know how badly Nia had wanted to stay. To see the both of them to safety--hell, to accompany them to safety, and hide along with them until the storm passed. Facing danger head-on had never been the Ilandrian alchemist’s preferred course of action when danger presented itself: she was a runner, not a fighter, but a part of her knew, deep down, that she would never rest until she saw for herself that Osric’s family had found safety. And if they hadn’t, she would lead them there, at all cost.
The Master Alchemist, armed with only her torch and the little knife in her boot, sped onward on the Night Steed until she reached the all-too familiar pub, a place that would always resonate in her heart with times that she had felt welcome, and safe. Even if that was not the case now, and might never be again, she owed it to Osric to see that his family survived what was left of Locque’s reign… since he was no longer here to see to it himself. Even if they hated her, and always would for what little part her existence played in the inkeep’s death, she needed to see to it that they walked away from this alive so that they may continue to hate her.
Nia drew her steed to an abrupt halt when her torch lifted the darkness enough to recognize familiar surroundings, and a familiar pub, which was mercifully left standing. The invisible, otherworldly creatures must not have seen fit to target this place… but all was dark. Not a single light inside or outside any of the homes and shops signaled that it would remain safe for long. They must not have gotten the message, to hide within the light. She must have arrived just in time.
“Hello?” Dismounting her steed in one fluid motion, the Master Alchemist did not wait to be invited inside before she pushed the door open with her shoulder and shone her torchlight around the dining area. A single, cursory glance toward the floor revealed the blood Osric had spilled had, at the very least, been cleaned up. Nothing as of yet looked to have been disturbed, but this calm-before-the-storm atmosphere did not sit well with Nia. The darkness, and the creatures coming through it, had yet to let up. “Anyone here? Hello?”
No one responded, at first, and a cold paranoia clutched at Nia’s heart. Had they not made it back in time to take shelter? Were they still wandering, afraid and aimless, in the darkness beyond their home? Were they even still alive, or had they succumbed to the terrors that Locque had summoned through her rift? How in the world would Nia ever find them, if--
Something suddenly caught her eye. Movement from underneath the bar captured her attention, and Nia shone her torchlight in its general direction. A small girl, probably around ten years old, huddled with her knees pulled to her chest next to some empty drinkwares that had yet to be cleaned. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she turned her wide eyes toward Nia in fear. It was Osric’s daughter--thank the gods, she was still safe! But what about the rest of them? His wife, his son?
“Hey… it’s alright, hon. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Not wanting to spook her too terribly, Nia took slow steps forward and knelt to her level. “Where’s your mom and brother? Are they here, too? Listen… I’m gonna see if I can get you some light, okay? It’ll keep you safe from the--”
“Get away from her!”
Nia was too slow to react. Between hearing the voice, and registering its familiarity in her mind, the Master Alchemist did not stumble out of the way fast enough to avoid injury, when someone came at her from behind with a heavy knife, embedding it clumsily in her left calf before she could roll to safety. It hadn’t been well-aimed; its wielder, however much they wanted to injure her, didn’t have much in the way of knowing how to kill, it seemed.
All the same, Nia cried out in pain and drew the blade from her muscle and flesh. It had embedded deep; blood flowed freely onto her fingers. “Y-you’re…” Osric’s son. How long had he been there, aware of her arrival, yet saying nothing? Had he really seen this as a single, last-ditch opportunity to get his revenge on her? She was at once relieved he was alive… and suddenly terrified for her own life.
“Get away from my sister! How dare you show yourself here!” Osric’s son, a man a few years her junior, scanned the area, perhaps in search of another weapon. He was afraid, but more than that, he was living. Carrying all of the anger of his father’s loss upon his own shoulders. “My mother and sister don’t have the guts to do it, but I have no qualms ending you, for ending my father! If not for you… he’d still be alive!”
“I’m sorry.” Nia’s voice trembled with pain and fear as she scrambled to her feet, and her injured leg throbbed painfully in response, hot blood trickling down into her boot. “I never wanted… this. I needed to see that you were safe…”
And they were--well, his son and daughter, at least, and all she could do now was hope that it stayed that way, and that Osric’s wife was just as well off. She had made a grave mistake, coming here… “...stay close to the light.” She breathed as she stumbled toward the door, grasping its handle for balance. “It’ll keep you safe…”
She didn’t wait for a response before fleeing the pub, to the best of her injured ability, leaving her witchlight torch and only light source for the young girl and her older brother; she had to believe it was enough to keep them safe. Fortunately, the Night Steed had not taken off and remained just feet from the building, barely flinching as she hurried toward it and grasped its neck for balance. Damn good thing these beasts were so well trained; without it, she’d be a sitting duck for the darkness and its otherworldly creatures to descend upon. At least they’re alright… And Ari’s alright… There’s nothing more I can do.
The realization that she may see neither party ever again, not Osric’s family or the Canaverises, tears as warm as her blood streamed down her cheeks as Nia sped toward the borders of the kingdom she could no longer call her home.
One moment, she was standing in front of Haraldur, fighting off a demon in her mind that only she could see and feel… and the next moment, she was somewhere else entirely. Sigrid could not say as to where or what that ‘somewhere’ was. There were clouds, and her feet stood upon something solid, but she could not see what. How had she become lost in this odd mist, that seemingly had no this way or that?
Except, maybe… she was not lost at all. Across what appeared to be a sort of chasm, mist floating up from its middle, was a familiar face and form, draped in rainbow skirts and bearing a familiar smile. Sigrid’s heart could have leapt out of her chest.
“Naimah.” She breathed her name like a prayer on the wind, and smiled--for the first time in so very, very long. “I found you. I thought… I’d never see you again.” Yet here she was, standing before her, almost within arm’s reach. She considered jumping across the chasm and closing the distance to gather her beautiful lover in her arms and pull her close. “I hoped… I wanted to hope I would find you again. That it wasn’t too late.”
But Naimah’s words were not the same: not by a long shot, when she expressed not adoration, but confusion for the former Dawn warrior’s presence, and told her that she must return. Sigrid furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “So Gaolithe… it is no more an enchanted sword? Then that is wonderful news. We need not worry that it will plague the lives of any further Dawn warriors. And you did this? Naimah… you’re amazing. The sword is null and void, and you’re here… and I’m here. Don’t you see?” She spread her arms, and eyed the gap between them. It seemed to be growing narrower and narrower. Bringing them together again. “Everything has come together as it should. We’re together again--and I would go anywhere for you, Naimah. You changed my life! I can’t… I just cannot fathom it without you.”
And it was because of that that she had fallen prey to Locque in the first place. Her mind and heart had been vulnerable, and easily infiltrated. Of course it would stand that only Naimah, the person who held the key to her heart, would be the one to free it from the witch’s hold. “That ring belongs only to you,” she said softly, marvelling at how well the small piece of jewelry suited her elegant hand. “You can keep it. It can mean… whatever you want it to mean. Naimah…” The former Dawn warrior pressed a hand over her heart. “I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most. I couldn’t stop Rowen… I couldn’t protect the one thing I held most dear. But I am here now. I can be here for you, and only you, now. However you might want or need me, I am here, Naimah. And… and you are here, too. And that is all that matters. It is all I could ask for…”
Her heart sank as the opalescent stone disappeared from the Kariji woman’s hand. As if it had never been… Why was this going so poorly? Why, oh why, did Naimah seek to push her away, when they could finally reunite? “I can’t… I won’t let you go again, Naimah! I’d have given anything just to see you again. This…” The gap between them was closing; she reached out to try and grasp the arm of the woman who she still loved so fiercely. “It doesn’t have to be over. You’re here… I’m here, Naimah. I love you, and I always will! Just take my hand--please!”
Sigrid reached for her, her fingers just inches from her arm… but Naimah was gone. Too fast, too soon, just like before, and she came into contact only with air. “Naimah…” The bright clouds that surrounded her began to darken in tandem with her hope as it began to fade in Naimah’s absence. Soon, the warrior’s world went dark, once again.
Elespeth couldn’t explain it, but… she felt it. A sudden emptiness, like a weight being lifted from her chest. It was a feeling she had experienced once before, when Alster had found himself lost, tumbling through the etherrealms as a result of Locque’s interference--and there was only one thing that could cause such a feeling to recur.
“Alster…” The former knight paused in her steps, suddenly pulled away from her task of corralling people in the village capital into whatever safely lit buildings they could find. Protecting as many as they could was imperative, but… something was wrong with Alster. She could feel it; she needed to act.
“Something… I think something has happened to Alster.” She said to Isidor, who was putting his alchemical prowess to work by illuminating quartz and other clear stones to alter the way they reflected light and shadow to glow bright with witchlight, in order to try and provide every possible citizen with a small means of protection. How he was able to do it at all, with what little natural light was left in the kingdom, was a wonder to anyone. “I need…”
“Go, find him. Do what you need to do.” The Master Alchemist insisted, looking away from his heavy bag of rocks which he illuminated one at a time. A simple task, typically, but as he’d been exerting his skills for hours now, he was quickly growing fatigued. Yet not once had he complained. “The Forbanne and Dawn Guard have it under control, here--the monsters are avoiding well lit areas. We’ll be fine.”
Elespeth nodded, but truly, she wouldn’t have waited for the go-ahead to abort her current task. Something was wrong. She could feel it… because she couldn’t feel Alster. Wherever he was, it felt far, far away… and she needed to find him before it was too late.
What drew her to the Night Garden, she wasn’t sure. The place was so keening with magical energy it just seemed logical that she would find him there, if he were to return, or that she might be able to reach him through communication with the sentinel tree. Haraldur had guided her to that solution, last time, but she imagined the Forbanne captain was more than likely occupied at this current point in time…
She had no idea just how occupied he was. “...Sigrid? Is that…” Elespeth came upon him and his cousin completely by coincidence. She hadn’t anticipated she would find him so quickly, or… what he would be dealing with. Two steps forward revealed what she feared: the former Dawn warrior was gravely wounded. Gaolithe had been cast aside, as if it were some ordinary sword and not a lethal weapon by touch alone, but there was no time to ask questions when the blonde warrior’s life was at stake.
“Is she still breathing?” Stupid question--this was the Night Garden. No one died in the Night Garden… “Come on, we can get her to the sanctuary. She’ll be alright; she’ll be stable there.”
Elespeth must have underestimated Haraldur’s strength, thinking he would need help in lifting his tall cousin carefully in his arms to bring her to what would be the safest place and the best chance for her life. All the same, she followed him to the infirmary, which was currently only occupied by Hadwin and Bronwyn. Where was Teselin…?
There was no time to ponder that. “Get her settled, I’ll see if I can find any of the Gardeners. The Night Garden doesn’t seem to have been touched by the invisible monsters: its natural light must be repelling them. I won’t be long.” Alster, when I find you again, she thought dismally as she sprinted out the door, you are in so much trouble for breaking your promise to keep your feet on the ground… and I don’t know how I will forgive you, this time.
Alster didn’t defy his promise to Elespeth on purpose. So focused on saving Galeyn from the rift and from the creatures pouring out of it, he hadn’t considered how his meddling might affect himself, and by extension, his wife, because his plan was predicated on accomplishing his goal—and he did, handily—but he failed to account for the aftermath of his successes.
When he closed the rift from the other side, the midnight realm the unseen creatures claimed as their home, he essentially closed himself inside with them. At first, he didn’t believe it presented as a problem; after all, he would simply draw the air open and slip through the etherrealms en route to the earthly plane. But the creatures he saved had a different agenda. They flocked to him, attracted to his energy, which mimicked their frequency but rang louder, like a signal beacon impossible to ignore. The creatures didn’t inhabit a form easily translatable from one realm to the other, but the air around him came alive, itching and crawling on him like thousands of spider legs.
And their enthusiasm negated his light, his celestial magic, for this place existed where light would never reach; inside the eternal depths of a black hole.
...I’ve made a horrible mistake.
Or was it? Mistakes implied error, or fault. But was it a mistake if he had no other choice? Had he allowed the rift to grow in size, it would have suctioned their very world, as they knew it, into oblivion.
And so here I am, a martyr...again.
The hungry creatures would feed on him, on his energy, lest he took charge and did exactly as the Serpent instructed: be their god.
Using his chthonic magic, he siphoned the energies of the unseen creatures before they siphoned him, and repurposed them for his own ends: to transform, and shed, and overpower. And as his aura gorged on the feast presented to him, so, too, did he begin to change to fit and adapt to his new world. The first thing to lose was his fleshy human bag; it would not serve him in an incorporeal wasteland. Like a chrysalis, he instructed it to harden and die off, to make energy for the thing collecting and brewing inside him that would emerge when ready to jumpstart the next stage in his evolution. Ascend, and survive. Ascend, and live. It was inevitable. This was inevitable…
A sudden, searing light stalled his process. The creatures, the ones who didn’t lend themselves to the creation of their god, rose in a collective furor of hisses and screams as they scampered away from the blue-hot pulsating thing now inhabiting the space next to Alster.
A message boomed inside his head. Whatever it is you think you’re doing, Alster, stop immediately, and pick up the damn light!
In his half-state of transition, it took him a moment to register the voice and its familiarity. ...Tivia?!
Take the light! The voice seethed. It’s your only chance to escape!
Alster cowered at the ball of etherea, but it didn’t quite affect him the same as the creatures who retreated. Whatever assimilation process he was in the middle of orchestrating, it was interrupted early on, before he had pushed himself too far beyond the point of no return. Tentatively, he approached the ball with feet that still felt human, scooping the light into hands that still possessed fingers, not scales, nor reams of unobservable darkness. The blue-hot ball behaved like a heartbeat, fluttering in tune with the one that hadn’t ceased operating in his chest, and the connection to his celestial magic that he thought guttered and died...flared back to life.
It was enough. Tivia had given him enough star energy to burst free of his confines. Wasting no time, he absorbed the light energy into his fingers, opened the air, and fled the darkness in favor of the brighter reaches of the etherrealms, peppered with stars and nebulae and hence, an infinitude of energy sources from which to repair his celestial power before his return to the earthly plane.
Home. He was going home. After nearly abandoning it out of necessity, the promise of setting foot on terra firma, of seeing and holding Elespeth in his arms, granted him a perspective filled with nothing but appreciation and longing. And to think, he was ready to shed his humanity, ready to ascend and become an entity, if not for Tivia’s well-timed interference.
It could happen again, if he wasn’t careful.
...It would happen again.
While Elespeth was out in search of her husband, Haraldur was at his unconscious cousin’s side, staunching her terrible wound and slathering on the strange sap bleeding from the tree behind him. To work more effectively, he tore open her tunic to expose her skin to the fresh air and tried to prevent his hands from close contact, fearing infection. In her current state, it would be too dangerous to relocate her body to the sanctuary. Without a proper healer to inspect the damage, it was difficult for him to ascertain the extent of her internal injuries, if any, and for that, he took care not to move her prematurely.
What amazed him most was how the sap seemed to be working. It adhered to the tear in her flesh and hardened, preventing the gash from bleeding out. For now, he deemed her safe enough to transfer.
Elespeth arrived right as he cinched Sigrid’s wound with a strip of cloth torn from her tunic. He looked up at the visitor and nodded, spooling Sigrid into his arms.
“She’s breathing,” he confirmed. “And she’ll make it. I stabilized her.” He frowned, chancing a glance over his shoulder at the knife he embedded in the tree. “I think.” He drew to his feet, effortlessly lifting Sigrid’s limp form despite her formidable height. “I have a feeling,” he pondered aloud, as they headed together for the cottage near the base of the sentinel tree’s grandiose roots, “that she’s no longer under Locque’s thrall. Something happened to snap her out of it. This wound,” he bowed his head to the bundle in his arms, “is self-inflicted. Gaolithe is no danger to her, or to anyone, anymore. I can’t explain it. I don’t know the half of what I witnessed...but I trust that she’s going to be alright,” he sighed, and amended. “Physically.”
On entering the sanctuary, Bronwyn, accompanied by her wheelchair-bound brother, startled at the loud clang, reacting as though the apocalypse, tired of waiting, blew down the door to meet her at her literal deathbed.
“It’s just us,” Haraldur assured the tensing faoladh as he wandered to the closest bed and laid Sigrid’s unconscious body atop it.
“What...what happened?” Bronwyn managed, peering over from her vantage point at the far corner of the room. “That is the blonde warrior. Locque’s puppet.”
“Not anymore.” He side-turned to Elespeth, catching her before she exited. “The Gardeners were sent home. You may have better luck finding Elias and Daphni at this hour.”
After dismissing herself, Elespeth managed to traverse half of the garden’s length when a familiar cobalt-blue glimmer in the air alerted her to the arrival of the very man she sought. Alster popped out of the ether, pale and gasping for air, but otherwise unharmed and unchanged.
“El-es-peth,” he latched to her arms for balance, using the precious moments afforded to them to catch his breath and reorient himself. “It’s done,” he muttered, after he regained a modicum of control. “The rift is gone. The creatures are gone. I’m back; there’s nothing to worry about.” His throat hitched at the word ‘worry.’ Unbidden, tears assailed his eyes, streaking hot tears down his face. “I’m home, and you’re here, and,” he buried his head into her shoulder, “be mad at me later, but not right now. Give me this moment, please. You don’t know what I just went through.”
But it was a moment not meant to last. Not when the darkness persisted and Locque was at large. What if she decided to open another rift, and the process began anew? He would have to repeat the procedure all over again, including the possibility of...of…
Losing himself, for good.
Would Tivia deign to assist him a second time, if he were that stupid to replicate his own folly?
Speaking of...where was she?
But he didn’t have the time to ponder the whereabouts of his errant cousin when Elespeth reported to him the status of Haraldur’s cousin, and exactly how she had fallen. “Take me there,” he said, wiping away his tears with the back of his sleeve. “I’ll assess her condition. I’m tired, but I have enough left in me to heal. Besides...it’s a very grounding task. It connects me here.” He curled his fingers over Elespeth’s hand. “To where I belong.”
When they returned to the sanctuary, Haraldur’s eyebrow shot up with surprise. “Where did you come from?”
“Another planet,” Alster quipped, dryly. “The creatures are no more, and neither is the rift. I haven’t yet figured out how to lift this persisting darkness, but that can wait.” He leaned over Sigrid’s bedside. “I heard about what she did. That Gaolithe is also decommissioned. So it worked, then.” A crack of a smile appeared on Alster’s harried face. “Naimah killed the weapon from the inside, as we posited.”
“Naimah? Wait...are you suggesting—“
“—We’ll discuss this later,” Alster interjected as he brushed a hand over Sigrid’s affected abdomen. “Fortunately, she missed puncturing any of her vital organs,” he said, in midst of his closed-eye analysis. “A clean wound. And she hasn’t lost much blood.” He cracked one eye open, marveling at the honeyed resin coating the Dawn Warrior’s grisly injury. “Actually, I don’t think there’s anything for me to do. Whatever emergency medicines you administered on her seems to be working wonders for treating her condition. See?” He gestured to the once serrated lips of torn flesh, now puckered and slowly merging together. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt this healing process when the Night Garden is already handling matters beautifully. Feel free to get a second opinion from a Gardener, but as she is, she’s well on her way to a full recovery.” He stood back, appraising Haraldur carefully. “Is this your handiwork?”
Haraldur blanched, redirecting his gaze to the ceiling, to the door, to the floor. “...Yes.”
“Then I daresay you have what it takes to be a Gardener, yourself.”
Mostly speechless, Haraldur managed an unhelpful “I see,” before lapsing into thoughtful silence. As the Forbanne Commander nursed the implications of his deed to himself, Alster cocked his head at Bronwyn and Hadwin, frowning when one very obvious face was missing from their trio. “Where’s Teselin?”
Mention of the summoner stirred Hadwin from his half-fugue. He blinked at the question, then stared at the window, despite having no access to a view other than oppressive darkness. “She’s with Lilica.”
Alster’s frown deepened. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Gonna fuck up Locque. Wish I could’ve joined. Would’ve been a sight to see.”
“She’ll be fine,” Bronwyn comforted her brother, reading between the lines of his flippant interest.
Alster’s eyes grew wide. “We have to help.” Protests fell short on his ears as he swept out the door...but he stumbled over the threshold and clung to the doorjamb, his heart pounding from the sudden exertion.
“Oh don’t I know that feeling,” Hadwin gave a halfhearted snort of a chuckle, kicking one of the wheels of his mobility apparatus. “Looks like you’re spent.”
“I am, but I have some fight left in me,” Alster breathed through his discomfort, rising to his feet. “This is Locque we’re talking about. Lilica and Teselin...they need all the help they can get. I don’t know what they hope to accomplish, but...I should be there!” His eyes hardened, turning stony, lethal. “For months, it’s fed me. My opportunity to annihilate her. Throw her into hell and make her suffer exactly as I did, until her soul is nothing but dust!” He curled his steel hand into a shivering ball of poorly-contained rage. “This is the chance. There’s no more distractions. No more rifts, and monsters. We can make a final stand. That’s one way to clear this land of eternal night!”
“Then I’ll go with you,” Haraldur rounded Sigrid’s cot, joining Alster and Elespeth at the doorway. “If you recognize me as a Gardener, and we’re in the Night Garden, then there must be something I can do. My soldiers are all around. They’ll come at my call.”
Among the people in the room, Bronwyn shrank, hesitating.
Hadwin elbowed her from his seat on the chair, a measure more awareness settling in his gold eyes. “You’ve got the nose for this, Bron. You can find ‘em in a shake. Me? I’ll just kick back; an old friend’s here to keep me company.” He snorted at the unconscious form of Sigrid. “Let me tell you, fear of taking action is the fucking worst. It immobilizes you before you even give yourself a chance. Whatever’s out there...cut it down before it cuts you down.”
“You’re...right.” Bronwyn climbed shakily out of her seat and faced the others. “I can help. I...want to help. I don’t want to be a victim of this terrifying magic anymore. I want it out.” Despite her fear, her brow drew down, over her eyes, lending her a fierce expression released from its prison of amber. “Let’s burn it out.”
Almost as soon as Haraldur questioned Teselin’s whereabouts, the young summoner returned to the crowded sanctuary, a witchlight in her hand. Just before Alster’s vigor to rile up whatever forces he and Alster could muster to pursue the witch, Locque. The young woman wore a solemn expression, looking very much as though she might be on the verge of tears. It was enough to let the steam out of the battle-hungry warriors and mages in the room.
“Teselin.” Elespeth spoke her name on a sigh of relief. It always, always worried her when something big was going down, and their resident summoner couldn’t be found. Especially when Hadwin had explained she had left with Lilica to deal with Locque… surely, nothing good could come of pitting two summoners against one another. The result would be downright catastrophic! But the perpetual night had yet to lift, even if Alster had succeeded in closing the rift… Locque was not defeated, yet. Was it possible… they had failed? “What happened, Teselin?” She took the young summoner gently by the arm, her voice soft in an effort to try and not come across as too demanding. “Hadwin says you left with Lilica. Where is she, now?”
“You already know.” Teselin shook her head slowly. She didn’t need to say it: Lilica had set out to face Locque head-on, one-on-one. And she had, somehow, facilitated that encounter. “She asked for my help because she was confident in her plan to end Locque once and for all… she doesn’t want anyone else involved. No more casualties. There are already body counts of citizens who could not seek light quickly enough. The invisible monsters got to them…” Gnawing on her lower lip, she stared at her boots. “...I’ve done terrible things with my magic. But this is the first time… the first time I’ve regretted doing something intentional. I don’t know…” A pause, and a sigh. She struggled to find the words. “I don’t know… how this is going to end. And I’m afraid…”
“Afraid of what? What… what did Lilica have you do, Teselin?”
Finally, the young summoner looked up to meet the eyes of everyone in the room. “She asked me to… find her darkness. The Night Garden had put it to sleep, but it was still there. She said it was the only way to eliminate Locque once and for all: to fight darkness with darkness. I told her, I don’t know if I could reverse it once it was done… I still don’t know. But she asked, anyway. She begged me and… and I wish I hadn’t listened. I don’t know what she intends, and that frightens me the most. That even she wasn’t sure how this was all going to end… I’m afraid for Queen Lilica. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I… I really don’t know anymore.”
Suddenly, in the distance, smoke could be seen rising into the night from the sanctuary's windows.
“Locque!” Lilica called out to the witch, wherever she might be lurking and listening, walked the perimeter of the Night Garden, no torch or light source in hand. It was not her intention to repel the creatures; no she invited them. She invited all that the darkness brought, because she could withstand it. At least, she needed Locque to believe she could. “I don’t know where you are, but I know you can hear me! I also know you are not a coward… This, all of this, is your doing. Surely you are not hiding from it? Not when it is going to get you exactly what you want!”
At last, she must have found just the right words to draw the false queen out of hiding. No longer finding herself alone at the westernmost entrance of the Night Garden, she turned to find herself face to face with the single entity that was responsible for this kingdom’s suffering in its entirety. Locque stood before her, in the plain skin she had chosen to present to others. With such lack of light, it was difficult to discern the summoner’s expression, and whether the anger and resentment that had driven her to cloak this kingdom in darkness still persisted was unclear. “And you deign to know exactly what I want. What is it, then?” Her voice was as impassive as her features appeared to be. “What, at this point, could possibly encourage me to life nightfall from this forsaken kingdom? It seems your dear Rigas friend has already sent home the visitors I personally invited. Sent them home, and closed the door.” She looked skyward, to the once tear in the night that no longer existed. “I may have underestimated him. But you underestimate just how easy it is to open another door.”
“The Night Garden. That is what you want, isn’t it? It is what you’ve always wanted. For it to recognize you again, the way it recognized you so long ago when you were a Gardener.” The true Galeynian queen gestured to the thicket of trees, plants, and all manner of unique flora behind her. “I can make it happen.”
“You met with the young summoner.” The witch pointed out to demonstrate she was not convinced. But… something in her voice did point to intrigue. “Whatever manner of trickery you think I will fall for, I’m afraid I thought wrong.”
The Tenebris daughter did not blanch or deny the claim. She merely nodded. “I did meet with Teselin. My magic… it isn’t weak, but it’s largely dormant. I needed her to help awaken it so that I could make this possible. So that I could make the Night Garden see you again… I know how.”
“Why, then? You’ve had all this time to make the kingdom--the Night Garden, at its heart--recognize me again. Yet you wait for all to be almost lost. If this has been within your power all along…” Locque spread her arms. “You realize, then, how much of this could have been avoided?
“It might have been within my power, but it wasn’t something I realized I was capable of until now. Even so, it is not a spell I have attempted before… but I have to try. I owe it to this kingdom.” Lilica closed her eyes and exhaled. “Whatever it takes to protect it. I cannot make the people love you, Locque; you may never have that. But you can have the throne, and the Night Garden, if only you lift this darkness and swear to life whatever curse you have placed on Galeyn, and finally let the people live in peace. I owe it to the efforts of my father to see to it that the suffering of his people comes to an end.”
At first, the witch did not reply. Lilica feared that what she had to offer might not be enough to placate the slighted summoner... But, just when she was prepared to give up and begin devising another plan, Locque took the bait. “I’ll agree to this.” The sorceress said at last, after what seemed like considerable thought. “But at the first time that you mean to deceive me, do not think for a moment that I will not rip another portal into this sky. A kingdom that will not have me means nothing to me.”
“Then I’m glad we could come to an agreement.” Lilica nodded, and tried not to sigh too heavily in relief. “Follow me.”
The true and the false queen accompanied one another into the quiet and all but abandoned Night Garden, all the way to the sentinel tree. Illuminated by its own surrounding flora, she pointed to its base. It still bore the true queen’s bloody handprint that had awakened the kingdom of Galeyn over a year ago. The spell had only responded to Tenebris blood; as such, the Night Garden recognized only her as its ruler. And that was where the idea had come to her.
“You already know this, but it was my blood that broke the spell over this kingdom.” Lilica explained, kneeling to press her hand against the clear stamp of her palm against the pale bark. “Before my father vanished, he ensured that not only Tenebris blood, but mine, specifically, would ever hope to lift that spell. As a result… it is my blood, and my identity, that this Garden identifies with.”
“I am eager for you to get on with explaining what this has to do with me, Tenebris girl.” The sorceress folded her arms. What little patience she conveyed was beginning to wane. “I already know this story and what it required to awaken this kingdom. I’m well aware that the Garden responds only to you.”
“That all we have to do is convince the Garden that you are me.” Lilica rose from her kneeling position and turned to face the witch. “I know how to do that… in theory. Based on everything I have come to know about my own dark magic. I can’t guarantee results, but I am willing to try, if you are.”
The sorceress turned her head a moment, a skeptical look crossing her face. “And what will become of you when the Garden sees me as queen? Or of your friends that you hold so dear?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it will just fail to see me as insignificant. If you want… then we will all leave Galeyn. We’ll help the D’Marians find somewhere else to relocate. So long as you can promise me that you will take care of my home… of our home. Can you?” She met the witch’s eyes. “I know I shouldn’t trust you. But I don’t think what you really want is to destroy Galeyn, Locque. Not really. What I want… is just peace. For all of us.”
Locque paused a beat, turning Lilica’s words over in her mind, but Lilica was not concerned. She could see it in the witch’s eyes; she knew what she wanted. She was merely pausing for effect. “I never should have sent Rowen away.” She said at last, with a nod. “She’d tell me if your intentions are impure.”
“I intend exactly what I said: to make the Night Garden recognize you. To pass on a responsibility which… you already know I didn’t want.” Slowly, so as not to startle Locque, she reached for a knife tucked into her belt and took the tip, carving something intricate into her palm. Too much adrenaline coursed through her veins to be aware of the pain. Hot blood trickled from her fingertips. When she finished, she asked, “May I see your hand?”
“No. I’ll do it myself.” Locque took the knife from Lilica, a little too eagerly. She wanted this.
“It must look identical to mine.” Lilica instructed, and showed her bleeding hand to the witch for reference. Locque didn’t even flinch as she replicated the design. “Good. If you’re ready… take my hand.”
Locque discarded the knife like it was nothing. She didn’t hesitate; in a beat, she pressed her own injured palm to Lilica’s, like in a handshake. The true Galeynian queen closed her eyes. Concentrated…
And she summoned every ounce of anger, of hate, and of suffocating darkness that had plagued for her all of her life. Thanks to Teselin successfully finding and unlocking that abyss that had been so carefully tucked away since the Night Garden first burned the darkness out of her, she made contact with the chthonic energies that were also part of her birthright… and she unleashed them in the form of the black, oily flames that had once scorched the palace’s marble floors. She gave herself over to that magic entirely; and it was neither as hard, nor as difficult, as she’d thought it might be. In fact… it was a huge relief, finally acknowledging all of that searing hatred and anger she felt toward the woman who had been the cause of so much death and suffering. Lilica let her flames burn, eat along the ground such that it trapped the two of them in a circle. And she regretted nothing.
Just as she’d expected, the Night Garden, like before, was quick to react. But it was more than a fever that burned away all of the bad, this time; she fought against it, and pushed harder, harder, her flames encompassing more and more, until the Night Garden was helpless but to respond. Soon enough, her dark, inky fire was met with flames that were even hotter and brighter. They trapped the circle of darkness around the two women and licked higher and higher, determined to choke out that which threatened the Night Garden’s hallowed soil… even if it meant destroying the source.
Locque reacted; but it was already too late. “What have you done?” The witch hissed. She couldn’t vanish; something dampened her magic to such an extent that she was entirely trapped. “What is this!” She let go of Lilica’s hand, but it was already too late. There was nowhere to go.
“This? This is me. The real me. The result of childhood abuse and neglect because my real father couldn’t be around to raise me--because of you.” The dark mage’s smirk was confident, and almost cruel. “I guess I forgot to mention... the Night Garden doesn’t like the real me and what I am capable of. Tried to burn it out of me, once, but with the help of another little summoner, I got it back--stronger than before. Well, perhaps not strong enough to fight off the awesome powers of this Garden and its self-preservation…” She sighed, noting how the bright, white flames of the Garden’s magic was swiftly choking out her dark flame. “But it did what I needed it to do.”
“What did you do!” Locque screamed, anger swimming in her eyes. She grabbed Lilica by the shoulders. “I am a summoner… What is this doing to my magic!”
“But it doesn’t see you as a summoner. Not anymore. Right now, in the Night Garden’s eyes, it sees us as one and the same… and it sees us as its greatest threat. A royal, Galeynian legacy, with great sway over this Garden--we are the single most dangerous things to its longevity. We are the sickness, Locque!” She tilted her head back and a manic laugh escaped her lungs. “The Night Garden is just doing what it does best: burning away the sickness. The source of infection. It won’t stop until the threat is gone.”
“You... dim-witted bitch!” Cornered and terrified, Locque backed away, but she could only go so far. “If it destroys me… then it will destroy you, too!”
“Maybe. Honestly, I didn’t know it would actually go this far--I just had a feeling. But, it is what it is.” Lilica’s heart race. The Night Garden’s cleansing flames, battling her own inky dark fire, were closing in. “I did just what I said I’d do; I got the Night Garden to see you again. To see you for what you really are: an imposter and an infection… just like me.” I’m sorry, Chara. But you should have known… that I was never cut out for this. Not really. “Fortunately, Galeyn is strong enough to go on without the both of us.”
“No--I have worked too hard and waited too long. I…” Sweat trickled down Locque’s face as the heat began to become unbearable. “This is folly--the Night Garden does not kill!”
“No, but it purges. It does what is necessary to eradicate injury and illness. We’re only vessels: if it must incinerate the vessels to purge the poison that threatens it, then it will. Our ashes will nourish the soil, just like those of the dead, scattered throughout. Don’t underestimate its power.” Perspiration beaded on her own brow. It was too hot… it was beginning to hurt. Is this really how she would go? With no future, burning, suffocating, and with no one to turn to but the most hated being in all of the kingdom. Yet, even through that filter of red-hot anger and hatred… Lilica could not deny that she was no better. Hadn’t she, too, let her own kingdom down through her own negligence? Locque was never meant to be queen. But that did not mean that she deserved it either.
The flames continued to close in. There was nowhere to go but forward, until she and the sorceress were nose to nose. It almost made her want to reach out, just for something, someone, to hold in this terrifying moment… almost. “I wonder...” her smirk faded, and she closed her eyes, prepared to face the inevitable. “...what will be left of either of us, if anything… once all that darkness has been burned away.”
The reemergence of Teselin, followed by her stricken confession, not only deflated Alster’s resolve, but filled him with an intractable snag at his chest. He placed a reflexive hand there to soothe the arresting pain. “I have an idea of what she’s doing,” he spoke into the pin-drop silent room full of people who lost their fight and their direction. “Teselin, if you unearthed the darkness of her dormant, toxic magic, then surely, she plans to attack the Night Garden with it, as she did back then...around when we first discovered Galeyn.”
“But why would she attack the Night Garden?” Haraldur, out of lack of how else to process the news, grabbed the hilt of his sword as though he could thwart a real enemy and claim a victory. Any victory.
“From what happened last time she attacked it, the Garden’s natural defense system stepped in and...purged her violent flames, and her, in the process. If somehow, she managed to link Locque to this destruction, then maybe, the Night Garden would purge Locque of her darkness, too.” Along with Lilica, Alster thought, but chose not to add, to spare Teselin any further upset.
“But that also means—“ Haraldur paused, and bristled, as if struck by an invisible blow. Without a word, he ran out the door, but didn’t keep everyone questioning for long. “It’s on fire!” he announced from outside.
“Then it’s already begun...and we’re too late to do anything…” Alster shook away his resignation, replacing it with vestiges of the ferocity he exhibited just before Teselin’s arrival. “We can still help! We can still be there! Let’s go!”
Before the summoner thought to follow, a hand reached for her arm, staying her in place. “If it all goes up in smoke, Tes, you’ll look after me, yeah?” Hadwin’s lips pulled into a weak grin, a failed attempt to hide his fragility. Even his grip wavered. “Stick around, kid. Whatever you did, it’s over.” It’s over...Those words reflected back at him, but he refused to acknowledge what they referenced. He refused to use his periphery and penetrate the vast darkness because he knew what lurked there, waiting for him. “Would you believe me if I said I’m afraid of the dark, now? Let our fears keep each other warm.”
It didn’t escape Chara’s notice that Lilica was up to something.
As they developed and refined the rhythms of their relationship, Chara grew more accustomed to her tells, her body language, the little tics and twitches that gave her away. And while she dutifully carried out the rightful Queen’s order to ferry people to safety and shelter, it wasn’t without intense hesitation that she left her side. She couldn’t shake the familiar feeling that they had lived this moment, before. Nevermind the surface-level similarities between Locque’s interdimensional hell-creatures and the monstrous hell-creature rampaging Stella D’Mare, but beyond the obvious, Lilica had the tendency to make stupid sacrifices without telling people, an insufferable trait she and Alster shared in common.
In her desire to return to Lilica’s side before the unavoidable, or the worst, could occur, Chara optimized her relocation strategies, throwing herself headlong into crowd control and resource allocation with the efficiency befitting her own stint as a leader and hence, an organizer. She distributed lanterns, plotted the best routes to navigate in and around the palace, and borrowed some Dawn Guard troops to establish order when the rowdier Galeynians still doubted her authority, all thanks to the late Rowen’s demoralizing remarks. But self-preservation often outranked anger and principles, and the Galeynians by and large put aside their qualms in favor of survival.
The moment she escorted the last group into the cellars and dungeons underneath the palace, she turned her attention to a rather responsible-looking Dawn warrior and tagged him on the shoulder. “You are in charge of this lot,” she said, swishing past him to avoid sputters of doubt, concern, or protest. Her fingers secured the banister as she hauled herself up the cellar stairs. “Lock up behind me. Worry not about my whereabouts; I will not be returning until this fight is over.”
Upstairs, the palace was abandoned, no signs of life proliferating but for the crackle and glow of the fires upon their evenly-spaced wall sconces. If not for the invisible threat lumbering on outside, Chara would have preferred the darkness. Something about well-lit places without people there to occupy them disturbed her—as though the whole of Galeyn had been whisked away into oblivion, and she was left to wander in a living museum. A living mausoleum.
She rushed down the cavernous corridors, her heels clicking and reverberating with double the resonance, double the emptiness. Although she didn’t know where to find Lilica, she assumed the Night Garden was the most viable option, and so she made haste. When she passed through the outer boundaries, it wasn’t difficult to spot where Lilica had gone...
...Judging by the towering inferno of purple-black flames illuminating the Garden’s center.
“No,” she gasped aloud, aware of what those flames portended, what they signified. She broke into a dead run, but by the time she reached the base of the sentinel tree, the flames were being consumed by a blinding beacon of white-hot light emanating from the Garden itself. From her position, it was difficult to see the two figures populating the center of the flame ring, and impossible to draw closer without experiencing the intense heat and threat of secondhand incineration. But no doubt, there was Lilica and Locque, her captive, both standing on the threshold of a holy conflagration that intended to burn them whole.
“Lilica!” She screamed, but her voice could not penetrate the roar of the flames—nor could her image, invisible to the fierce column of firelight. Still, she stretched out a hand, cursing when proximity to the flame bit her fingertips as punishment for interfering. “Dammit, Lilica, if you do this to me again, if you even dare—!” But she never finished the threat. What could she do? What was even happening? Frustrated tears pricked her eyes.
“Chara!” She whirled around to see Alster, Elespeth, Haraldur, and Bronwyn trot up behind her, taking in the scene with the same level of shock and helplessness.
“Do something, Alster!” She begged of her cousin, who shook his head and grabbed her hand, encouraging her farther away from the inferno. She budged, but only took a few incremental steps, just enough to escape the radiation zone. “Do something!” she repeated, digging her pinioned fingers into Alster’s shoulders. Again, he shook her head.
“No force of heaven or earth can stop what’s happening right now.”
“But you didn’t even try! How about my magic? It can do something, can it not?! Have we not practiced my abilities all night long!?”
Alster clamped Chara’s hands in her own, clutching them like manacles before she thought to raise them of her own accord. “This can’t be stopped, Chara! We have to trust that the Night Garden won’t kill her! It didn’t kill her last time. So stay away! We must wait for this to end!”
“He’s right!” Haraldur echoed. “This is the Garden’s will. We can’t interfere!”
Fortunately, the wait did not last long. The entire process from beginning to end could be tracked in a matter of minutes. Unfortunately for Chara, minutes meant nothing when the love of your life was getting burned alive alongside the witch who tormented them for well over a year, and those minutes agonized her. Out of fear of missing a cry for help, or a detail Alster missed in his know-it-all analysis, she refused to turn away from the flame despite the strain on her hurting eyes.
And then, like a flash, it ended. The flames subsided and before Chara could bear witness to the results—and the devastation—a blanket seemed to lift on the world and everything became impossibly bright, so much so, that Chara, who’d been staring intimately into fire, had to shutter and close her eyes shut.
“It’s back,” she heard Bronwyn remark behind them. “The sun. The sky. If there’s no more darkness, then…”
Chara forced her stubborn eyes open with a snap. There she saw it, as bright as literal daylight, the damning evidence. The remains of the once-formidable summoner, Locque, reduced to a pile of ashes among the gray and charred ruins of once lush undergrowth.
“She’s gone,” Alster said, relief intermixed with denial...and disappointment. “She’s really gone.”
As for Lilica…
A body lay, discarded on the ground, unresponsive and unmoving.
“Lilica!”
“She’s alive,” Alster said, lowering into a crouch and placing a hand over her chest. “Incredibly weak, but alive.”
“Thank the stars,” came Chara’s half sob of a response. “Because she’ll wish she weren’t when I’m done with her.”
“Let that wait until she’s up and about. There’s been too many deaths and near-deaths for one day,” Alster sighed, moving aside for Haraldur to lift Lilica—the rightful Galeyn queen—into his arms. No burns marred her skin—at least from a cursory glance. “She’ll heal well in the sanctuary.” He nodded at Haraldur as he headed for the small hut, which was fast becoming crowded with the bodies of people who required critical healing. Chara made to follow, but stopped when Alster touched her arm, stymying her advance. “We’ll have the time to see to her well-being soon enough, but there’s something we need to do, first.” He gazed at the palace, glittering white in the early afternoon sun. It was hard to believe the nightmare of Locque’s final stand lasted only a handful of hours. “The kingdom is without a queen, for now. Someone will have to occupy that position. Someone close to her—who can tell her story as it happened. Chara,” he looked at her solemnly, “it has to be you.”
She pressed on her jaw, her discomfort at the prospect evident. “...It has to be done,” she relented with a nod of finality. “Very well. Locque might be gone, but the work is far from over. I thrive in the busywork. It redirects my anger elsewhere, besides.”
Alster cast a worried, and surreptitious, side glance in Elespeth’s direction. He sympathized with Lilica. Like him, she had much to answer for under the scrutiny and hurt of her significant other. “Do go easy on her, Chara,” he lowered his arm, releasing her from his touch. “She’s alive. We’re alive, and here together, on this earthly plane. That’s what matters most of all.”
Much as everyone was in desperate need of a rest after the events of that morning, the prospect of slipping into sleep was too ludicrous to imagine. After Haraldur transferred the unconscious Lilica to the sanctuary, he immediately fetched the Gardeners from hiding, inviting them to return to the battered but largely unchanged Night Garden and to lend support for the people in need of healing. This included the dozen Forbanne soldiers injured from Sigrid’s swift onslaught and whose magical resistance prevented instantaneous recovery from the hands of a mage. The heinous and now-defunct Gaolithe was removed from the Night Garden and stored away in a room of miscellaneous junk, to be dealt with at a later date. After mobilizing his Forbanne troops to spread the word of Locque’s defeat to central and greater Galeyn, and to aid in the collection and burial of the dead, Haraldur finally reunited with his family, who had, per his instructions, remained safe and cared for in a secure location; a bunker beneath the outer fringes of the Night Garden.
Alster, too bone-weary from his ordeal in the etherrealms, collected the dregs of his energy for one simple task, before forced to retire. He lifted the resonance stone from his pocket and contacted the Canaverises.
“Ari,” he said, mollified at hearing the Canaveris Lord’s voice. So Nia had managed to restore his life. “You are well, I take it? Or...as well as can be expected? Rest easy; daylight has returned. There are no more monsters and rifts. And Locque...is gone. You are all free to return to the surface and resume your affairs.”
Ari, unseemingly aware of what happened to him in full, acknowledged the message and the posthaste response to D’Marian rehabituation. For someone whose heart almost petrified to stone a scant few hours ago, he sounded more than ready to lead his people again, no second wind required.
Assuming Nia had joined the Canaverises underground after completing her task, Alster didn’t bother to ask after her and terminated their conversation, satisfied that the D’Marians and everyone under Ari’s eye didn’t suffer any casualties...as far as they knew.
Chara, accepting the mantle of leadership out of necessity, made quick work of restoring palace staff aboveground and informing everyone that the demise of the usurper queen was carried out by Lilica Tenebris, their true and legitimate queen—a queen who sacrificed so her people would be free of Locque’s reign of fear. Gathering the most stalwart of Galeynian advisors, she didn’t allow them to question her position as an interim leader as she methodically began creating an itemized list of priorities, going forward.
“Foremost, we must see to the dead and injured. We’ve deployed Forbanne for a kingdom-wide sweep, but we must also deploy physicians and healers who are able to tend to the wounded outside the perimeters of the Night Garden. I shall see to it that the D’Marian settlement lends a few of their mage-healers, to expedite the process. They can afford to share.” She went on to her second point. “The citizenry will want an account of events, so schedule an address, with all witnesses in attendance, for tomorrow afternoon. Today is strictly reserved for recovery. Speaking of,” she stopped her tour of the palace grounds, mid-stride, as she caught sight of the rubble from the destroyed observatory littered across the lawn, “I know a family well-equipped in manipulating stone and masonry. We shall have this observatory restored in half the time of a normal construction project, I assure you. Now, on to my next point…”
On the gradual return to relative normalcy and structure, an agenda pushed by Chara Rigas, denizens of the palace began to reoccupy their chambers—of those not damaged by the unseen creatures. Isidor was one such person to retire to his quarters after a tiresome day creating light sources for the people of Galeyn. But as he entered his room, a curious sight waited for him. Sitting on his work table, a lily, crafted entirely from starlight, winked and bent in hues of brilliant blue and silver, impossible to miss in contrast to the muted, dusty dark of his bedroom-turned-study. And, if he decided to rest his fingers on the beautiful specimen, he would find it to burst in millions of disseminated refractions of light, like dandelion spores floating in the wind; there, then gone. Nothing remained but the imprint of the light where the flower resided. Residual pops of blue and white, but otherwise, no substance.
Having taken her frightened Night Steed as far as it would go amid the threat of invisible monsters in an unending night, the Master Alchemist, Nia Ardane, was eventually forced to resort to carrying herself the rest of the way to safety on foot--which was no easy task with an injured left leg. Osric’s son might not have been much of a fighter and knew little about mortally wounding someone, but give anyone a knife, and there was no end to the possibilities in terms of the damage they could do. The jab hadn’t been well aimed, but it had gone deep, the gash long, and Nia was quick to realize that putting any amount of pressure on that leg was agonizing. Suspecting that it was beginning to swell from the trauma, she had no choice but to abandon her boot as she dismounted the skittish Night Steed, and eyed the first building that came into view: an old barn, long since abandoned, by the looks of it. Unoccupied by people or animals since the kingdom had reawakened, and still many, many paces away… but she had no choice. She had given her only light source to a family that would sooner see her dead: if she was not quick, there was no telling how fast the invisible monsters could take her out.
So, against her better judgment, she ran--well, as much as anyone could run when every second step was a shock of white-hot pain up her leg. Adrenaline and fear too off the edge just enough for her to make it inside, and collapse upon an abandoned pile of straw. She was not safe: there was nothing preventing the darkness-bound creatures from coming inside, just like they had burst into the Canaveris villa had had frightened Ari nearly to death. All she could do was draw her legs up to her chest and wait… and hope that, somehow, they would not find her. With an injured leg and a horse that had likely run away by now, there would be no escaping Galeyn by any means of safety. All that she could do was wait…
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she noticed the sliver of light peeking through the doors of the stable, from her hunched position upon the straw in the corner. Light… but, wait. Did that mean…?
Nia had to see for herself. Against her better judgement, she forced herself to stand, crying out at the throbbing pain of her swollen leg that nearly made her fall over, and she stumbled toward the barn door, peeking out the crack. Daylight… darkness had dissipated. There were no cries of danger, and no sign of any of the invisible monsters remaining from the rift that Locque had torn open. But… what did this mean? Had the sorceress unraveled her own spell? Or… no. No, Locque would never have relented. This could only mean… “...she is gone.” The Master Alchemist whispered the words to herself with equal parts of relief and sadness. Another chapter in her life had officially closed: that brief, beautiful period of time when she had felt safe, had made friends, had fallen in love… However much the sorceress was misled by her own burning hatred and anger, Nia could not deny that it was Locque who had made all of this possible for her. “Sorry I couldn’t help you, your Majesty…” She sighed, falling away from the door and leaning her frame heavily against the wooden walls of the barn. “Wherever you are… I hope you’re free, now. More than I can say for myself.”
She made the mistake of glancing at the deep wound on her leg. It still trickled blood, despite having torn a strip of fabric to staunch the flow. It was swollen, throbbing, tender, and had begun to feel hot to the touch. But this was the leg that she would have to run with: to run away before she became wanted again, by another place, and other people. Much though she loathed to leave her future with Ari behind, she owed it to her sisters to keep surviving. An unconscious hand clutched for the star pendant at her throat… and came away empty. “No…” Nia’s eyes widened, and she immediately began to scan the barn for any signs of her only piece of jewelry: her only tie to her family. The one talisman that she truly believed had the power to keep her alive, all this time. “No, no, it’s not gone… it’s here. Gotta be here somewhere…” But she didn’t have the strength to look for it right now, much like she did not have the strength to run. The sky beyond the barn was clear and sunny; the immediate danger had abated. It was safe to sleep, to rest for a while. She just needed a little rest, she convinced herself, as she drew a steadying breath and closed her eyes. She’d feel better. She’d find her pendant, and she’d get the hell out of here. Just after a little rest…
In the couple of days since any trace of the sorceress, Locque, had disappeared, the kingdom of Galeyn was far from returning to peace. Lives lost to the invisible monsters the usurper queen had summoned through that tear in thes sky counted over a hundred, diminishing the small nation’s already dwindled population. Among those lives lost, some had even been Gardeners, joining young Breane in the great beyond, which elicited even more of an emergency when there simply weren’t enough hands to treat the wounded in a timely manner. Anyone and everyone even remotely capable of healing or lending aid was called on in the Night Garden and in the infirmary. The D’Marians, who had suffered the fewest casualties, sent some of their own healers up to the kingdom’s center to lend aid where they could. The sanctuary had become so crowded that temporary cots and tents had actually been set out outside, within the Night Garden itself, for those whose conditions were not stable enough to safely leave its vicinity.
And, as for the Night Garden itself… The small area that had been licked with both light and chthonic flames was devoid of its former flora: a black against the beautiful greens and vibrant colours that surrounded it. No one including the Gardeners had had any time to examine it to gauge the possibility that the soil would ever bear vegetative life again, but one thing was for certain: nothing, absolutely nothing, was left of Locque. The wind had taken her ashes long before anyone could collect them, and the witch that had plagued Galeyn for so long was little more than a shadow of a memory of the damage she had caused. But given what it had taken to finally lay her to rest for good… well, there was no murmur of celebrations through the broken--and currently, queenless--nation.
Queen Lilica Tenebris’s intentions, and what she had done for a kingdom she had never asked for, were relayed to the public through her advisor, Chara Rigas. Whatever feelings of uncertainty the people had had toward the rightful queen at this point had long since dissipated, replaced with nothing but concern for her condition. She had been found miraculously alive, nothing burned away but her clothes, amidst the pile of ash that had undoubtedly been the witch, but her skin was so hot to the touch with fever that she was immediately taken to the sanctuary and placed in a cold bath to bring down her temperature. This continued for days, and once the water grew too warm, they had no choice but to pour it out and refill the tub in record time before her fever climbed all over again; suffice it say, the Tenebris daughter could not be left unattended for even a moment.
With the exception of one of a Forbanne soldier whom Sigrid had gravely wounded and who had yet to awaken from a coma, the only two other permanent occupants of the sanctuary were Hadwin, and an unconscious Sigrid Sorenson. Although it had not taken long to stabilize the former Dawn Warrior, and there was no reason for her to remain unresponsive, her eyelids hadn’t so much as fluttered since driving the enchanted blade, Gaolithe, through her abdomen. Some speculated that she was afraid to wake up, lest it all come crashing down on her how much damage she had caused as Locque’s thrall; but Haraldur, who had heard Naimah’s name on her lips before she made an attempt on her own life, thought differently. “She won’t be unconscious forever. She’s going to wake up… and this will all get sorted out.” Vega tried to reassure him when, to her great relief, they reunited. “She’ll be fine. Because she’s surrounded by people who care about her. And none of what happened… None of it is her fault. We’ll make sure she knows that.”
Following the return of the invisible monsters from another world, and the stitching of the tear that Locque had torn into their own dimension, Alster also was not without a moment of work. He had stepped in with his healing skills almost as soon as the kingdom had finally been deemed safe, and only ever got a few hours’ rest when Elespeth all but forced him to sleep and replenish his energy. Much though he wanted to travel to the D’Marian settlement to see the damage for himself, and to assess what needed to be fixed, he had to rest assured that Ari had it all under control, because there was not a moment to be spared for those who needed urgent medical attention. He scarcely had time to communicate with the Canaveris lord through the resonance stone, and when he did find a moment, he was often too exhausted to register much of what was being said in their conversation.
Three full days. It was three full days, since (and not including) the day that Locque had gone up in flames before medical urgency finally declined, some of the more superficially injured healed, and Alster finally found the time to reconnect with the D’Marian settlement to see if there was anywhere he might be able to lend assistance. He and Elespeth chose that afternoon to depart by carriage to meet with the Canaverises and discuss the damage done to some areas of the settlement, as well as what could be salvaged. The two of them chose a long daytime trek to their destination to sleep along the way; their return to the palace would be much faster, and they’d be far better rested.
When they arrived that evening, the state of the settlement was just as Ari had described through the resonance stone: some buildings had been damaged, the Canaveris villa being the worst to have taken a hit, but nothing had been razed or toppled. A couple D’Marians were nursing minor injuries, most due to being caught in the crossfire of the invisible monsters cutting through stone, but Ari had been happy to report that there had been no casualties. Alster had gotten the message to him just in time, and he and the D’Marians had acted fast enough to seek safety underground, where they couldn’t be harmed. If anything, the damage was more cosmetic than it was devastating, and people were more shaken than they were hurt.
The Rigas couple wished they could have said the same about central Galeyn. “Lilica has yet to wake up.” Elespeth informed Ari, as she and Alster accompanied him down one of the streets. It was astounding that the man who, according to Alster,had such a near-death experience, acted as though nothing had happened to him at all. No feathers ruffled and no confidence misplaced. Perhaps that was just part of who he was: never allowing weakness to show in public. As a figurehead, he knew he couldn’t afford it. “The Night Garden… it didn’t turn her to ash, like Locque, but she’s been stricken with a fever that won’t abate. Chara has stepped in to organize procedures in her stead. I’m not sure how well the kingdom is taking to her leadership, but… frankly, it’s still too stunned from the events a few days ago for the people to really react.”
It was interesting that she and her husband were suddenly able to walk the streets of the D’Marian Settlement without too many glares or protests being thrown their way. They didn’t seem to question Ari’s decision to invite them into the compound--probably because word had spread as to exactly who had managed to send the invisible monsters home, close the rift in the sky. It seemed the D’Marians respected Alster Rigas as much as they feared him--that, or they’d finally realized that there existed (or, had existed) someone far worse than him. This was something that had seemed to register with Alster, as well… and it didn’t seem to sit particularly well with the Rigas mage. They hadn’t discussed it outright, but ever since Locque had banished him to free falling in the etherrealms, Elespeth knew the anger that burned at his core for what the witch had done, and for her lack of taking him seriously, continued to slow-boil in his gut. How badly he had wanted to have a part in making Locque fall, once and for all… He might not admit it, but the ending she met was not one he would have chosen for her. Had it been up to him, it may well have been a lot worse.
“Amazing what you have done here in just a few days,” she said after a moment, deciding that it was time to change the topic to something a little more positive. The kingdom had been dwelling and surrounded by negative energies for long enough. Contrary to before, “The repairs to your estate are already coming together. Has Nia helped bring it all together? I imagine a Master Alchemist with her ability to manipulate material matter at her will would be incredibly useful putting the pieces of this settlement back together.”
It was just Elespeth’s luck that the one time she make a solid, genuine attempt not to completely disvalue Nia Ardane, it would backfire. Ari paused in his step and his smile faded; Alster and Elespeth exchanged concerned glances. “Wait. You mean… So Nia hasn’t been here with you, all this time?”
Evidently not. Neither Ari not his mother had seen her in quite some time; not since he had recovered from his near-death experience, at the very least. Nor had there been any communication between the two of them since the sky went dark, several days ago. The Canaveris lord had attempted time and again to reach Nia through the connected resonance stone, but was only met with silence each time, which led him to believe she had dropped it at some point. He’d been the last to hear from her, and no one had heard from her since. “So, you mean… Nia Ardane is…” Missing? Was that the right word? She was not a true denizen of the kingdom: like Locque, she was a trespasser, asserting her presence in a place where she had never belonged, but… none of that mattered when someone, even just one person, cared about her and her well-being.
“I had… we had no idea. We’d assumed she had hidden away with you… Has a search party been organized?” She asked, suddenly feeling guilty for not making a greater effort to be warmer with Nia Ardane. “We’ve finally gotten a handle on treating the wounded; if there is anything we can do to help, then know we are here to offer our services.”
Ari reawakened to darkness. But this darkness differed. It molded into a different shape, different consistency. No longer sharp and oily like sludge, this darkness hung, delicate and diaphanous, revealing its holes where light could shine. And as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings, the light, a hint of flavor not fully realized, filled between the cracks in lambent greens and blues. The room was in shambles, rubble weighing on the cracked marble tiles and crumbling walls half-erected, standing in protest against the leaden weight of the deep-sea sky, as fathomless as it was crushing.
In defiance against the above vortex vising him into abeyance, he lifted himself into a sitting position, fighting the tilt of his senses and the two shadowy figures pushing on his arms, opposing his desire. They yammered at him in muddied tones, and all he could understand was one word. A name.
Nia.
“What happened?” He managed, but the figures shushed him. Something covered his legs. He lowered his head, noticing the chill, the raised goose flesh as dank air hit skin, his state of undress. The figures were making haste to cover him until decent. The atmospheric glow emanating from a shattered chandelier, still crackling from the bioluminescent stones, doused him in a faint sheen, and he noticed not only the blood speckled on his ruined coat, but the fine layer of white dust covering his body. Dust like ash...and where was...where was…?!
He looked around frantically, ignoring the nausea generated from his swift head-turning. “Casimiro. Where—“
But the figures didn’t listen. A sense of weightlessness he previously thought impossible in this muted marine world overtook him and he was floating, drifting away, away, and deeper down into the depths. Oddly, the further down they descended, the brighter and warmer and lighter it became. As he espied the concerned glances from familiar faces, awareness slowly dawned…
And he remembered what happened.
The two figures revealed themselves in the subterranean illumination. Lazarus...and his mother.
“There was a monster in the darkness,” he said, stunned but in a faraway sense. He departed from the ocean; he was no longer drowning, and the feelings fueling the fear had abated like waves on the shore. “I could not move. I remember Casimiro holding me and then...nothing.”
“We reached you in time,” said Nadira, vaguely. “Your blessings are manifold, Ari. Now, you must rest. All D’Marians are accounted for and safely underground. A few have sustained injuries, but nothing serious. We have nothing more to do than to wait.”
And they waited. In the hours that elapsed, Ari stood, checking the balance in his legs and found he could walk unencumbered. He could have sworn he’d suffered a flare-up that paralyzed his entire lower half, and he was certain he heard someone speak Nia’s name. What did it mean? Was she here?
But neither Nadira nor Lazarus were present to inquire about the details behind his unfortunate run-in with the snarling darkness. They were elsewhere, distributing blankets, water, and refreshments for the shaken D’Marians, and offering words of comfort—something he should have been doing, but many D’Marians offered him space, likely on his mother’s orders. In the end, it lent the opposite effect. Scrubbing off the dusty remains of his brother’s statue—much though he wanted to refrain from removing what remained of Casimiro’s fond memorial—Ari resumed his leadership role, charging into the fray and visiting his terror-stricken people with fanciful stories to keep their minds off of the danger and demonstrations of wall carvings on the sides of the cave, which he invited the children to partake in. He provided paints and other materials and helped in the creation of a mural, a colorful one beset in soft, pastel hues of daylight as a direct answer to the darkness pressing down over their heads.
At last, the end came upon them. Not an end resulting in their destruction, no, but an end to the fear and uncertainty. The resonance stone linking him to Alster buzzed in his pocket, and he received the most wonderful and unexpected news.
“Locque has been defeated,” he announced to the dumbfounded crowd. “The skies are clear and bright once more. The threat of monsters is no longer. This blight on our lives has lifted. We are spared; we are safe. Feel free to return to your homes. We shall guide you if you have need of assistance.”
Returning to relative normalcy set the pace for the next few days. Upon emerging from the surface, D’Marians found their settlement largely unchanged but for a few small demolished houses, but the structure taking the brunt of the damage was the Canaveris estate and only to the western wing. All things considered, they fared much better than the rest of Galeyn, and Nadira made certain to drill into their heads who they had to thank for the forward-thinking and planning that saved everyone’s lives.
Because they emerged from the assault relatively unscathed, Ari offered homes for displaced Galeynians who lived in the area and lent his healers to anyone too injured to travel to the Night Garden. For the next few days, he had the misfortune of working alongside Chara, who declared herself Galeyn’s leader in Lilica’s stead, but they kept relations strictly professional, and their points of contact remained remote and limited to the use of emissaries.
Despite the intimidating list of work ahead of him, Ari never stopped worrying about Nia. He called and he called on his resonance stone, but to no avail. Was she safe? Protected? ...Alive?
On the third day following Locque’s demise, Ari approached Nadira, who had excused herself from overseeing the reconstruction of D’Marian homes. The western wing of the Canaveris villa had yet to be touched, save for the hasty cleanup of rubble and of the remnants of Casimiro’s statue, which Ari insisted he would repurpose and that no one was allowed to handle. Since the estate’s rebuild ranked as low priority, the focus never strayed from the citizens and their needs, above all.
“While I have you here,” Ari gestured to an empty house and held open the door, “we need to discuss what you know about the day the sky turned black. We cannot avoid this subject a moment longer. If you believe the truth will upset me, then you underestimate my strength.”
And so Nadira, cornered and discovered, revealed the details behind what occurred while he was unconscious. His life was saved. Twice. Once, by Alster Rigas, who spirited away the monster terrorizing him. The second time…
“My heart...you say?” He gripped his chest in a reflexive gesture. “It hardened to stone, and Nia…”
He swayed on his feet, rendered speechless by the revelation of events, chief among them, Nia’s part. For her to reverse the effects of his stone heart with no lingering symptoms was nothing short of impressive. She must have pushed her body to its limits, and all for him.
All for him...
“Where is she?” He lowered his hand and straightened his posture before Nadira could worry about his visceral, wide-eyed reaction. “Why did she not stay?”
“I do not know why,” Nadira admitted, training her regretful eyes to the dirt floor. “And I do not know her whereabouts. I’ve sent a small search party to ascertain her location, but so far, our results have yielded nothing.”
“Search?” He shot one confused eyebrow skyward. “What of the pebble golem you inserted into her boot?”
She shook her head. “I discovered it in the ballroom. It must have fallen out of her boot after she aided you. Perhaps the same can be said of the resonance stone if she has failed to answer your summons.”
“So we’ll send more people to find her,” he said, determination sharpening his voice into pinioned obsidian. “Until she is found.” We have a future together, Nia. Locque is gone. You do not need to run from us. From me…
Their plans were interrupted by the routine buzzing in Ari’s pocket. He brought the active resonance stone to his mouth and answered Alster’s request to lend aid to the D’Marians at the settlement. “We have everything well in hand,” he assured the Rigas mage. “But if you must see for yourself, then I invite you and your wife to pay a visit, as my personal guests. No need to conceal yourself. All of the settlement knows of your heroic feats in eradicating the monsters and the rift. No one can ignore nor dispute the numerous lives you’ve saved…including my own.”
Several hours later, Ari, Lazarus, and Nadira welcomed the carriage containing his guests, offering pleasant greetings that the latter had also echoed...and not in a begrudging manner. To Alster and Elespeth, his mother glowed hospitality and respect, especially to the man who contributed to saving her son’s life.
“Lord Alster Rigas. Lady Rigas. My warmest salutations. I take it the carriage ride was not too droll or bumpy?”
“Ah...no, no it wasn’t,” Alster returned Nadira’s smile, but not without some confusion and unease. “Thank you for your concern, Lady Canaveris.”
They wasted no further time on pleasantries and proceeded to tour the most damaged areas of the settlement. During their trek, they encountered a few D’Marians who, on seeing Alster, lowered their heads and kept a wide berth, but didn’t otherwise cast aspersions on his name or cry for his removal or death. Alster took the cold but not hostile reception in stride, wholly unsurprised but simultaneously...sorrowed by the sight. He knew they needed time to process his feat of heroism, which contradicted his feat of malicious intent, and yet, they still wouldn’t accept him, yielding nothing but the barest of tolerance. Seeing this treatment firsthand, he could understand what Locque felt. The people would reject her, always. What of him?
The comparison made him feel sicker, disgusted...resentful. He clutched his stomach, commanding it to cease churning and knotting together its tendrils of hateful flame, for it had nowhere to go and if he nursed it, it would expand, lash out...
“Please do not fret, Lord Rigas,” Ari, noticing Alster’s malaise, reserved a small smile for the Rigas mage. “As promised, I shall endeavor to restore your image in this community. They will know and recognize your selfless contributions to the safety of D’Marians and Galeynians. Nor will I hesitate to detail the measures you took to save my life. The Canaverises recognize your deeds, my friend.”
“Thank you.” Though unconvinced, he concealed his doubts with a polite nod and lapsed into thoughtful silence. As they walked, he left Elespeth to recount the latest developments from the palace, to which Ari responded appropriately, expressing well-wishes for Lilica’s recovery and discussing his sparse correspondences with Chara Rigas.
“I must give her credit. She is efficient and straightforward. She has stated numerous times that her current position is temporary and provisional, and has never once represented herself as a replacement to Queen Lilica. It is an important distinction, and one that requires reiteration. The people mustn’t believe another tyrant intends to take advantage of the power vacuum and declare herself as supreme ruler.”
In Elespeth’s well-meaning attempts to add some levity to the subject matter, Ari paused, his steps ceasing. “No, you misunderstand. Nia is not here. After...afterward,” he gestured at his chest and his legs, “she left. We know not where. We’ve sent search parties, but,” he shook his head, “our efforts have borne no fruit. Without a pebble golem, or a resonance stone on her person, I’m afraid we cannot track her with ease.”
“Could she have left the kingdom?” Alster furrowed his brow, making a mental map of the places where she likely could be...if she were alive at all. However adept the Ardane alchemist and her survival savviness, a quick swipe from an unseen creature would spell her doom. But no one dared entertain the grisly thought. Not until they found a body.
“I...cannot say for certain,” Ari sighed, guilty in assuming Nia would flee at the soonest opportunity.
“What can we do to help?” Alster echoed Elespeth’s offer. “Whether it be at the settlement or elsewhere...what do you need?”
“Honestly, unless you can hew rows of new homes straight from stone, then I can think of little else for you to do here, save for common labor.” He turned to Alster, frowning. “Showing your face may yield mixed results from the people, I’m sad to say, and I cannot adhere to your side and vouch for your good intentions when I’ve dozens of places to be. What would aid me most of all...is locating Nia, as soon as possible.” His face visibly brightened as an idea struck him. “What of the wolves? Hadwin and Bronwyn Kavanagh. The former owes me for the torment he has made me endure, and Nia seems to enjoy his company for some reason. I am sure he can sweet-talk her into returning, if fear of retribution keeps her hidden. Yes; his nose and his silver tongue will fare well in this task, I daresay.”
“We can most definitely inform Bronwyn, yes. As for Hadwin,” Alster exchanged a doubtful look with Elespeth, shifting uncomfortably, “he’s...far from peak condition right now, on multiple accounts. Currently, he’s convalescing at the sanctuary and though I haven’t checked on his welfare in a few days, I’m not sure he’s going to be of much help, as he is. He’s been through quite the ordeal.”
“Oh.” Ari tried to hide his disappointment. “Well, Miss Bronwyn is a lovely alternative, and far easier a personality to palate, I am sure. At your earliest convenience, please recruit her invaluable services. She will have my endless gratitude.”
Abiding Ari’s wish, Alster and Elespeth returned to the palace posthaste, a journey expedited by the supernaturally fast hoofbeats of the Night steeds at the onset of evening. Upon their arrival, they inquired after Bronwyn...and were disheartened to learn that she volunteered herself to help rebuild a devastated Galeynian village deep in the farmlands and no one could give an estimate on when she would return.
“The timing couldn’t be worse,” Alster moaned aloud to Elespeth, his frustration apparent. “We can always ride out to fetch her, or I could…” he hesitated. Fast travel through the etherrealms was always within his power, but without the proper coordinates, and his wife’s likely disapproval, he scrapped the idea before giving it full-bodied form. Besides...he wasn’t quite eager to explore the place that almost unmade him...twice, even if he’d only be there in passing. “Well...I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to pay Hadwin a visit. While we’re there, we can also see how Lilica and Sigrid are doing.”
Due to the sanctuary’s healing might, only four patients occupied the hut that evening: a Forbanne soldier who fell victim to Sigrid’s blade, Sigrid herself, Lilica, and Hadwin. Three of the four patients were fast asleep; the soldier, in the throes of slumber, Sigrid, healed in full but unresponsive, and Lilica, her high fever regulated and no longer a danger. Hadwin, however, was wide awake and watching them, seated in the chair Rowen Kavanagh once liked to occupy.
“Al and my hero, Elly,” the faoladh clucked, leaning forward and planting both feet on the ground. “Yes, please; break up the monotony! I’ve got three sleepers here and they’re shit for company. The folks who come and go never stick around, and I’ve been good but fuck do I need something to do.”
“Hadwin.” Alster was not surprised to see him up and, while not about, then upright and moving, but what did surprise him was how...calm and unruffled he seemed. “Where’s Teselin this evening?”
He scoffed. “Have you seen the state of this kingdom? No really, I’m asking cuz I haven’t seen shit other than these walls. Anyway, there’re more important things than safeguarding my ungrateful arse all day, every day. I told her as much. Bron, too. So they’re making themselves useful. Gardeners are always popping in to treat her Royal Locque-slayer, anyway, so,” he shrugged, “I’m never alone.”
Alster bit the inside of his cheek, banishing the bitter reminder of Locque’s uncomplicated passing by hands other than his own. “And how are your treatments with Isidor coming along?”
“He came by an hour ago; feeling great, really! So, let’s cut to the chase.” He steepled his fingers and stared them down, his golden eyes reflective. “You want me for something and you’re checking to see if I’m up for it, to which I say—of course I am!”
Alster scratched his head, unconvinced. “But can you walk? For long distances?”
“Course I can!” And to prove his point, he stood and strode around the room, neither limping nor huffing for breath. “I’m still on that serum, y’know. Small doses, true, but I feel the difference. I’ve got strength and ace senses right now. Borrowed strength and borrowed senses, yeah, but they’ll do in a pinch. I’m good for a few hours. ‘Sides, I’ll borrow a Night steed for the heavy-duty work. So,” he smiled knowingly as he checked Alster’s eyes and the worries lingering there, “Nia’s gone missing, huh? And you need a nose to find her?”
All she knew was darkness. Darkness above her, beneath her feet, surrounding her. If she had burned to death in her own flames as the Night Garden’s fire closed in on her, Lilica had no recollection of pain. Just...nothingness. But, somehow, she knew she was still alive. She walked through the nothingness, occasionally picking up on the murmur of voices, some who spoke her name. “Who is there?” She called out, but no one ever seemed to hear her. Wherever she dwelt, the fabric of this prison’s existence was too far removed from whomever was trying to reach her. She tried and tried, again and again, to get someone’s attention, hoping that someone would hear her voice through the fog… but nothing. Wherever she was, she was alone, and invisible to those who sought her. Is this my retribution? For going to such lengths to destroy Locque?
Locque… and what had happened to the witch? Lilica couldn’t remember, but she could recall seeing something in her eyes. Beyond all of that hatred that had poisoned her beyond her own humanity, there had been fear… and sadness. Was she now also trapped in an eternal darkness? Would they run into one another on this plane that the living seemingly could not access?
Perhaps so, but the nothingness was far too vast, and there was no telling how long it might take to run into another soul. While she knew she couldn’t, and that she owed it to everyone she’d fought for to persevere… she knew that she was beginning to give up on hope. That the Night Garden had, in fact, spared her, or that she would ever see Chara or the others again. It had never been her intention to die--on the contrary, she had only done what she had done on the solid foundation of faith that all would turn out alright. Perhaps she had invested too much blind faith in something she did not truly understand…
And then, suddenly, there was a light. Not very bright or noticeable, but it was there, with her, in this in-between. Although it had no defining features, looking like nothing more than a pinprick against the darkness, it felt… unmistakably familiar. Like she had encountered it before--just in a different form. Lilica wasn’t sure where the answer came from when the realization dawned on her, but there was no doubt in her mind as to the source--or rather, the identity of that tiny speck of light. “She is gone, father. Locque no longer plagues your kingdom, and never will again.” She said to the tiny, flickering light. “You should really be there to see for yourself. Galeyn finally has a chance at peace, now; all of the horror is over. And I… I don’t know if or when I will be finding my way back.”
Of course, there was no response from the voiceless speck of glimmering light; but it did, suddenly, grow brighter, and brighter. So much so that Lilica had to shield her eyes with her arm to protect them from the sudden shock of white…
...and when she opened them again, the darkness was gone. She was surrounded by familiar wooden walls and the faint glow of witchlight. The sanctuary. She was in the sanctuary, her body submerged in water… she was alive. She was back. Had Theomyr Tenebris… had he managed to break the limbo she was caught in and send her back?
“Your Majesty!” An attending Gardener, a young man who appeared startled and flushed to be overseeing the naked queen’s well-being, immediately rushed to the side of the tub. “You’re awake! Thank the gods… Are you well? How are you feeling?”
“F-freezing… I think… I’m not so sure.” The Galeynian queen accepted the Gardeners help as she stood and shakily pulled herself out of the now lukewarm water. Her cheeks were still flushed and her eyes bright with fever, and her body shook with its battle over whether it was too hot or too cold, but no longer to a dangerous degree. The attending Gardener draped a blanket over her shoulders to allow her some dignity, where there were yet no clothes in the room to cover her body.
“Just--wait right here. Relax a moment.” He directed her to the now empty cot that the Forbanne solider had occupied as frequently as a few hours ago. With his injuries having healed to the point where he was no longer considered unstable, they had moved him to the infirmary to make space in the sanctuary, in the very event that Queen Lilica would awaken. “I’ll retrieve you something to wear at once: don’t move, lest you take a fall, Your Majesty!”
Lilica wouldn’t have moved even if she wanted to. Her body trembled, her legs felt impossibly heavy… Whatever the Night Garden had done to her to put out the flames of her chthonic magic, just like before, it had taken its toll on her body. A single cursory glance around the small cabin revealed an unconscious Sigrid Sorenson--had Locque’s demise finally freed the former Dawn Warrior for her enthrallment?--and a bored yet very conscious Hadwin Kavanagh, who looked eager and ready to leap into action. “There’s no chance you could tell me what it is I missed?” She asked, her voice weak and hoarse from lack of use. “How long have I been unconscious?”
The shapeshifter was only able to give her the barest of details of what had occurred in the days past because he, too, had largely been bedridden. But she did take away one word: ‘days’. She had been out for days… while her kingdom attempted to repair itself around her, without her interference or help. But it was still better than the alternative: that she might not have awoken at all.
When the Gardener returned just moments later, he was not alone. Chara Rigas was close behind, wearing an expression that Lilica could hardly decipher between anger and relief (and was more than likely a mix of both), holding a robe in her arms. She dismissed the Gardener with authority that Lilica wasn’t quite sure she had, but he didn’t argue, likely relieved to have someone else assist the queen in her state of undress. Chara handed her the robe, helping to pull it over the Galeynian queen’s head when her trembling arms made the task difficult. Lilica smiled, because, frankly, someone had to! “Hadwin says you stepped up to lead in my absence,” she remarked, pulling her long, damp hair out from the collar of the tunic. “If I could count on anyone to fill in that void… I knew it would be you. Chara…”
She gently, weakly, took the Rigas woman’s arm, urging her to sit down next to her on the cot. “Is it true? Locque is… she is no more?” Lilica knew the truth in her heart; but she needed to hear it all the same. From the one person she trusted above all others. “I know what you must be thinking. I know what my method must have looked like to you. But I want you to know… I did not do it out of complete disregard for my life, or how my absence would affect anyone. I remembered what the Night Garden did to me upon first arriving in Galeyn. When I tried to attack it out of burning, blind frustration… it spared me. I had to believe it would know my intentions, and spare me again. Please believe me…” She covered one of Chara’s hands with her own. She felt cool to the touch; the part of her that insisted she was too hot, and not cold, made her want to pull the blonde caster against her for sheer comfort. “It was never my intention to leave you. Not again… not ever again. I’ve got too much to live for, and too much in this kingdom has to get done.”
Defiantly brushing her damp locks over her shoulder, the dark mage summoned energy she was not sure she really had, and threw her legs over the bed to stand. “There’s no need for me to be here anymore, now that I’m awake. Help me back to the palace: I need to be brought up to date with what has transpired while I was unconscious. And we need to make room in here for people who require the sanctuary’s healing potential.”
For days, Nia had watched that crack in the barn’s door to try and gauge the passage of time. For days, she had watched the sun rise and set through it, though no one--monster or human alike--came to disturb her within the confines of her not-so-creative hiding place. Occasionally, she thought she could hear voices in the far distance, well beyond the abandoned barn, but she really couldn’t be sure if they were real, or merely a result of fever and exhaustion. At this point, running from the kingdom of Galeyn was little more than an irrational dream with the declining state of her injured leg, and the fever that accompanied what she knew to be infection. That was both one of the perks and drawbacks of being a Master Alchemist: you became immediately aware when something was wrong, but as your condition declined, it became more difficult to put a finger on exactly what was wrong.
Sometimes she slept, but she could never be sure of the quality of her sleep, or if she sustained enough of it, because she would always awaken just as exhausted as before. Her leg was so sore that standing was hardly an option anymore, and she had long since just given into the discomfort of dehydration and malnourishment because it was easier to give up than to try and figure out how to solve such an impossible problem. Every so often, the thought occurred to her to contact Ari. To at least let him know she was alive, that maybe he could send some very discreet help, but then she would quickly remember that somewhere in her flight, she had dropped the stone, along with her pendant, and the cinnabar stone that revealed her sisters’ ghostly forms in moonlight. The only small symbol of hope that had not fallen from the Master Alchemist’s person was the small cherry blossom that Ari had turned to a smooth, pink stone. Somehow, that had been nested deep enough in her pocket to be spared in her hasty retreat… but hope alone wouldn’t get her through this ordeal.
Nia needed food. She needed water, but most importantly, she needed a healer to draw the infection out of her leg and bring down her fever. At first, she had managed to swap her elevated body heat with the coolness of the earth upon which she sat: a simple enough task and trade off, but that had been when she was stronger, and nonetheless, required energy and concentration… neither of which she had, anymore. Much though she was an expert runner and survivalist, Nia Ardane faced a very serious situation with very specific needs: to get out of Galeyn, and quickly find aid in another town. And the more she thought about it… the less plausible it all seemed.
When she couldn’t sleep, but felt safe enough that no one was in range to hear, the Master Alchemist distracted her mind from pain and discomfort by humming an old Ilandrian lullaby that she had been practicing on the harp Ari had gifted to her, before she’d had to abandon it altogether. She hummed it, over and over, to drown out her ever darkening thoughts that the four, filthy walls of the barn might be the last four walls she ever saw. I just need more rest. Just need to save my strength… to make it out of here. Maybe my horse is still nearby…
She drifted in and out, in and out of half-slumbers, but when the sun finally set again one evening, the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats drew closer and closer to the barn. No… surely, they had no reason to look in here. They were simply passing by. After all, why would anyone care that she had vanished…?
No luck. The hoofbeats stopped just outside of the barn door. Adrenaline kicked in again, and for a moment, Nia was certain she could make a run--well, a limp for it. Or at least put weight on her injured leg long enough to find a suitable place to hide… Her breath hitched in her throat when someone pulled the door open, and her body went rigid, preparing for--well, anything. Because she frankly didn’t know what to expect.
“...Hadwin?” She knew that voice when the intruder spoke. Nia peered through the darkness; sure enough, it was the faoladh. Her favourite drinking buddy… and, hopefully, someone she could trust. “Didn’t think I’d see you on your feet again so soon… hey, you don’t happen to have any water on you, do you? My head’s spinning from lack of it, and I don’t have the strength to draw any up from the soil and use my hands as a cup.”
Sure enough, he tossed her a leather decanter that had been attached to the side of his horse. Nia drank and drank and didn’t stop until it was completely empty. It was the first thing she’d put into her body in… well, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten or drunk. Water alone refreshed her enough to renew her faith that she could make it out of this situation alive. “Hey, wolf-man… I’ve kind of hit a rut, here. I need to get out of Galeyn before anyone else finds me alive and decides they want me to pay for everything Locque did to them. I mean… I’m assuming she’s gone, now, and been gone for a while. Since the sky cleared up. But I managed to get my leg really hurt, and I won’t be running very far on it. So… what are the chances I can convince you to take me outta here on that night steed you obviously rode all the way down here? Anywhere outta this kingdom--well, not Braighdath, obviously. Preferably, in the other direction. Name your price--you know I can pay up. Well…”
It wasn’t as though she had any money on her at the moment:only the clothes on her back (minus her boots). But it wouldn’t take much to produce a few gold coins--once she was well and had her strength back. “It’ll have to be an I-owe-you, but you know I’d keep my word. So…” She tried to smile through her delirious exhaustion and looked up at him. “What do you say? Help a friend out…?”
The ensuing days after Locque’s demise presented so much busywork, so many puzzle pieces to arrange and solve, that Chara lost track of the hours or how much time had elapsed. She slept when the opportunity afforded itself, at two to three intervals at a time, and usually at her reclaimed seat in the council chambers whenever no one was around to disturb her. Day and night stopped having meaning because the work was ongoing, regardless of the hour, and she never restricted her availability based on something as mundane as rest. In that suspended limbo of a time period, she divvied out assignments, approved requests for aid as people from all over the kingdom reported more dead, more structural damage, more destroyed crops and businesses, and delivered speeches ensuring the people that she was not replacing Lilica as Queen; she was merely a civil servant. An advisor. Nothing more.
Of course, her title also posed questions from the baffled and suspicious crowd, and while she couldn’t fault them for their apprehension, or repair their wounded trust worsened by Rowen’s effective rumor spilling and Locque’s broken promises and homicidal betrayal, it frustrated her, nonetheless, that so many people hesitated to accept her leadership, even when she posed practical solutions for kingdom-wide relief. She wasn’t like Lilica or Alster, who repaired their hurting image overnight by a feat of heroic altruism only they were able to accomplish. Nor could she channel Haraldur and Vega Sorde, beloved celebrities of the people. She was, despite her lofty Rigas name and her possession of magic, just...a woman. A woman defined by the powerful people surrounding her.
Heroism was so bothersome. Heroism outweighed toil and hard labor, was celebrated and exalted, and erased the sins of the past as easily as the ocean cleaned the mark of footprints on the shore. Meanwhile, she performed no heroic feat capable of forgiveness, nevermind her careful ferrying of the people to safety underground, and her image suffered for it. Because she couldn’t defeat monsters, or inspire a crowd with pretty words and unflinching charisma.
“Aren’t you the woman who abused the D’Marian leader for years and years? Why should we listen to you?” One Galeynian had remarked in the crowd during the latest speech she delivered.
“How are we to trust that you won’t relinquish your position when Queen Lilica returns?”
“Who gave you the authority to rule?”
“If you prefer anarchy as your alternative, then by all means, I shall step down and allow you to run roughshod around this palace. Alternatively, if there is anyone else who believes they would do better, please step forward and I will note your name, and we’ll get you started.” It was the wrong thing to say, but Chara had always lacked tact and diplomacy, preferring, instead, authority and results. As a consolation, her final words had their intended effect upon the crowd in that they all fell into silenced hushes. Chara took it as a cue to end her public address and leave, flitting on to the next order of business.
Until a few hours later, when her painstakingly curated schedule was thrown into disarray.
“She’s awakened?” Chara inquired of the Gardener who fetched her from the hallway. “Noted. I will be there straight away.” Offering to take the clean set of robes from the Gardener, she hurried to the Night Garden, and dismissed everyone from the sanctuary that didn’t need to be inside, citing the need for a private conversation. Her near-impassive gaze scrutinized Lilica’s naked form from head to toe, her nose wrinkling and her lips pursing into a hard line. Without yet speaking a word, she approached, robe in hand, and began to slip the sleeves through Lilica’s chilled arms. All was silent...until the object of her frustrations and concerns spoke, in an attempt to melt the ice wall Chara had erected in self-defense.
“Someone needed to take charge,” she dropped her hands when Lilica resumed dressing on her own, sans assistance. “Not that it’s appreciated, but I’ve seldom generated warm, fuzzy feelings in people during my career. So,” she shrugged, pretending that the events of the last few days didn’t bother her, “it is what it is.”
Silence lapsed between them again. Chara regarded Lilica coolly, carefully, and listened to her reasoning, reasoning which she heard a million times before, from Alster and from her...twice. No, thrice, but who was counting?
She crossed her arms and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the darkened window. “No need to explain yourself. I understand perfectly well why you did it. And yet...what you did was based on pure, dumb luck, and if it had gone badly, you would have ended up dead. You, and perhaps all of us, too. Do you understand? You cannot just go out and do as you like without consulting us, without consulting me!”
Tears appeared in her tired eyes. She tightened them closed, hoping to eradicate them from existence. “Why, Lilica? Why must I always be blindsided by the inane decisions the people I love continue to make? Why must I always be left behind? How can I aim to do better, be better, so I may have worth to you?” Her fingers tightened beneath Lilica’s chilled touch. “I believe you, but I’m angry, Lilica. I’m angry with you, and with myself, and with how we handled this whole bloody ordeal from the start! No communication, no clue, no...anything. I hate it!”
She wiped away her tears and stood, her hand falling away from Lilica. She located the melted remains of her ice wall and placed it in between them once more. “But—it is done. And we have much work to do. Come, and I shall regale you with everything you’ve missed over the last few days. You are to take it easy today, do you understand? All of Galeyn is lauding you as a hero, so let us arrange for you a public appearance, followed by an official declaration and reclamation as your undisputed title as Queen of Galeyn. That is sure to boost morale. But it is late, and we must postpone until morning.” She extended her hand, but it was a hand of aid, of professionalism, though it shook slightly with the vestiges of her unleashed—and promptly smothered—emotion. “We shall reserve tonight for catch-up and preparations for tomorrow; nothing more.”
Few could deny Hadwin’s ability to bounce back so graciously from the brink of disaster that it inspired others to question just how anyone would spring on their feet mere days after everything went to shit. But contrary to outer appearances, the faoladh was no cipher waiting to be cracked, no being impervious to adversity or grief.
He’d just gotten good at faking it.
Even without the use of a pipe or a barrel of ale, or the luxury of uninhibited travel to the lay of the land, to lay wherever he wanted with whomever he wanted, Hadwin made the most of a shitty situation because...what was the alternative?
Predicting patterns for when the manifestation of his worst fears would appear was a game he played with himself because he often anticipated the inevitable in a life plagued by the inescapable. If the worst would always come to pass, per his fears, then let them happen, adapt, and shrug off the pain. He learned the lesson as a child. The daily beatings arranged by his father wouldn’t cease unless he learned to like the pain. Any pain, be it from the crunch of a fist to the twisting of his heartstrings. He made a deal with the Madness long ago, in a handshake slick with his own blood, and the Madness accepted. After all, what else would support the rejection of convention, which dictated he respond to life situations by widely accepted—and safe—means? In adversity, madness had become his greatest weakness...and his greatest strength. It destroyed cities, families...but it also kept him in the game, more often than not. He was not yet defeated. Not yet ready to lay down and die. Because the most inane, reckless, maddening thing he could do right now was live on knowing what he had done.
The dark corners of the sanctuary pulsed as though to confirm; he ignored the allure shimmering in his periphery which dared him to lower his guard and look, look, look into the eyes of the people you fucked and fall with us. Fall...
Rowen’s last words imprinted on his mind; they would never leave him, but it didn’t mean he had to attend to their prophecy. You already threw me into the darkness when you marked me as a no-good bastard who’s out for his own interests. How much blacker and bleaker do you need it to be, kid? Cuz I won’t give you the satisfaction. Folks need me here and I’m rightly mad, so...screw my odds. I’m staying put.
And he did. He stayed put, in the sanctuary, but Bronwyn and Teselin, relegated to visitors following the kingdom’s influx of wounded, were ejected from their full-time caretaking, which suited him just fine; he abhorred it when people nursed him, and abhorred it even more when he needed to rely on that nursing to function. Though they were off, lending their services to better causes, he couldn’t help but...pine for them, especially for Teselin.
Your surrogate sister, he heard the shadows spit. Haven’t you ruined her life already?
He ignored the buzzing from the shadowy corner.
At some point during the slew of activity rushing in and out of the sanctuary, everything happened at once; Alster and Elespeth asked him for a favor, and shortly thereafter, Lilica awoke, inciting a flood of Gardener activity that delayed his deployment out of risk of generating suspicion, as he wasn’t technically allowed to leave the sanctuary without supervision, and his hunt for Nia was a sneaky operation, not to be revealed by Galeyn’s leaders and advisors. Not yet, anyhow So he played it cool for an hour longer, shooting the breeze with the newly-awakened queen, and quietly slipped out the door when a few Gardeners busied themselves checking Lilica’s vitals.
So, he’d stretched the truth a tad in his wellness assessment. While he could walk, his muscles ached in a league of their own, making the process taxing on his limbs, which enjoyed a moodswinging combination of strain-induced tremors, and unshakeable strength. Between the two extremes fighting for dominance, he managed to arrive at the stables no worse for wear and secured a Night steed for himself. As he swung his legs over the saddle, he thought for a moment on where to start searching for the wayward Master Alchemist, but thoughts didn’t occupy his mind for long. Pointing the reins westward, he circled the palace and broke into a gallop—straight for old Osric’s place. Logically, it was the only other locale in Galeyn where Nia would go, considering she shirked her chance to shack up underground with the handsome Canaveris suitor after saving his life—what a pity! Though he didn’t expect her to be in Osric’s village when the family pinned her as a cold-blooded murderer, if he could pick up a fresh trail, or a hint of her presence…
It turned out, there was a trail. An obvious one, because she marked it with her own blood.
Old blood. A few days old. But it clung to bushes and his superior nose had little trouble pinpointing the direction it led him. Spurring his mount slowly forward, his night-savvy eyes came across several curiosities discarded along the way: a pair of boots...and a jagged, eyesore of a necklace she cherished more than the finest string of pearls. Oh, the things people coveted for their sentimental value...just like that lumpy, scratchy scarf he kept beside his bed at the sanctuary, a memento he couldn’t bring himself to burn. Forgoing the boots, he scooped the pendant from the ground and tucked it into his pocket for safekeeping.
His search came to an abrupt and easy end when not a half-hour later, he ended up in front of an old barn overgrown with ivy, not far from the road. Whatever injury she sustained, it had to be bad enough to sequester her in a questionable—and obvious—hideout. Not one for subtlety, he swung off his horse, approached the barn, and swung open the door in an abrupt evening greeting.
Unsurprisingly, he smelled the fear stinking up the place like a particularly rancid fart. It was Nia, all right...and aside from the fear, she also smelled...infected. “Nice place you’ve got here. Cozy. Homey,” he kicked aside a half-rotten floorboard as he strode to the hay bale in the corner she occupied, setting a small lantern on the floor to chase away some of the darkness. “Sort of a step down from your previous situation, don’t you think?”
At her request for water, he unclipped the waterskin from his belt and tossed it into the hay bale, not trusting that she could catch it in her current, sluggish condition.
“Well, seems we’ve both seen better days, haven’t we?” He tutted, making idle chitchat while she gulped water like he gulped ale. “I haven’t seen a mirror lately, but looking as I am now, I don’t even think I could elicit a pity fuck.” He swept back his hair, normally full-bodied and bronze, now clumpy, muted, and grown-out too long to manage. “You’re not doing much better. Had a nasty run-in with Osric’s fam, eh? I found your blood trail, and it started at the inn. Someone marked you. My guess is the strapping young lad who’s the apple of his late father’s eye. Well then,” he waved a noncommittal hand, but his tone betrayed his front-facing behavior. “I’ll be sure to set the record straight. They ought to know who actually killed him.”
But he didn’t linger on the who, or her name, or the fact that she was dead and he killed her and what it meant for him, going forward, before he thrust his hands into his pockets and entertained Nia’s request, in the most literal sense of the word.
“I’ll be frank with you. That’s a shit idea,” he said, point-blank. “I’m not close enough to assess your injury, but I can smell it and that infected thing’s gonna lead you straight to the grave, cuz that’s the only place it’s heading. Other than Braighdath, we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. Closest town in the other direction that’s capable of tending a wound that serious is a week’s hard ride, and that’s accounting for the Night steed’s speed. I should know; I’ve been there. You seriously think you’ll make it a week without getting your leg taken care of?” He scoffed out a laugh. “Looks like an amputation’s in your future! Think you can outrun your past hobbling about on one leg? Good fucking luck to you, but I’m gonna give this bum plan of yours a hard pass.”
Scooting closer to her makeshift bed, he leaned his body against the wall perpendicular to where she sat, releasing a harried breath and massaging one of his tremulous hands. “As I am, I’m fucked up, too. Reliant on Isidor’s little serum for...however long it takes to wean it off my body. With that in mind, you’re asking me to ride you to a legit outpost of civilization, a week in, a week out, and provide for you on the road because you’ll be doing fuck-all on that leg, let’s face it? No amount of gold in the world is gonna make me agree to that deal if I’m too dead to appreciate it!”
“So hear me out. New plan.” His legs screamed to sit, but he stubbornly stayed on his feet to assert his control over negotiations. He showed some of his hand to Nia, but not all of it; she knew he was weak, but not that weak. Even so, he still had the reflexes to outmatch her, if it came to a fight. “We don’t do what you proposed, and you stay in Galeyn to face the gallows. Worst-case scenario, you’re dead either way. But at least if you’re here, you’ve got people willing to help you navigate this gray area you’re in, being a former lackey to your very dead tantrum queen and all—and I can confirm; she’s ashes. Like...literal ashes. You’ll also get healing for your leg—so you can always book it later if things look too grim. C’mon,” he cajoled, “you really think Ari’s gonna leave you in the lurch? In fact, I’ll take you straight to him. He’ll put up a fucking fight for you and you know I’m right. And Al’s on board, too.” He decided to omit Elespeth’s name, doubting she would believe him when the two of them were at odds. “He’s got the ear of Chara and Lilica so you can bet your case is a strong one.”
“And if that doesn’t entice you enough,” he withdrew a familiar pendant from his pocket, its star shape glinting weakly in the lantern’s light. “Your whole thing’s survival, am I right? It would be a shame if you said ‘fuck off’ to your late sister’s promise and died in vain because you trust your oozing pus leg more than you trust some really powerful people who actually have a good head on their shoulders, unlike your always sketchy former employer.”
Seeing Chara’s face was both the biggest relief and the greatest fear that Lilica faced, because she didn’t know how the Rigas mage would react to her awakening. Would she, too, be relieved? Or angry, or betrayed… or, most likely, a combination of all of the above. And it turned out that she was not wrong.
The best thing the Galeynian Queen could do was listen as Chara opened up a vulnerable part of herself and told Lilica exactly what she felt, now that there was no one else in the sanctuary to hear (well… no one conscious, as Sigrid had yet to awaken). She expressed how she was tired of being left in the dark when the people she cared about made rash decisions… and how she felt helpless to be of use to anyone. Ever since fleeing from Mollgard, having lost her celestial magic and then gaining something… well, something other, Lilica hadn’t been unaware of Chara’s insecurities, and how they made her view the world and other peoples’ motivations. And it wasn’t that she hadn’t considered them when she had made the rash and reckless decision to use the Night Garden in hopes to take down Loque once and for all. It was just that she hadn’t seen another option, and with more and more people falling to the witch’s evil… Galeyn couldn’t afford any more time to plan an alternative takedown. She had done what she’d done for everyone--Chara included.
But… that wouldn’t change how it made the Rigas woman feel. Or that she had, in fact, deliberately kept her in the dark so that she would not try to stop her.
Nodding at Chara’s suggestion to return to the palace to rest, she took her proffered hand and allowed her to lead her--slowly, mind you--out of the Night Garden and back toward the palace. Having been out for days without eating or drinking left her legs weak, but not incapable, and when one of the Gardeners spotted them, they, too, lent a hand all the way back to the heart of the central kingdom. Stairs proved a more trying obstacle, but Lilica didn’t let on at the exhaustion climbing three flights caused by the time they reached their shared bedchamber. All the while, Chara filled her in on what had unfolded in the wake of Locque’s demise: the casualties that had been gathered, the desperate, medical aid that had been required, the rebuilding of Galeynian and D’Marian buildings and homes alike. Truth be told, the dark mage didn’t hear every word, and really only caught the gist of the Rigas woman’s narrative, but… it didn’t matter. Chara was a good leader; Galeyn had been in good hands. It wasn’t the state of the kingdom that concerned her.
The proud blonde was in the middle of talking about the D’Marian settlement, which had mercifully been spared the brunt of the damage, when Lilica reached out and laid a hand on her arm, her dark eyes searching her face with intensity. “I was somewhere dark… and lost, but I wasn’t gone. I wasn’t vacant. I thought of you the entire time. I knew I had to get back to you, and I would find a way. And… I did. You are what brought me back, Chara. I don’t think I’d have had the motivation or strength to want to come back, not even for the people I saved… if not for you. I don’t know if you believe me, but I always intended to survive. For you. Because you… you are not the one who needs to prove their worth.”
Her hand drifted to Chara’s cheek, which felt cool beneath her still feverish palm. “There is nothing about yourself you need to improve. If the roles were reversed… I would be angry. And you should be angry, Chara, but with me--not with yourself. I’m so sorry… that I have kept you in the dark.” She exhaled her guilt in a sigh, but it didn’t lift any of the weight from her shoulders. “And I do not know what my word means to you, now… but if you will still tolerate me, then, please know that this is the last time. The last time I act behind your back or without consulting you. I am through with giving myself up, because there really is nothing left of me to give! I did what I had to for Galeyn… and at this point, I don’t owe this kingdom anything else. Nothing but my own survival.”
She tucked Chara’s blonde hair behind her ear, which was now rounded with scar tissue, and she often kept them hidden. But there was no need for her to hide any aspect of herself in the privacy of their room. “You’ve seen and experienced enough--and so have I. No more. I never want to feel my dark magic the way I felt it in the Night Garden; like it was poisoning me, all over again. No more running or sacrificing. I need to be the Queen that Galeyn deserves, but more importantly…” A single tear escaped her overbright eyes. She blinked it away. “I need to be someone you can depend on, to be there when you need them. Let me be that person… and you have my word that I will never, ever let you down again.”
Hadwin hadn’t been well for quite a while; and that fact hadn’t surpassed Nia’s attention. The specific details regarding his condition were currently lost on her, and frankly, she was surprised to see he’d made it this far on his own, but the Master Alchemist herself knew the workings of Master Alchemy if she saw it. Somehow, Hadwin must have convinced Isidor Kristeva that it was within his own best interests to help him, and so he had. But… why come all this way just to find her? That had to have been his purpose, barring anyone else having gone missing, but his entire demeanor gave away his motivations. But who sent him? A paranoid voice at the back of her mind asked, over and over. There were only two possible answers, as she couldn’t imagine that the faoladh would’ve independently chosen to interrupt his recuperation for the likes of her. Either Ari had sent him to find her, knowing that he was by far the best option when it came to tracking, or… Galeyn wanted her back. Wanted her to stand and face retribution for everything Locque had done to this kingdom. Wanted her to die by their hands, because how dare she succumb to her own injuries? Where would be the justice in that?
No… no way would Hadwin agree to find her, only to deliver her to her own doom. They were friends: there was never any false pretense about him. Anyway, if he’d wanted her dead, there would’ve been ample opportunities to do away with her before now. He was simply concerned--or, at least, here on behalf of someone who was concerned for her. “Thanks for the offer to clear the air, but… I don’t think it would really matter to Osric’s family.” Nia shook her head slowly, but it made the room spin, so she was forced to stop. “In their minds… no, in their hearts, I am responsible for Osric’s death. Because I became involved with him. Because I was once a part of his life, and that was all Rowen needed to understand how much he and his family meant to me. It was all she needed… to know how it would affect me when she killed him.” The Master Alchemist closed her eyes before the tears could fall. It still hurt to talk about his death; to think that there wasn’t even a ghost of a chance she could ever redeem herself to the kind man who had ever so briefly made Galeyn feel like a real home to her.
“When Locque brought the night, at the funerals… I had to go and make sure his family was okay. I needed to know that they understood that they needed a light source to keep those invisible monsters away. I’d planned to get the hell out of Galeyn as soon as possible, after I knew they were alright, but…” Nia sighed and nodded to her leg. “I shouldn’t have. I should have just trusted that they’d be fine… yet I needed to see it for myself. Osric’s son didn’t give me a chance to explain why I was there, though even if he had, I’m not sure he’d have reacted any differently. The outcome… probably would’ve been the same. But… but why are you here, Hadwin? You said it yourself, you’ve seen better days. I know we’ve been on good terms and all, but that can’t be the reason you chose to put yourself at risk for the sake of my sorry ass.”
Hadwin didn’t exactly explain his reasons for finding her, or who sent him, but he did have the compassion to at least listen to her plea for help. If anyone would help her for a bargain arranged under the table, then it would be him. He knew her--surely, he knew she’d keep her word, and repay him however he saw fit. If only she could get out of Galeyn… and get help.
Unfortunately, her solution wasn’t so simple as she’d thought, and he took the time to carefully explain why. So there really was no hope of reaching another village capable of treating her, before it was too late. Nonetheless, she couldn’t help but turn the possibilities over and over in her head. How long until the infection took her? Was it possible she could somehow get around to provide for herself until she reached her destination, without being too much of a bother to Hadwin? Maybe she could… no. No, there was no possibility either of them would make it so far, and she knew it. Not if Hadwin relied on Isidor’s serums to wean his body off of whatever the Kristeva alchemist had given him. Not if she couldn’t even stand up on her own, lest the slightest bit of weight on her injured leg send her into spasms of agony. But… but, still, there had to be a way…
“Braighdath, then. Take me to Braighdath.” Oh, she’d heard his proposition--or at least, she’d understood it, but it didn’t mean she was really hearing it. Because as far as she and her safety was concerned, remaining in Galeyn was not an option in ensuring her survival. “I can get help there… and you won’t be far from here. It’s just a few hours by night steed. I can change my appearance: my hair, my eyes… I won’t look like me. They won’t have to know who I am at all.” Except… she was too weak. Too sapped of her own strength to perform even such an amaeur feat of changing her hair colour or her eye colour. At this point, she was spouting pipe dreams, if only to find a way not to let go of her hope.
Hadwin was quick to call her on her illogical solution. It caused the Master Alchemist to diminish where she sat, sinking into the hay bale like she hoped to disappear. “Hadwin--I can’t stay here. You know what the kingdom will do to me if I stay.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper, and trembled with the rest of her body. “I might as well die here in this barn to spare myself whatever the kingdom has planned. Your powerful friends don’t have as much power as you think. It’s not up to Alster Rigas, or even… even Ari. They don’t hold enough sway, here. I… can’t take that chance at the slim possibility that Galeyn will show me mercy.” Nia clutched at her throat, where her pendant used to be. She hadn’t gotten used to its absence; scratch marks marred her neck, an unconscious habit resulting from the lack of its familiarity. “I don’t want to die. But if it’s going to happen… then I might as well let it happen here. On my own terms--not Galeyn’s.”
What ultimately swayed her decision was the object the faoladh withdrew from his pocket; one that made Nia’s heart swell with renewed hope. Her sister’s pendant--jagged, ugly, and oxidized back--hung from his fingers. There was no doubt in her mind that it was the very necklace she had lost in her flight from Osric’s family. When it had turned up missing, a part of the Master Alchemist had inevitably accepted her end, as that pendant had always been a symbol of her survival. “My pendant… you found it. It could’ve been anywhere, lost forever in this kingdom, but you found it.” There was no holding back now: hot tears gushed down her hot cheeks as Celene’s voice, her last request of her, played over and over again in her mind: survive. She had to make it through this--if not for herself, then for Celene. One Ardane had to survive.
“It sounds stupid… but I’ve always felt like that ugly thing was keeping me alive. Like it was my talisman against death. I believe Celene has been protecting me, herself, wherever she is, now.” She explained, and extended a weak arm to reach for the piece of steel jewelry; but Hadwin dangled it just out of her reach. Nia’s smile faded. “Come on, Hadwin… that’s not funny. Aren’t we supposed to be friends?”
He wasn’t going to relent; wasn’t going to give her what rightfully belonged to her until she agreed to go with him. His Sight certainly had her figured out: there was nothing that would keep her from upholding her promise to her sister. Not as long as hope was alive and well. And, anyway, if that pendant truly had been keeping her alive all this time, against all odds… why would it fail now? This was a sign, if ever she had seen one, that she was meant to live. “...alright.” Nia quietly relented, against her better judgment. “We’ll do things your way. But I want my pendant back, now. If you expect me to go and play with fire, then I need some assurance I’m not going to be burned.
Sure enough, Hadwin handed her the pendant on her agreement, and the Master Alchemist eagerly secured it around her neck. The feat was more difficult than it should have been, with trembling hands. “I’m not sure I can stand, let alone climb onto… I haven’t been able to for a while.” She informed Hadwin, nodding to her swollen leg. “But if you think you’re well enough to help, then let’s give this a try.”
Nia took Hadwin’s proffered hand and struggled to pull herself to her feet, but not without a distinct cry of pain that sent her leaning heavily into him. “Sorry… my pain tolerance is kind of shit,” she apologized in a small, trembling voice, and it wasn’t without his help (and more inevitable pain) that she managed to make it outside the barn and climb onto the horse. Hadwin sat her upfront and took a seat behind her to see to it that she didn’t fall, although no amount of maneuvering was going to make it entirely painless when every time her injured leg jostled, it sent searing, throbbing pain all the way from her ankle to her thigh. Fortunately, by dark, she was not all too far from the D’Marian settlement, and no one was apt to be out and about at this hour to protest her arrival. Hadwin pulled the steed right up to the front doors of the Canaveris estate, even if it meant being met with armed guards that blocked all entry. He said something to them along the lines of having brought someone that Ari would be eager to see, but the words didn’t quite make it through the muddiness of Nia’s mind.
The next thing she knew, he was dismounting, and helping her down, along with the help of someone else. She would’ve cried out again at the searing throbbing that shot through her leg, but she didn’t have much of a voice left or the will to expend energy. She couldn’t hold her head up, but knew that someone was helping her inside from the change in atmosphere, having gone from crisp, evening air to a still and steady warmth. After a moment, she recognized the voice speaking to her.
“Ari…” Her sigh was both that of relief… and dismay. “Ari, I can’t… stay here. Maybe just… long enough to rest, and deal with this leg… but I’m going to have to leave, and soon. Galeyn…” She swallowed, and clutched the pendant that had found its rightful place around her neck, again. “You don’t know what Galeyn would have in store for me… if it knew I was still here.”
As they relocated to their shared chambers, Chara recounted every Galeynian-specific event and ensuing response from the Crown, listing each one in painstaking chronological order, however mundane or redundant the news. Itemizing her day-to-day activities, be it on paper or in her head, maintained order and banished the unproductive scribble of insecurity which threatened to immobilize her system of efficiency and stymie her to a stuttering standstill. It was somewhat a cowardly thing to do, but she hid herself beneath the heaps of detail, hoping Lilica would forget her outburst from earlier, which hadn’t intended to reach her ears.
Of course, Lilica wasn’t yet ready to depart from the subject and soon saw fit to interrupt Chara’s rigid logistical and budget-related analyses in favor of what she was too shy to revisit, fearing another ridiculous reaction. It was ridiculous; she was being utterly ridiculous, wasting her energy on childish matters when she needed to concentrate on the kingdom, on a concrete purpose, the first one she’d had in months before Locque’s soft takeover earlier that year. Ruining her contributions, her only contributions, so shortly after forging ahead with them, would diminish and weaken those efforts to be something, someone, essential. Rejected by Stella D’Mare, rejected by Galeynian, as long as they didn’t reject her policies and decrees, maybe the work alone would bring her satisfaction. Even if she received no praise or recognition…
But wasn’t it what she always dreamed of being? A hero? In Stella D’Mare, her efforts ended in failure, when Mollengard captured her and Teselin. Instead of leading her people to safety, she traded positions with Alster and oversaw the tidal wave operation instead, because if it succeeded, perhaps she’d have a claim to fame to reference other than, “The woman who abandoned our homeland and ran away.”
Much as Lilica thought otherwise, she was better equipped to play a heroic role over Chara, who was too selfish, too powerless...too afraid. Heroics were reserved for madpeople, blatant risk-takers, the bold and courageous...martyrs. No doubt she surrounded herself with this ilk, but she could never share in their mantle, much though she wanted to stand toe to toe with Lilica as her equal, and conquer together…
“Why won’t you allow me to fight with you?” It blurted out of her, as tactless as her unreasonable prattle at the sanctuary. “I do not wish for you to protect me, Lilica, if it means I cannot join you in battle. If you died and left me here...do you not understand that I would fain die with you than live apart from you?” She scrunched her hands together, scraping the edges of her polished nails, picking the cuticles and deliberately ignoring Lilica’s expression. “It is lovely that I inspire you to remain alive and to reawaken from the darkness, but Lilica, I do not want to be just your anchor. An anchor is such a passive thing. It sinks to the bottom and stays put, seeing nothing, knowing nothing. It does not act on its own. I want to be on the boat with you, bailing out the water, helping you to keep it afloat in the storm. So,” she cleared her throat, and dared to meet Lilica’s dark eyes, refusing to be enticed by the gentle hands cupping her cheeks, however much she yearned to lean into their touch, “if you can promise me this, then perhaps I might forgive you for bruising my trust. But,” her face soured, and a little pout formed on her lips, “it shall not happen overnight, because I still have a hard time believing you.”
Hadwin shook his head at Nia’s flawed argument, a vocalized grumble of disagreement. “If you’re responsible for Osric’s death, then I’m responsible for it, too—and for every other life my little sis took prematurely.” He still couldn’t say it. Couldn’t say Rowen’s name out loud, as if doing so would summon her from the grave, let alone the fact she was waiting for him in the shadows...alongside his mam. “Fuck, Nia, you think we should blame ourselves for every single person who gets hurt because we exist? She killed Cwenha because of me!” His voice hitched, and his mouth gnarled into a growl of pain. “My knee-jerk reaction was to run, and die, because, like you, I thought about taking some damn responsibility and removing myself from Galeyn so she wouldn’t pick off the people that I gave a fuck about. But in doing that, I learned the hard way, as in thousands dead the hard way, that you can’t do shit about the folks whose lives you influence, for better or for worse. You guys weren’t even on speaking terms for months and look what happened, anyway!”
He rammed his fisted hand against the flimsy barn wall, hearing the wood grown and shudder from the force of the blow. Better to invite anger than to swim in inadequacy. In helplessness. “If not him, she would’ve gone for someone else you fancied. So no, Nia, you’re not being noble for footing the blame for his death; you’re being fucking ridiculous and sentimental. That’s the guilt talking. Don’t you see? She wants you to feel that way.” He looked pointedly towards the shadows behind the reach of the lantern light, but never into them. “And it’s working. And that’s why I’m gonna stamp out this fire and douse its flames before the fucking roof catches fire and the whole place capsizes with us inside. If you give a shit about your survival as you claim, you should be doing the same damn thing.” He picked a splinter out of his bloody fist. “Once the dead get to you, once they come for you and cling and scrape with their claws and pull you under and you do nothing, you don’t fight, you’re a goner. The same damn thing applies to me. I’m gonna fight. And I’m gonna start by coming clean to Osric’s family and making it matter. Cuz they deserve a little transparency, and I for sure ain’t gonna honor my dead sister if it means skirting over all the heinous shit she pulled.”
He let the last bit double as an answer to Nia’s question of “Why are you here?” because the explanation fit. Regularly accused of starting messes, he resolved to clean this one, because to neglect it or ignore it meant that Rowen succeeded in proving correct that the world was a towering heap of rubbish waiting to topple and cover all of humanity with its muck. For this rare occasion, he was going to defuse a situation instead of instigating it, and kill Rowen’s legacy before it multiplied and proliferated, because he wasn’t done killing her yet—not until all pieces were properly in the ground and buried. He would start with Nia, thereby preventing Rowen from posthumously finishing the job of taking her down.
“If it comes to that, Nia, if Galeyn well and truly intends to kill you for treason and there’s nothing else to be done, then I’ll personally smuggle you out of here myself. We’ll take a raincheck on that escape plan of yours, yeah? I’ve busted people out of legit prisons before, and I can also rely on certain people to turn a blind eye to setting you free. ‘Sides,” he gave a careless shrug, “there’s some delicate politics at play here. Stella D’Mare has more power in Galeyn than you realize, believe it or not. Just watch and see,” he winked. “I may have been bedridden all this time, but I try to stay abreast of the latest trends and power dynamics. It helps when you have sharp ears.”
When he revealed the necklace in his pocket, Nia’s tune changed—and he capitalized on it. “Huh. Isn’t death on your own terms akin to suicide and the antithesis to, you know, survival?” He pondered aloud as he dangled the black-oxidized pendant high above Nia’s head in teasing, pendulous motions. “I play games of chance on the regular and were I in your position...I’d stick this one out. Running means you’ve dashed your chances here forever. Running means you’ll keep running, with no guarantee of a damn reprieve. Running means you’re a fugitive in two, no, three, no four countries, because Stella D’Mare has semi-independent sovereign status and Braighdath is allied with Galeyn. This means things will get harrier for you in the long term, especially if you ever fuck up and encounter Mollengard, which is a damn inevitability at this rate. In Galeyn, the risk of staying is high, I won’t lie, but the rewards,” he whistled, “if all goes well, you’ll get what you always wanted. More than survival. Maybe even a home. And if all goes sour,” his brow softened, along with his usual gruff and growly tone, “I’ll spring you loose, alright? You can bet on that. I’ll even shake on it.” He pushed off from the wall and pooled the necklace into her outstretched hand. Before he withdrew, he gripped her fingers and pumped her arm up and down in oscillating motions to signify their “deal.”
Between the two of them, one injured and the other, a serum-influenced mess of waxing and waning strength, it took a little finagling to get Nia out of the barn and atop his Night Steed. Despite some setbacks in reaching past the doors to the outside and to his mount, he hoisted the injured woman into the saddle and swung in behind her, securing her position with a firm squeeze of his arms around her waist.
“Just grin and bear it for a few minutes,” he said, reaching for the reins and positioning the steed forward. “We’ll get there in a whip.”
The ride was about as unpleasant for him as he expected it to be for her, perhaps even more so, considering the state of her leg. The roads beneath the steed’s clopping hooves jostled them underfoot, the vibrations magnified by the outrageous, supernatural speed they maintained. Finally, they arrived at the entrance to the Canaveris villa, a finally not measured by minutes, for not much time passed at all, but by the span of discomfort they both endured. Hadwin dismounted, complaining of a sore bum to deflect from the fact that he was sore everywhere, and the ache invaded every corner of his body, weighing him down to twice his piddly weight and imposing a sluggish gait on his normally quick feet.
I told you I’d bring you with me to hell, a voice tittered in his ear. He swatted it away, pretending it was nothing more than a gadfly.
As he informed the guards at the door the reason for this late arrival, he helped Nia from the mount, instructing her not to apply any weight on the leg and to lean against him as a crutch while they waited. Soon, the master of the house, in the flesh, appeared from the doorway and aided in helping the injured woman inside. They hauled her as far as the front parlor, afraid that a longer trip would compromise her pain threshold and exacerbate her grisly wound. As they settled her in the chaise sofa before a roaring fire, Ari called out her name, checking her levels of cognition and awareness.
“Nia. Sssh. We’ll speak of this later. You shall have healing. Nothing but the best. For now, rest. Please rest.” He leaned over, his locks of raven hair tickling her face as he planted a soft kiss upon her clammy, heated forehead.
This seemed to pacify her a bit—or rather, it was the fever spreading across her brow and cheeks like a rash of poison sumac. “I shall return,” he promised as he straightened to his full height, about to call for help...until Hadwin’s urgent tilt of the head drew him near.
Relocating them in the hall and out of earshot of Nia, the faoladh rumbled a low warning to the Canaveris lord. “I’m sure you understand, but I’m gonna say it anyway; she’s a flight risk. The second she’s all better, she’ll try to run. If you stop her from running, you better have one hell of a plan to keep her alive.” Without another word, he limped out the doors and took his leave.
While Ari promised Nia the best healer for the job, the truth was that the brunt of his healers were on loan to the hardest-hit communities across Galeyn, and those leftover were apprentices equipped for stitching together neat and uncomplicated flesh wounds—nothing requiring the finesse necessary for tackling swollen and infected open gash. And so, whipping out his resonance stone, he contacted Alster...and requested his aid, a few hours delayed.
Fortunately, the Rigas mage had no other preoccupations that evening and arrived by Night steed in short order. By then, Ari, with Lazarus’s help, had moved the delirious and barely-conscious Nia to a well-furnished room in the cellar. Due to the destruction of some bedrooms above ground, temporary housing had been created not only for the Canaverises, but for any D’Marian whose home was awaiting reconstruction. Some twenty citizens found places among the cozy cave alcoves, spaced out wide and with narrow entryways to maximize privacy.
There remained several additional reasons for choosing underground lodging for Nia’s recuperation chambers. For one, housing her in his room would arouse suspicion; she was safer out of the line of scrutiny. And for another—the tunnel system that ran beneath the Canaveris villa was a bit of an obstacle to navigate without the help of a Canaveris or a map, meaning that, should Nia choose to run, she wouldn’t get far on her own—not when the Canaverises controlled the tunnels and all its various exit points. The thought of effectively imprisoning Nia in his own home, a place he offered as her sanctum, filled Ari with malaise, knowing he betrayed her trust. Then again...he’d betrayed it long ago. He tried to convince himself that this wasn’t imprisonment but protection from the people of Galeyn, who might do worse and store her in the dungeon proper, but alas, the comparison did little to assuage his guilt. Keeping her against her will was imprisonment, and if Galeyn intended to try her for criminal charges, which they would, obligation required him to cooperate and hand her over to the crown. What, then? Would he trust the justice system to exonerate her on the grounds of mercy? And would he so readily comply with the tribunal if there presented the real and likely possibility of a death sentence? How could he justify stifling her escape from trial, judgement, and persecution? Doing so meant he would be an enemy to her survival, the exact antithesis of his desires.
You saved my life, Nia. The least I can do is return the favor. Alas, I can only do so by legal methods. My influence must count for something...
Ari received Alster at the front door. Wasting no time, he led the other man through the ruined ballroom and into the cellar, through the tunnels, to Nia’s chambers. En route, the two men spoke quietly amongst themselves.
“After she’s healed, we could let her go,” Alster suggested in low tones, despite his sparkling hand silencing their speech from eavesdroppers. “Galeyn won’t take well to her reemergence. It’s treason for either of us to release her without involving the monarchy, but if nobody else knows you're sheltering a criminal, then you won't be complicit in her escape."
Ari slowed in step, his gloved fingers tracing the relief of stone along the walls. “I promised her a home, Alster. A future. If she flees now, she may never rediscover that opportunity in Stella D’Mare...or anywhere. She will run, and run, and freedom will always elude her for the rest of her days. Let her stand trial, I say, and if the verdict condemns her...then I shall simply ignore the result. Nia will not perish. We will be victorious,” his mouth sharpened into a severe, uncompromising line of determination, akin to his headstrong, cutthroat brother, “because I will make sure of it.”
The voice that drifted through the fog and to her ears was, indeed, a comfort to Nia, for it was the only voice she wanted to hear. Ari spoke to her in soothing tones, although she admittedly didn’t catch every word he said. It didn’t matter: she had to believe that she was safe with Ari. Even if she couldn’t remain here in his presence, under his protection for very long, for the moment, it was safe to believe that she would be alright. There was a fire in the hearth; the light hurt her eyes, so she kept them closed, and sank into the couch. “Don’t worry… I’ll find you again.” She murmured, as if to assuage the very fears that the Canaveris lord had yet to voice aloud. “Once it’s safe--I’ll find you. Promise…”
From that point on, the Master Alchemist drifted in and out of consciousness. Sleep never blessed her for more than minutes at a time: so afraid for her survival, and so primed to run (as illogical and impossible as that was, for the moment), the slightest sound, the crackle of logs on the fire, the passing of a servant, startled her awake and gasping. At one point, panic seized her when she was lifted from the couch by an impossibly strong pair of arms: Lazarus carried her, alongside Ari, somewhere else. The Canaveris lord was quick to assuage her worries, explaining that they were simply taking her somewhere safer and out of view. Nia didn’t question Ari’s explanation, and soon after, drifted off in Lazarus’s arms, only to awaken again when he lay her down upon an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room.
And such was Nia’s pattern of sleep and wakefulness. As soon as she found a moment of peace, her heart slowing to a rate that just barely allowed her to enter rem sleep, panic would seize her again, reminding her that now was not the time to rest, because she was not safe. Not really--not while she was still in Galeyn. “You’re leaving?” Nia murmured with concern, when she noted Ari heading for the doorway. Who would look out for her, if he was not here? Who the hell valued her life enough to keep an eye on her well-being? But the Canaveris lord soothingly explained that he was retrieving the healer he had sent to tend to her leg, and that he would return, posthaste. Right--her leg. She needed a healed leg, free of infection and pain if she meant to run…
Nia closed her eyes again. It was as difficult to keep them open as it was to keep them closed. She shivered, at once too hot and too cold, and wondered just what state she would be in to flee Galeyn even after her leg had returned to a working condition. She hadn’t eaten in days: what little use she’d made of her alchemy to try and manage her fever those first few days had further starved her body of nutrients, and she was already a shrunken version of herself compared to the woman who had been here just days ago, saving Ari from a certain death as a result of his curse. She was at once starving, yet too nauseated to eat. Could she afford a single night of reprieve? Just a single night at the Canaveris estate, maybe a meal in the morning, before she took off for good? No--it wouldn’t be safe to run by daylight. If she wanted to leave the kingdom undetected, she would need to take a Night Steed. At the very least, she would be stuck here until the next night… Sorry, Hadwin: not that I don’t appreciate your offer, but I can’t take the chance with another angry kingdom. And I can’t rely on someone else to get me outta hot water… thanks for the offer, though.
Someone entered the room; two someones. Nia startled awake with a gasp for the umpteenth time, and propped herself up on her trembling elbows. It felt as though her heart had been racing for a week straight, now, but perhaps it was just the strain of lack of nutrition. After a full half moment of confusion, her tired mind trying to gather why she recognized the man who accompanied Ari, it finally dawned on her: “Alster Rigas.” Her voice was hoarse and weak from misuse, but she managed to flash her characteristic smile in spite of her discomfort. “Fancy seeing you here. For some reason… it keeps slipping my memory that you’re also an aspiring healer. Or, full-fledged… I wouldn’t know, I’m kind of shit at healing when I’m not dealing with reversing the side-effects of curses.”
She had to believe that Alster was safe; that Ari wouldn’t have brought him here if he thought for a moment that the Rigas mage would alert the Galeynian monarchy that a traitor was still among them. Ari would never, under any circumstances, compromise her safety. Nia complied when he asked to see the grisly wound on her leg, which was so infected it had become hot to the touch. Just laying his hands upon the surrounding flesh elicited her to flinch and groan. “It hurts… a lot. It’s hurt for days. I don’t remember it ever not hurting, by now… what are the chances you can be gentle?” She swallowed thickly, her mouth dry again and craving more water since Hadwin had provided her with some. “Don’t have great pain tolerance… everything just feels so much worse than it should…”
Unfortunately, Alster, however gentle, was never able to guarantee it wouldn’t hurt, especially with such advanced infection that would--as Hadwin had hinted--otherwise eventually require amputation if left untreated. At first, it was fine: his hands were cool, like ice on a burn, and she almost felt as though she could relax… until that cool became warm, and warmer, and then hot. Hotter than the fever that burned through her, and she cried out. “Enough… enough! I-it’s too much…!” Ari sympathetically took her hand, just to give her something to hold, but Alster knew better than to stop halfway. He continued until, just as the Night Garden had burned the darkness out of Queen Lilica, he had burned the infection out of the localized wound on her leg from the inside out, and, after what felt like far too long, finally closed the wound when there was no more infection to purge. The gash was still raw, tender, the injury red and inflamed, but it didn’t throb with pain anymore. The swelling had also gone down a good deal, and soon enough, her fever would abate on its own.
Her face tear-streaked and her throat raw, Nia was simply relieved not to be in such terrible pain anymore to muster a weak smile. “Hey… I know we had our moments, Rigas, but I’m glad we met.” She rasped, her own voice sounding dreamlike and faraway in her ears. “Wherever I end up… I won’t forget you. Even if your wife is a little catty.” She chuckled, and closed her eyes again. When she opened them, Alster was gone, but Ari wasn’t.
“Ari… Ari, I’ve gotta go.” She repeated her words from earlier, which she’d almost completely forgotten she’d already mentioned. “I dunno where, but… away from Galeyn. I’ll take a resonance stone… okay? I’ll find you again--I promise. My future’s still with you… it might just take a little while longer to get there.”
If he replied, she didn’t hear it, and drifted off to sleep in the absence of the pain that had kept her awake for days. And this time, for the first time since before Osric’s death, she did not awaken five minutes later in a panic.
It was difficult to measure time from that point on, as the Master Alchemist spent most of the following day in a dreamless sleep. There were breaks in her slumber where someone--usually Ari--encouraged her to try to drink water or consume some broth to replenish the nutrients her weak body lacked. Sometimes she would comply, but other times, she was simply too exhausted, and couldn’t open her eyes. At one point the following afternoon, he offered to draw her a bath and get her some new clothes to clean her body of smell of terror, flight, and barn, and to provide her with something a little more comfortable than torn leathers that no longer comfortably fit her shrunken body. The idea did pique her interest, but she admitted she wasn’t sure she could enjoy a warm bath without falling asleep again. For that, she did at last agree after accepting some help to undress, wash the grime from her hair and body, and then redress in a tunic and leggings that Sylvie provided (and that frankly fit the girl’s underdeveloped body almost better than it fit Nia’s waning form). A belt at her waist synched it all together, and at the very least, it was clean, and more comfortable than the restricting leathers which, after all these years, had finally become useless to her.
But Nia didn’t even wait for her hair to dry before falling into another long and deep slumber, declining Ari’s encouragement to try and eat something solid. “I will later… before I go. I promise.” She murmured, and closed her eyes.
This time, Nia dreamed. And in her dream, she saw her sister’s face. Celene’s serene features regarded her with concern, and what also seemed like an inkling of frustration. “What are you doing, Anetania?”
“What do you mean? I’m fine, Celene--everything’s gonna be alright. You’ve protected me all this time.” Nia smiled and palmed the ugly star pendant at her throat. “I’m alive because of you.”
“You are alive because you run! Why are you idle? Why aren’t you running, now?” Celene shot forward and shook her shoulders violently. “Run, Anetania! You need to do what you are good at and run!”
That was when the Master Alchemist awoke with a start, sitting upright. It was difficult to tell what time it was, or how long she’d been asleep, but Celene’s words rang in her ears like an alarm: run. Right… that was what she had to do. Now that she had slept, she had eaten a little, and her fever had abated, it was time to get herself to actual safety. Regretting abandoning her boots, Nia had to settle for the slippers that Ari had provided next to her bed, but anything was better than taking off in bare feet and risking yet another injury and infection. She took a few steps toward the door, and that was when she realized an unfortunate truth: that the stiffness of her leg had yet to abate. And literal running, well… it would still be some time before she was capable of that, again. It’ll never get back to where it was if I don’t use it, she told herself, and decided it was necessary to grin and bear it for the time being. She had to leave, but…
No sooner did she leave the small, furnished room, that the Master Alchemist faced a series of tunnels that she couldn’t remember ever having seen before in the Canaveris villa. She was underground… This was where the D’Marians had taken shelter during the attack of the invisible monsters. But while Ari had given her a tour of the villa aboveground, this was the first time she’d ever found herself in this safety labyrinth. Where did she go from here? Which way brought her back to the surface? And where was Ari? Her first instinct was to call out to him, to ask him for help but… but something made her reconsider. Perhaps it was the thought that a clean break, for now, would be more merciful on the both of them. She had to leave now, but she would contact him in the near future to reassure him that she intended to find him again. But for now…
For now, it seemed that she would be navigating this labyrinth of passageways on her own, in hopes that she eventually found stairs to bring her back to the surface.
Meanwhile, Ari was, in fact, preoccupied with some unexpected visitors. It turned out that the Canaveris lord hadn’t needed to inform the palace that he was in the company of Nia Ardane and intended to turn her over to them: they had already found out.
A small gathering of Forbanne, Dawn Guard, and palace guards insisted entry into the Canaveris villa, but did not force their way any further than the parlor. “Lord Aristide Canaveris. Last night, a Galenyian carpenter aiding in the reconstruction of your settlement claim they spotted the Master Alchemist, Anetania Ardane, who was shortly let inside.” One of the Galeynian guards stepped forward with a decree that had indeed been signed by Queen Lilica, for the arrest of the woman the Canaveris lord was thought to be harbouring. “The Master Alchemist is wanted by the crown for treason against this kingdom; we are under orders to arrest her and deliver her to the palace. It is on the rightful Queen’s orders that she remain unharmed, and will be given the chance to speak for herself on standing trial for her crimes. Lord Canaveris… you and your people are more than welcome to remain here, on Galeynian soil, for as long as you require. As such, cooperation with the Galeynian crown in this matter would be greatly appreciated.” The guard’s undertone couldn’t be clearer: this small party didn’t want any trouble, but they were determined to make good on their orders, regardless of Aristide’s cooperation.
Nia’s leg throbbed--not from infection, as it had before, but intense muscle cramping. It had been so long since she’d put her full weight on it and used it to pull her body around for this long, and found herself incredibly, embarrassingly weak. She’d only turned a few corners, ventured down a couple of dark corridors, and already he felt winded and ready to sit down. Where was the end of this maze? Had Ari purposely designed it to be this difficult for his people to navigate?
A light up ahead--a moving light--made her breath catch in her throat. She only released it when Ari’s familiar form, haloed by the glow of a stone, came into view. Well, she hadn’t intended to tell him a tearful goodbye, for now… but she needed to get to the surface somehow. “Ari. Thank goodness. Your little labyrinth… is a labyrinth. I have no idea where I’m going. How do we get back to the surface?” And, in a smaller voice, she added, “It’s time for me to go.”
Ari said surprisingly little, but offered her his arm to help her along as he led her through the unlit hallways, taking lefts and rights until they at last encountered a steep staircase that they had to take very slowly to accommodate Nia’s stiff left leg. “It’s gonna be alright.” She told him, to break the silence as they neared the top. “Ari… I promise, no matter where I am, I’ll always find you. You’re still my future; that won’t change.”
Never in a million years--no, not in this world, this dimension, this reality, did Nia ever think she would be wrong, or expect to see a variety of guards waiting for them at the top. The Master Alchemist forgot how to breathe--and her heart dropped all the way to her stomach. “What… Ari, what is going on...?”
“Anetania Ardane. You are under arrest for treason against the Galeynian crown, in knowingly and willingly aiding and abetting the terrorist Locque in her attempt to overthrow the rightful Queen, and threaten this kingdom and its people.” Before Nia could react, shackles were slapped onto her wrists. She immediately recognized the sort: after all, they originated in Ilandria, to negate and nullify the alchemical powers the runes on her palms. “You will stand trial at a later date, before the Queen and representatives of this kingdom’s cities and villages, and will receive the opportunity to speak on your behalf. Lord Canaveris.” The guard averted his gaze from the captive and nodded in appreciation to the Canaveris lord. “Your help and cooperation in the detainment of this individual is recognized and has been noted. Please accept our thanks on behalf of the Queen and this kingdom.”
“Wh--no. What is this bullshit?” The exhausted alchemist hissed, looking between her captors and Ari in confusion. “Don’t you even think to try and implicate Ari in this! He would never--”
“With all that said, we would also like to return your golems, as the palace no longer has need of them.” The palace guard ignored Nia and went on. He nodded to one of the Forbanne, stepped forward with a small sack, from which he poured what appeared to be a handful of pebbles into his palm. “There is no longer good reason to continue to be a spy for the palace, with Locque apprehended. If we happen to find any more among the rubble, you have my word that they will be returned to you, as well.”
Pebbles. But… she had seen those pebbles strewn about the palace for months. Hadn’t thought anything of them; just that the cleaning staff had fallen terribly behind in sweeping the halls. But, upon closer inspection… they appeared less like pebbles, and more like something carefully crafted to look like a pebble. The work of a very well-learned and powerful earth mage…
“...Ari…?” Nia turned her gaze from the pebbles to the Canaveris lord, a single tear escaping her eye as she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Did… did you really…” Was I wrong? Have I been duped… again?
Before Ari could provide a response, the guards took her by each of her arms and led her out of the Canaveris villa: the one place in this entire kingdom where she’d really, truly, without the shadow of a doubt thought she had been safe.
Ari sat on the edge of Nia’s bed, securing her fever-flushed hand for comfort as Alster diligently worked at siphoning her infection with his chthonic magic and stimulating the area to close and heal with his celestial. Despite the haste in gathering materials to furnish the overflow bedrooms underground, the Canaverises had scrambled to provide as many materials possible to replicate a cozy home environment for their guests, even if it meant ransacking their rooms at the villa to repurpose a few essentials. The bed on which Nia lay had, for instance, belonged to Ari, who now spent his evenings reclining on cushions spread across the floor, or hunched over at his desk. Not that sleep ever took him gracefully, regardless of the enticing, plush softness of his bed or its whispering silken sheets, his mind too occupied on the D’Marian settlement...and on Nia. On her safety.
Now that she was under his care, he worked furiously on methods for best approaching Queen Lilica—and Chara Rigas—about his high-profile political charge in the most delicate and diplomatic manner so as not to agitate the trust of all involved parties. Already, he swore Alster to secrecy. “Give me a day. Two days. I will approach them myself. In the meantime, reveal nothing to the Crown upon your return.”
To his credit, the Rigas mage, who was no stranger to making unpopular decisions independent of the opinions of others, agreed to maintain confidentiality. As a free agent presently unaffiliated with Stella D’Mare or Galeyn, Alster had the least face to lose, while Ari, on the other hand…
“All done.” Ari shook out of his thoughts when Alster laid his practiced fingers upon the smooth, flush, slightly-red patch of flesh where Nia’s encrusted wound no longer carved its menacing mark into her leg. “It’s over, Nia. Unpleasant as it was, you survived, as I knew you would.” Smiling reassuringly, he patted her shoulder and rose from the chair that was positioned at her bedside. “Don’t worry about Elespeth. She’s coming around.” He drifted to the hanging curtain that acted as a door separating the chamber from the main passageway. “You have friends here, Nia, no matter how things may seem at first. Don’t forget that.”
For the majority of the evening and well into the next day, Nia drifted in and out of sleep. During her short intervals of awareness and wakefulness, Ari focused not on expressing goodbyes but on bolstering her malnourished body with water and nutrients, of which she accepted a worrying amount.
“You must regain your strength,” he instructed, placing a tray of bone broth soup and a decanter of water at the bedside table. “We cannot speak of travel at all if you are too diminished and feeble to move about.”
My future’s still with you.
She had uttered those words with such confidence, he was inclined to believe them simply because she believed them. Alas, too many complications muddied the likelihood of their undisputed reunion. While he tended to err towards optimism, neither could he forget the last time he saw Casimiro before he retreated from Stella D’Mare and marched off to war. His future was with his family, his wife and seven children, his mother and brother, his position as Head of the household. Yet...he failed to return and reclaim his life. Thus, Ari stepped forward and lived Casimiro’s future in his stead, a future never meant for him. A future that didn’t belong to him.
Even if Nia’s life was guaranteed, no future could exist for a notorious fugitive and a nation’s leader...unless they faced the problem, head-on, and changed her slippery outcome for the better. Otherwise, he would forever regret not trying to transform their hypothetical into a reality. Since taking up his brother’s mantle, Ari was done living his life based on dreams, and didn’t want the same for Nia, either. If she left now...they would never be safe, together. It is high time you ceased running, Nia. I promised you a home. I will grant you a home.
Throughout the next day, Ari visited Nia as often as his schedule allowed, frequently replenishing her water and half-emptied trays of food. When he was not available, Lazarus, Sylvie, or Nadira replaced him, but never any of the servants. They kept the situation strictly within the Canaveris inner circle, in case of an information leakage.
Late that afternoon, after they convinced Nia to wash up and change into a clean set of clothes donated by Sylvie, Ari reentered her chambers carrying vegetable stew with a loaf of warm bread, hoping the freshly-baked, buttery hints of the bread would encourage her appetite. Unfortunately, she declined, or rather, postponed her lunch, and he deposited it on the table where her previous other meals had gone virtually untouched. “I say, you are looking much improved from last night,” he said, electing for some lighthearted and hopeful conversation. “I daresay a little color is returning to your cheeks in turns. Though I may be confusing your glow for fever,” he smiled, half cheeky and half apologetic. “I would encourage you to eat, but you have had a trying few days and I cannot expect you to crave sustenance when your heart is so fiercely hammering in your chest. I…” he tucked a damp tendril of hair from her face, using it as an excuse to draw near, to catch her eyes and her attention, “I would like to discuss something of import with you later. Something you should know. Please do not venture off anywhere until then, Nia. Sleep. Rest. I shall return when I’ve completed my day’s duties.”
Giving her arm an affectionate squeeze, Ari made his egress, emptying out into the unpeopled rock-hewn corridors of the Canaveris undercity.
Unfortunately, he had exhausted—and wasted—his finite time with Nia, including any attempts to confess his involvement concerning the initiative he joined to dethrone and defeat Locque several months prior. The pebble golems, though not amounting to much intelligence gathering in the long run, were undoubtedly his brainchild, large enough of a contribution to plague him with guilt whenever interactions with Nia intensified his feelings of love. If they intended to move forward in trust and solidarity, he couldn’t bury his treacherous actions a moment longer.
Except...he wouldn’t receive that chance. It was too late. He knew it was too late when, that evening, a small collective of Forbanne, palace guards, and Dawn Guard requested entry inside his villa.
“Gentlemen. Do come in,” he said, keeping a level and pleasant candor despite the death-grip of his fingers clutching the handle of his cane. They gathered in the parlor, none of them settling down for a drink but standing in an uncompromising stance of expectation. They had come for one thing, one person, and would not leave until they obtained her, nor would they indulge in the petty nonsense of a D’Marian whose power yielded to the crown so long as they occupied Galeynian soil.
“Ah, I see. Yes, Anetania Ardane is on the premises. I had every intention of handing her to Galeynian authorities, but her injuries were dire and I am not so barbaric as to deny her the services of a healer and rest. Now that she has reached an adequate state of convalescence, I shall of course comply with Miss Anetania’s apprehension. I mean no trouble.” With his cane, he gestured to the ruined ballroom across the hall. “Wait here. We mustn’t allow her to spook.”
As he descended the cellar stairs, Ari injected unruffled calm, focusing the breath, the deliberateness of his footfalls scuffing against the stone, the whistle of cool, dank air as it rose to meet his perspiring forehead. They were techniques employed to prevent the onset of a flare-up. Connect with the world. Live outside of oneself. Be as stone without becoming stone. Immovable. Impenetrable. Impassive. He cycled through each step, breathing for long counts and exhaling for even longer counts. By the time they reached the sinuous passageways of the undercity, Ari was an approximation of composed...insofar as he buried his heart under an enormous rockslide, hiding the evidence from view.
He found Nia in the corridors, predictably attempting an escape. Swallowing his trepidation, he aligned at her side, extending an arm not currently fused to his cane. “Yes, it is time for you to go,” he echoed, dazed and devoid of his usual brightness. In contrast, he sounded hollow. Empty. And, in that critical and final moment between them, with him stiffly guiding her through the tunnels as though down the aisles to her own funeral, words, the one thing he had in abundance...failed. All he managed was one phrase. Two words. “Forgive me.”
As they mounted the last steep step of the staircase, the reason behind his whispered apology became abundantly clear, when the grim procession of soldiers, poised like vultures atop the landing, swooped in and plucked Nia from his arms, shackling her hands behind her back. Amid her confusion and fear and need for a trusted comrade’s reassurance, Ari failed her yet again. Because nothing he said would erase the reality behind her imprisonment, or improve his own standing before the guards, who would render his promises of exonerating her name suspect and worthy of investigation. So he lowered his eyes and did nothing…
Until one of the palace guards decided to worsen the situation further. Paling, he reflexively opened his palm, receiving the miniature avalanche of pebble golems from the Forbanne soldier. No. Why now? Why like this? She was supposed to learn of his treachery from his mouth, not theirs. He folded his fingers over the tiny figures in his hand, fighting the urge not to crumble the ground beneath the soldiers’ feet and send them into a free fall into the cellar twenty feet below.
He felt her wide eyes fall on him, beseeching answers or, failing that, some evidence to suggest a misunderstanding. That he hadn’t betrayed her.
But he did. He did...and he always would.
Ari stayed in the echo of their departure, too disheartened to care about violating the basic tenets of hospitality by seeing everyone to the door. Why even pretend to value grace and high manners when he created an even more egregious violation by causing Nia’s last, lingering, tear-filled look of betrayal?
As he stood in the empty, half-wrecked ballroom, he didn’t even notice his right hand harden to stone...bones included.
On Nia’s prompt arrival to the palace from the D’Marian settlement, a crowd of irate Galeynians had formed around the main entrance, shouting their anger and disdain at the shackled woman being led inside by her captors. Some particularly incensed citizens lobbed small stones, but the soldiers comprising her security detail surrounded her on all sides, taking the brunt of the hits—and the menacing stares—in her stead. Midway through the procession, Haraldur emerged from the grandiose double doors, establishing order by commanding the gathering to stand aside and disperse. By and far a more agreeable people, even at the height of their frustration, the Galeynians abided by the Forbanne Commander’s instruction and began establishing distance between themselves and the object of their outrage. Satisfied by what they saw—Anetania Ardane in chains—they hadn’t any pressing need to remain once she slipped into the palace proper and disappeared from public scrutiny.
Inside, Haraldur took charge, dismissing a few of the guards in order to tighten the formation and streamline the transfer of their prisoner into the narrow corridors of the dungeons. Leading the way, he alighted in front of Nia, and while he primarily remained largely professional, close-mouthed, and no-nonsense, he offered a few words to the woman in question.
“We are not here to inflict any harsh treatment on you. I realize it’s a small comfort, all things considered, but we intend on making your upcoming trial fair and impartial. Prepare your defense; others may also choose to speak on your behalf. I’m sorry, Nia,” he added, electing for a sympathetic sigh. “This is how things are done. You are an enemy of the state. Galeynians wish worse on you, but take some consolation in knowing that the decision ultimately rests in the hands of her Majesty and her advisors.”
They rounded the end of the main corridor and descended the cracked and uneven stone stairs, which could have benefited from a little repair and refinement, courtesy of the Canaveris mages. Torches operating on the curious quartz stones created by Isidor lined the walls, creating a wider scope of ambient light, but producing little warmth of flame, which the dungeons, chilly and damp, desperately needed. Reaching the bottom of the staircase, they escorted Nia to the cell in the corner, the “nicest” and largest of the half dozen available in the tiny and seldom-used facility. Inside, a clean bale of hay, fresh sheets, a down blanket, a bedpan, and tankard of water awaited their guest. A Forbanne carefully rearranged Nia’s shackles, bringing her hands forward for greater mobility before recuffing them in place.
“You’re allowed guests at designated times of the day, accompanied always by a set of guards. We’ll fetch you dinner momentarily. You’re entitled to three meals and small requests, within reason.” Haraldur’s hand rested on the edge of the heavy iron door. “We’ll provide more details regarding your trial once we’ve decided on a date. Until then...good night.” Without another word, he swung shut the door, clicking the locking mechanism into place. The sound of numerous footfalls retreated, dimming and growing ever-distant in the forlorn and windowless dungeon.
Concurrent to Nia’s apprehension and subsequent relocation, Alster and Elespeth convened in Lilica and Chara’s shared chambers, discussions ripe in regard to their high-profile prisoner.
“Couldn’t you have waited an additional day before organizing a hunt for her head?” Alster paced in the main parlor, frustration dragging at his features. “I realize it might not have been possible, but a little advance notice would have sufficed.”
“What, and let the little runaway escape? Let’s face it; Ari would have cracked and swung the back door wide open before having the guts to hand-deliver her, himself.” Chara lounged against the sofa’s armrest, feigning disinterest amid her apparent annoyance. “This is what you get for going behind our back, Alster. How does it feel, to receive the same treatment in retaliation for your constant and deliberate failings to communicate and collaborate with your allies?” She sat up straight in her seat, dispensing the pretense of relaxation. “What in the hells were you trying to accomplish? How many times must I reiterate that you cannot save everyone? Look,” she said, attempting a patient air, “Galeyn is desperate for justice. Considering the loss to their population, the untold damages and ongoing distress, holding Nia accountable is the least we can do to help this ravaged country heal. Nothing brings people together than a common enemy. Let them have this victory. Who knows? Chances are, they may not all collectively desire her blood...unlikely as that might be.”
“I...won’t.” He released his defiant statement on a breath, quiet, but undeterred. “Nia doesn’t have to die for justice to be delivered. It’s not she who’s wronged to such an irredeemable extent.” A flare of anger darkened his aura. Electricity seemed to halo around him. “It’s Locque. And Rowen. Nia needs a defense, so I will act in her interests during her trial.”
Chara barked a laugh, ignoring Alster’s almost unsettling reaction. “How patently unsurprising, Alster. Yes, do resume your crusade as champion of the underserved and hopeless.”
Before he could protest any further, a buzz in his pocket interrupted his train of thought. Bringing the resonance stone to his ear, he listened to the voice on the other end, occasionally answering either in the affirmative or the negative.
“Ari wants to speak to you.” Alster offered the resonance stone to Chara. “He’s furious about how the Crown handled the situation.”
For a pregnant moment, Chara faltered, as if unsure of herself. Regaining her momentum, she blurted out an “Of course,” and plucked the nondescript gray stone out of Alster’s hands. What ensued was a heated back and forth between former D’Marian head and present D’Marian head, a conversation difficult to track when everyone in the room could only hear Chara’s vague retorts and deflecting, defensive responses. Finally, with a moody and wrathful, “Very well,” she thrust the stone back into Alster’s keeping, her face flushed in multihued shades of anger, humiliation, confliction, helplessness, and…browbeaten, weary acceptance.
“What did he say?” Alster quested, trying to gauge Chara’s current mood and willingness to share in her unpalatable news.
“I...will join you, Alster,” she said tersely, carefully, twisting in her seat to avoid eye contact from Lilica. “In preparing a defense for Nia.” Shaken, she continued. “My loyalty...remains with Stella D’Mare.”
From the time she set foot outside of the Canaveris villa in chains, all sense of time and place left Nia, depositing her in a state where she existed in-between what was happening to her in reality, and her own mind trying to make sense of it all. Because, all things considered… this couldn’t actually be happening. Not if she had been right about Ari all along. It couldn’t be happening if Ari was well and truly on her side, adamantly refusing to let anything happen to her. Not if deep underground the Canaveris villa was the absolute safest place she could possibly be. Not if Ari had been on her side, all along… but, for all of these things to be true, what was happening to her right now couldn’t be happening. And yet… it was. No… I wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t wrong to trust again… was I? Ari is genuine! He wouldn’t hurt me… he would never let anyone hurt me… he…
The old wound on her neck ached and throbbed as if it were fresh all over again as the Master Alchemist found herself reliving that terrible moment from many years ago--the last time she had trusted someone too quickly, too thoroughly. Because it was suddenly happening to her all over again, except the knife wasn’t at her neck this time. Instead… it was embedded deeply into her heart.
All this time… Everything said and done… was it just a game? Was I an unknowing player in a mere game? She wanted to grip the pendant at her throat, her very last symbol of hope. It wasn’t too late--not yet. Even if Ari and everyone she’d thought she could call a friend had turned to treachery, Celene was still there, always with her in spirit. Always watching out for her and protecting her. There had been ample attempts on her life in the past, and she had always pulled through, narrowly escaping death each and every time. Why should this be any different?
Because this time… I was in love. The Master Alchemist’s own voice of dismal reason answered her question. I thought love would protect me. I was wrong. If Ari had truly loved her… then he would have let her run.
The voices and stones of the angry crowd barely registered when the Galeynian prisoner was removed from the carriage. Everything was too surreal to process; those few sharp pebbles that did make contact, some even managing to nick her face, didn’t register. Haraldur Sorde, appearing at the gates, took over from the Dawn Guard and palace guard, and escorted her inside, down several flights of stairs. The last time she had visited the dungeons had been those few times when she’d seen fit to make use of Isidor Kristeva’s little workshop, which he had promptly abandoned as soon as Locque had seized control. But that was not where she was bound this time: a cell in the far corner had already been set up, awaiting occupation, and there was no one else but her in this kingdom fit to be its lone guest.
The Forbanne Commander was talking to her. She caught a few words here and there, through the fog in her head, but they were all inconsequential. Small talk, things that he was obviously obligated to say to her, considering she’d literally been torn away from what she’d thought was safety in the middle of the night. In all honesty, the cell itself was not an entirely unwelcome sight, at this point. She might not be safe from Galeyn or the consequences of her actions, but she was safe from everything else--and it also marked an end to her journey. Her previously injured leg throbbed with every step descending those stairs, pushed beyond it capacity to comfortably function following such a grievous wound. It would be a relief just to take the weight off of it.
“How do you know… when it is safe to trust?” Her first words to the Forbanne Commander had nothing to do with anything he had said to her, and most likely took him off guard, but the question was genuine by the diminished look of hope in her brown eyes. “Do you know? I thought I knew… I really thought I had it figured out. Because I’ve been so careful, for so long! But I went wrong, and I don’t know how… I thought that everything I was feeling was real. I felt so real, so how… how was I wrong? How did this happen… all over again?”
Of course, Haraldur, likely taken aback by the question that came out of the blue, had no answer for her. Nia was left alone as the door to her cell shut, with that heavy question without a real answer still lingering in the air. The pendant around her neck suddenly felt heavy and burdensome, and for the first time in over a decade, she almost wanted to take it off. Almost…
News of Nia’s presence in the Canaveris villa and the Galeynian outrage and lust for justice had blindsided Lilica just as much as it had the Master Alchemist. The Galeynian Queen, still far from having recovered, was summoned from her own bedrest to respond to the concern that was brought forth by a handful of guards. Nia Ardane was still in Galeyn--which was exactly where the people wanted her, because someone had to answer for Locque’s misdeeds; and she was the only one left. It was presented to Lilica in such a way that the Tenebris daughter was not in a position to decline, or order mercy on the Master Alchemist’s behalf. The kingdom was already shaken with so much loss and destruction, and if she wanted to prevent an all-out uprising… then she had to give them what she wanted. So it was under that immense pressure that she signed the order for Anetania Ardane’s arrest--and knew that she would have to speak for it, later.
Sure enough, while the majority of Galeyn was happy with her decision and already seemed more at ease as soon as the treacherous woman was behind bars, there were yet some who did not take kindly to the decision, just as Lilica had expected. The next day, she forewent the bed rest recommended by the healers and the Gardeners to meet with certain key people in the council chambers--namely Chara, Elespeth, and Alster, the latter of whom was the most incensed by what had occurred.
“I’m sorry, Alster--but I was not given the opportunity to buy any time.” Lilica sighed, leaning her elbows heavily upon the table, her cheeks and eyes still bright with the vestiges of fever that wracked her body. “The news was brought to my attention with the expectation that I act now… or I don’t want to think of how the people might have reacted. Please understand, they have just recently seen themselves free of a tyrannical, self-proclaimed ruler that had anything but their best interests at heart. Right now, Galeyn needs to know that it is heard… and that someone is acting on behalf of them. Should I have refused…” She spread her hands, palms up. They were empty, save for the remnants of the healing wound on her palm that she had etched in order to bring down the summoner. “I don’t know what would have resulted--but it would not have been good. But know that my order included that Nia be treated with fairness and civility.”
“It’s alright, Lilica. You don’t need to explain.” Elespeth, who herself felt torn about the decision, reassured the Galeynian queen, if for no other reason than because she felt sympathy for her. Lilica had been thrown right back into the position she’d previously occupied the moment she awoke: she, herself, hadn’t been gifted the privilege of recuperation before expectations were piled upon her shoulders. “It isn’t… ideal. And as much as Nia gets on my nerves, I don’t know that this is what I would want for her, but she has not been sentenced to death.”
None of that, however, placated Alster. What Galeyn perceived as justice did not sit well with him, and all things considered, he had a point: Locque had killed. Rowen had killed. Nia… while she had not prevented these deaths, she had not killed, and in fact, had tried in her own ways to maintain peace and keep everyone happy. But she had aided Locque in ascending the throne--and that was all that mattered to Galeyn. Still, the Rigas mage did not see that as a reason to lock her up and contemplate her fate. And once his mind was made up, Elespeth knew there was nothing she could do to change it. “Alster…” She placed a hand on her husband’s arm, her brows furrowed in concern. “Opposing Galeyn’s decision could compromise your standing and the D’Marian’s standing with the Galeynians. If you choose to act on Nia’s behalf…”
He didn’t need an explanation, or a run-down of the possible consequences or results of his decision. His mind was made up--and while Nia Ardane was far from one of Elespeth’s favourite people… she knew all too well what it felt like to have an entire population out for your blood. The only difference was, Lilica was able to sway things in her favour, and rescind her sentence; sadly, the Galeynian Queen was not able to offer such a gift to Nia. “...if that is your decision, then I will support it, and you.” The former knight said at last, with a resolute nod. “As someone who was brought up to fight for justice… I fear that what Galeyn desires at that point is not justice at all, but revenge.”
“Wait… Alster.” As things began to take a turn, Lilica’s own body stiffened in concern. “If that is the stance you take, then you would be taking a stamd against the crown--against me. Is that… really necessary? I have ordered a fair trial for the Ardane woman. Galeyn is not Braightdath; it is not Atvany.” She peered sidelong at Elespeth at that comment. “These people are reasonable. Yes, they are hurt, and they are understandably angry, but I truly believe this kingdom does not thirst for blood. If you could just let this play out…”
Suddenly, Chara was summoned from the conversation to respond to her own summons by resonance stone. It was Aristide Canaveris, and while Lilica could not make out his words from a distance… he sounded angry. But… what could he possibly have to do with Chara? Signing that order had not been the Rigas woman’s decision…
It was worse than she thought. When Chara lowered the stone, she had gone pale, and quiet, until she made an announcement that very nearly caused Lilica to fall out of her seat. “Chara.” She breathed, her dark eyes going wide. “But you… you can’t! If you walk away…” And just like that, Lilica Tenebris suddenly realized how alone she was in a room occupied by other people. And whatever will her people desired… She would have to carry out on her own.
“The stone--give me that stone.” She demanded of Alster, who still held the resonance stone in his palm. “I want to talk to him. Give me the stone.” The startled Rigas mage relented, and placed the resonance stone in the Galeynian queen’s hand. She held it to her lips and raised her voice. “Lord Aristide Canaveris--it is Lilica Tenebris. I would like to request a meeting with you at your earliest convenience, regarding the arrest of the Master Alchemist, Anetania Ardane. Before anyone takes any rash actions… I think that we need to talk.”
So it was arranged that very evening that Lilica would meet with the Canaveris lord in his villa. A handful of Gardeners cautioned the queen regarding travel, still so early on in her own recovery, but to prevent inconveniencing the Canaveris lord, Lilica had readily agreed to meet him on his own terf (which was frankly in better shape than the palace, anyway). Further against the recommendations of healers and concerned Gardeners, Lilica traveled alone that evening. Chara, Alster, and Elespeth could not accompany her out of a conflict of interest, anyway, and she did not want to make the impression that she intended to intimidate, and as such left all of her guards behind. When the carriage arrived by night steed that evening, in front of the Canaveris villa, Lilica was the only one to step out of the cabin.
“Lord Canaveris.” She nodded respectfully as Aristide greeted her at the door, and bid her to come inside. “You have my thanks for agreeing to meet on such short notice.”
Aristide led her to the parlor, where she was careful to hold her head and body high as she followed, willing the trembling in her weakened limbs not to show. Her head pounded; her temperature still flashed between hot and cold and sent chills down her spine. She wanted nothing more but to be in bed, and with Chara next to her, not as a pillar of support… but a reminder that she was not alone.
“I want to apologize for the abruptness of… of how everything transpired, the other night.” She began, after taking a seat upon one of the settees. “And I understand how it must all look to you. I did not come here to make excuses about why I signed the order for Anetania Ardane’s arrest: I am sure that you, as someone who acts on behalf of their people, can understand how those people are more often than not apt to influence decisions such as that which was made regarding the Master Alchemist. And I cannot backpedal on that order, lest I stir further unrest in an already damaged and grieving kingdom. Locque refused to hear the voice of my people; right now, they need to know and feel as though they are being heard. But… that is not your problem, and I recognize that none of that matters to you.”
The Galeynian queen took a breath to steady her racing heart and clear her head. If only Chara were here… standing with her. She would have far better words for such a crisis. “Lord Canaveris, the Galeynians are hurting, and yes, they do desire justice… but I am here to reassure you that despite how it might look, they are not out for blood. We are a peaceful kingdom, and I feel as though I can speak for everyone when I say that too much blood has already been shed. When I ordered the Master Alchemist’s arrest, it was never with the intention to threaten her life. Contrary to what you might believe, I do not wish for her downfall--and that is not what I will be advocating for in her trial.” Lilica saw the anger when she met his eyes, and his own, deep-seated hurt that she could not fail to address. If there had ever been any question as to the Canaveris lord’s feelings toward Nia Ardane… there was no question anymore. “Lord Canaveris… I have come here tonight to ask--no, to beg you not to make more of this than what it is. Nia will stand a fair trial. She will be treated with civility and humanity during her imprisonment, and I am certain that some means of atonement for having allied with Locque will be expected of her, but in this history of this kingdom, I have come to learn that legal punishment has never resulted in death. I know that you have nothing but my word that she will remain unharmed, and I am not sure what that is worth… but, please, Lord Canaveris. I humbly ask that you and the D’Marians remain impartial to this process. We are already pressing on a bleeding wound, and no one here is prepared to deal with civil conflict amongst peoples. Please trust that this trial and the treatment of Nia Ardane will remain fair. I cannot guarantee that she will be absolved of any and all involvement with Locque, but… you have my word that, as Queen, I will advocate for mercy. Please…” Don’t take Chara away from me, was the unspoken plea that died before it could reach her lips.
Without windows to gauge day or nighttime, and without ample sleep, it was impossible to tell how much time had passed since Nia’s arrest and imprisonment in the Galeynian dungeon. Coupled with the numbness that had settled over the Master Alchemist’s body and mind, she felt as though she existed on a plane where time stood still, and nothing would move until a decision was made with regard to her future (and her life). Meals and water were delivered, as per Haraldur’s word, but after a few ill-fated attempts to keep down solid nourishment (her stomach still hadn’t adjusted to running on empty for so long), Nia only managed sips of water here and there. She made no requests, asked for no one, and did little more than become one with the darkness that was her cell. To try and escape the discomfort in her gut, and the pounding in her head that demanded she hydrate herself more than she was currently capable of, the Master Alchemist tried to find reprieve in sleep. Just as it had in the barn, however, true rest eluded her. Just as soon as her body would begin to relax in a state of rest, she would jolt awake with her heart hammering in her chest. No time to rest--not safe. Fight or flight was coursing strong through her veins… and she was completely unable to accommodate either one.
At some point, one of the guards at the cell door announced she had a visitor. The face that greeted her in the dimly lit doorway was neither friend nor for, but she was familiar. Briery Freely--the acrobat. Hadwin’s friend, or lover, or… something. “Hadwin really wanted to be here, but he desperately needs rest, so he sent me instead. Apologies for the consolation prize--but he does intend to stop by when he’s better able to move about.” The ring-leader smiled warmly. She held a bundle in her arms, and set it down in front of Nia. “It can get chilly down here. I thought you might like an extra blanket.”
“Chilly? No. Only sometimes. But sometimes it’s too hot… and then it gets really cold again. And then hot again.” Nia commented, realizing the absurdity of her words, but if she wasn’t starling awake trembling with cold, it was with hot flashes and sweats. She didn’t know if she was too hot or cold anymore. “Thanks, though.”
“Nia… listen. I know we don’t know one another well…” Briery crouched to the sitting woman’s height. “But as someone who has been in your position, I can give you some advice to help keep your mind and body strong. It’s easy to want to give up when you are behind bars… But, having hope and strength all starts with eating, drinking, and giving your body what it needs to function.” The acrobat picked up a plate of now-stale bread and offered it to the prisoner. “If it’s hard to keep it down--unappealing as it sounds, try dipping it in some water. Once you kick those hunger pangs, everything will start to feel better, I guarantee it.”
“Hey… maybe you can answer this. Or maybe not, but it’s worth a try.” Ignoring the food that she knew would only upset her stomach, Nia turned her brown eyes from the floor to meet those of the lovely acrobat. Briery was very pretty and had a warm, kind face; no wonder Hadwin took such a liking to her. It almost made her want to like her, as well but… what was even the point? She rubbed at a fresh scab on her face, a result of stones being thrown in her direction. It began to bleed anew. “How do you know when it is safe to trust someone? Is there some method I’m missing? Where did I go wrong? I keep trying to figure it out… but I’m coming up blank. Was I trusting my gut feeling too much? Or… was I just really that blinded by one-sided love? I thought I had it figured out… I’ve been keeping myself alive for years. I really thought I was a good judge of people! I just… I want to know where I went wrong.”
Briery sighed quietly and put down the food. She’d feared isolation would get to the Master Alchemist’s head and deplete her spirit, just as it had almost done her in, before Hadwin had maneuvered her out of a life of imprisonment… but it was something else entirely that gnawed Nia’s hope bloody and raw. And there was nothing she could do to change that; not when she herself didn’t have much of a relationship with this woman. “Nia… I understand how you must feel right now. But you should know, I am not trying to deceive you when I say you have friends who are looking out for you. We’re hardly acquainted; I haven’t much of a reason to lie.”
“If he loved me--then why didn’t he just let me run? So that means I must have been wrong, yeah? Because he didn’t let me run. Instead, he let me face this… but he seemed so concerned. Got Alster to heal me. Why bother with all that when this would be the end result? How am I any better off? I don’t understand… I want to understand. I don’t... ” It wasn’t even clear that she heard a word Briery was saying. Nia was too lost in her own mind and feelings; eventually, she tucked her chin into her chest and closed her eyes. “I’m tired of thinking… and talking. Thanks for coming by.”
Not wanting to incite any more discomfort for the Galeynian prisoner, and knowing that her usually effective skills with emotionally delicate individuals would not work on someone who was struggling to get out of their own mind, Briery set the folded blanket upon the straw bed, and respected Nia’s request to be left alone. But the Master Alchemist was not left alone for long. The muffled sound of arguing startled her out of another 5-minute nap; this time, she awoke in a cold sweat, simultaneously too hot and too cold, and without a fever to blame it on. The door opened again; another visitor set foot inside her cell. Maybe someone else could answer her--
Oh no--no way in hell was she going to seek an answer from her. “Wow. You’re bolder than I gave you credit for. Come all the way here just to see me in this state.” She didn’t even try to make eye contact with Nadira Canaveris. “Well, hope it was worth your valuable time. But the show’s over. Hey--hey, big guy standing outside my cell!” She called to one of the guards. It still hurt her throat to raise her voice. “Thanks for letting in all the unannounced visitors, but I’m done! Care to escort this one outta here? I’m really fucking tired, and it already smells bad enough down here that I don’t need the smell of aristocratic bullshit to top it all off.”
Something changed in Aristide Canaveris that evening. Or—no, not changed, but kicked to the surface from its placement deep underwater, dislodged by a strong undercurrent. The potential existed, in him as in all previous leaders of the Canaveris family, but he tended not to lead with it, for reasons concerning his health. Besides, he obtained his potential from a different source: from Chara Rigas, who inadvertently taught him the power and color of anger. How apt then, that he would weaponize it against her in his bid for fairness and equity.
“Casimiro.” He approached the floor-length mirror in his bedchambers, cradling his stone-solid hand like a hammer about to descend and crush his enemies, his opposition—anyone who crossed him, wrongly. His brother’s name hummed on his lips because the reflection of the man in the mirror was someone he didn’t recognize as himself. A semi-permanent knot formed between the usual smoothness in his friendly brow, contorting his features in severe angles, accentuating no aesthetic curves and graceful features, but sharp, harsh shadows. His soil-dark eyes, earthy and kind, burned into a smolder, giving off the toxic, smokey hue of an ever-blazing coal fire. No trace of Aristide Canaveris lingered in his appearance or in his bearing and just as well. Better to lock away that aspect in his workshop. Ari the Artist was too soft, like a hunk of charcoal dissolving into soot between his fingers. But if his arsenal only carried art materials, then he would come equipped with his chisel and gouge pieces off his opposition, crippling them before their feet dared even to point in his direction.
“You have possessed me.” He laid a hand, an unburdened hand, on the mirror. “Do not leave. I will not allow you to part. You have taken too much, already.” His eyes drifted to the clump of marble sitting on the empty floor. A table once stood there, now on loan to a displaced family in the undercity. In its place, the largest surviving piece of Casimiro’s memorial statue winked in kaleidoscopic glimmers of mica, pyrite, and feldspar. “Stay with me. I will recede, if it means we can accomplish our goals. Together.” A heaviness sat on his chest, as if a second heart had materialized and swallowed the weak, traitorous thing already there, fortifying it to double, no, triple the strength. Satisfied, he stepped away from the mirror...and went to work.
Following his “discussion” with Chara via resonance stone, in which he “gently” reminded her of her indenture to the Canaveris family, an agreement she not only accepted, but insisted upon as punishment, and willingly signed in a binding contract, he fully expected to draw the attention of Queen Lilica Tenebris, who would likely be in range of the conversation. Sure enough, he did, and sure enough, she wished to arrange a meeting with him the very same evening. The lateness of the hour didn’t faze him now that sleep moved so far beyond the realm of possibility that it may as well be a dream. Thus, he agreed to host her Majesty at his villa, heedless of the hour.
Well after midnight, he received Lilica’s carriage at his villa’s entrance, mildly surprised at her solo arrival. No guards, no Chara, no other allies. For his part, Ari, too, approached the Galeynian Queen empty of an entourage—at least, on the surface. Lazarus was never far from reach, no matter how empty one’s surroundings seemed at first inspection.
Together, they gathered at the parlor. Ari, dressed in his finest silks—purple, to suit the occasion, his brother’s favorite—kept his hands clasped behind his back, hiding the inoperative hand from view, despite its multilayered concealment beneath loose gloves and long-flowing sleeves. He operated every bit a gentleman and a gracious host, seldom dispensing of his honor, regardless of his current stance with the Galeynian monarchy. At least, this was how he appeared on the surface, but like anything simply resting on a superficial layer, it was easy to skim off and remove.
“Please, sit anywhere you would like,” he said of his guest, gesturing around the parlor with his good hand. He expertly hid the discomfort of hefting around a dense weight of solid stone, alone and unsupported, and maintained its position in a fashion popular with the genteel and highborn. “May I interest you in some wine or a sweet liqueur?” He lingered near the shelf of color-coded crystal carafes, plucking a clean pewter goblet from its display on the table. While he expected her to decline the offer, it was his custom to ask, regardless, and took no offense when she shook her head.
“Ah, I mustn’t forget; you’ve barely awakened from your short coma upon Locque’s defeat.” He grabbed his cane where it leaned against the wall and rested his stone block of a hand atop its blackwood handle. “Then, my sincere expressions are two-fold. While I harbor criticisms based on your latest decree, you mustn’t believe that I do not appreciate your brave defeat of the tyrant who terrorized this kingdom, unopposed, for months, nor am I ungrateful to have the honor of your company, tonight, in spite of your delicate condition.” To prove this assertion true, he gave a respectful bow from the waist. “Please understand; I act not out of a personal grudge, but because of a general disagreement that I hope we can settle.” As an afterthought, he added, “Amicably.”
While Lilica diplomatically discussed her case and checked for his understanding on the matter, Ari sat across from her in the opposite settee, listening intently, his stone-like features betraying nothing but intense, unerring concentration. “From one leader to another, I assure you, I understand your predicament. However, though I understand, I do not agree with the sloppy manner in which you addressed the issue, let alone how you failed to inform me, your ally, of your intentions beforehand, leaving me to receive your guards’ surprise visit none the wiser, treated as though I were a criminal in my own home. This is a flagrant and critical breach of communication. If you had invested trust in me, your ally, I reiterate, then you would have an easy, fuss-free handoff, with all parties in full compliance.” He thumped his cane on the rug, a muted cry of indignance performed on behalf of its owner. “Alas, as you never publicized your arrest order, or alternatively, contacted me directly, if what you desired was a clandestine operation, I was, shall we say, left in the dark concerning your decree, and forced under the assumption that Miss Nia was a free woman, for the time being. Stella D’Mare tires of its secondary treatment, your Majesty,” he said, disappointment coloring his words. “It is as though we have no say in the developments of the kingdom we, too, call our home. If you will not respect us, then we are going to have difficulties negotiating, in future.”
Uninterested in remaining stationary, he stood, his legs imbued with too much restless energy to engage in staid, sedentary stillness. “You and I share common ground, your Majesty.” He traversed the roaring fireplace, his cane clunking in time to his step. “We do not wish for unnecessary bloodshed. I am also invested in a fair trial. I have been, from the start. But, in order to ensure the fairness of this trial, understand I must take certain precautions, now that my hand has been tried.” The vague air of threat hung low, like smothering haze on a relentless summer day. “If the trial results in an agreeable verdict, then you have little to worry about, your Majesty. If the trial skews in the other direction, well...let’s say that the fate of Miss Anetania Ardane should concern you greatly. Need I remind you, Chara Rigas is under contract to serve the Canaveris estate. This is a detail I have overlooked, but will enforce, if given no other choice. But it should not come to such extremes.” A placid smile appeared on his lips. “You have said it, yourself. We want no civil unrest. No blood spilled.”
Ari turned from the fire, tilting his head at his seated guest, their disparate heights requiring he look down at her. “A fair trial, as promised. A fair verdict, to be agreed upon by all involved parties. As well, I request that D’Marians, all D’Marians, be given a place at the proceedings, alongside Galeynians. Seeing as we are honorary citizens of this great state, we should not be barred from participation. After all, the Age of Locque, though short-lived, has affected each of us, equally, and we deserve a voice, a platform. I do hope these arrangements are amenable to you, your Majesty.” His voice rumbled low, complementing the surprise pop, crackle, and release of the fire. “We would not want to lose what is most precious.”
Independent of Ari’s own agenda, Nadira Canaveris made a small, uncalculated risk and decided to pay a visit to the palace the next evening, after supper. While Ari didn’t sanction the trip, neither did he prohibit it, though, judging by the faraway look in his eyes, he believed the endeavor would bear little fruit.
Similarly, Nadira hadn’t reserved much hope for a miraculous turnaround in Nia’s outlook. She wasn’t daft; no amount of creative arguments or detailed explanations would convince the convicted Ardane Alchemist of their loyalty and interest in sparing her from the hangman’s noose—especially when they would not have allowed her to run, and when they opposed the regime that she joined in a misguided attempt to survive. Still...Nadira accepted the challenge.
On arrival, she stepped out of her carriage, unaccompanied but for one guard, and entered the palace proper, seeking instructions to the dungeons and effectively bullying her way into gaining visitation rights with the prisoner. After the guard on duty relented, he guided her to the cell in the corner, turned the key, and hauled open the heavy door, announcing to the bundle in the corner the name of her newest guest. As negotiated prior, the guard would ignore Nia’s pleas to remove her visitor until she finished what she planned to say. It came as no surprise that she reacted as predicted, wary and angry and unwilling to listen, even if just to grant the benefit of the doubt. Yet, Nadira remained undeterred, and spoke, aware her speech would likely lodge itself in the stone behind the Ardane prisoner’s head, just shy of the ears.
“Thank you,” she began, bowing her head until her chin was level with her chest. “I have not yet expressed my bottomless gratitude to you, for saving my son’s life. We Canaverises...we do not forget. No kindness goes unreceived or unreciprocated. Your present does not represent your future. This is temporary, Nia Ardane. Whether you heed my words or not...let the passage of time prove me right.” Having delivered her peace, she nodded to the guard and, on whispering feet, took her leave.
Hadwin’s impromptu rescue mission didn’t go without incurring a few more physical shortcomings on his body, which kept him bedridden for days, to his unending chagrin. Teselin and Bronwyn’s kingdom-wide tours of goodwill meant that Briery was stuck with the thankless task of caretaker, prompting him to hem and haw and argue against the need, to no avail. Briery took her role seriously, to the point where he couldn’t finagle his way out of proper rest. And because the ringleader insisted, hard-pressed to accept ‘no’ for an answer, he followed suit, eating his fill of nutritious meals and getting plenty of rest, albeit with assistance from sleep-inducing herbal teas. Too many nightmares, too many specific nightmares, waited for him on the horizon line of wakefulness and dream, rows of pinioned shadow teeth open in cutthroat grins, ready to suck the light from his body and offer him to the darkness as its newest plaything.
Rowen was always there. Watching.
At last, three days following Nia’s arrest and incarceration, Briery deemed Hadwin healthy enough to travel from the sanctuary to the dungeons, provided he use plenty of conveyances in his journey from A to B. A Night steed ferried him to the palace, and a wheeled contraption pushed him toward the landing of the dungeon stairwell. He went the rest of the way on foot, the long, downward spiral winding him before he reached the bottommost step. Knowing the increased difficulty in climbing up as opposed to climbing down, he was going to need some help on the reverse trip. Dammit all.
The guard on duty opened Nia’s cell, ushering Hadwin inside upon his cheery statement of visitation. As he entered, he frowned at the huddled creature haunting the far corner, almost invisible under an overlarge quilt...unless she had become oversmall. Judging by her tray of untouched food, his assessment wasn’t wrong.
“Nia, Nia,” he tsked, crossing his arms over his chest, “tell me how is it you managed to resemble one of those poor sods, twenty years in, half-delirious and marinating in their own piss and shit. You can’t have cracked already; it’s been three days! And this place is fucking nice. You know, for a dungeon.”
Sliding forward a few steps, he lowered to the floor, occupying the space across from her. “I’ve been out of the loop for a while, but I hear things. Gossip and such. Word has it, Al plans on representing you during the trial. Word also has it, folks are hesitant to let him near you in case he whisks you away with his portal magic. That’s what I heard, but you’ll just have to take my word for it, which might not mean much to you. I get it. Who can you really trust in this world, right?” If he had a pipe, he would whip it out and light it with a strike of tinder, but the strict rules of his convalescence prohibited smoking or drinking, a prison sentence in itself. “Answer is, no one. Not even yourself. We have no goddamned reason to trust anyone, and yet, we do with regularity. Why?” He shrugged. “The answer varies for each person. For me, it’s to combat loneliness. I’d rather a loved one kill me than die alone. Probably why I gave...I gave her so many fucking opportunities to do me in.” Rowen. He still couldn’t utter her name aloud. “I could tell you to trust me. To trust Al. Hells, to trust Ari. I could say fear gives people away, and that his greatest fear is losing you, and if he let you run, his fear would come true. But it won’t do a lick of good for you now if you’ve already made up your mind, so fuck this game. I know a better game anyway, a game that requires you not to trust a soul. The warier you are, the better your chances. So,” he pulled out a deck of cards and began to shuffle, “fancy a spot of poker? If you’re gonna die in a few days or whatever, might as well kick back while you still can. When shit’s out of your hands, you play cards, with friends and foes alike.”
