Aristide Canaveris had always struck Lilica as a fair and civil man. He was no stranger to being in the public eye and dealing with delicate public relations, and in fact had far more experience as a leader than she did. For that, she respected him, but it also made her aware that it would take more than a heartfelt plea to not make a war of her decision to arrest Nia Ardane. She’d seen firsthand what he’d done to Alster’s name to bolster his own image before the D’Marian crowd; he was not above playing dirty to elicit the response he desired. And that was what frightened her the most.
“Lord Canaveris, we are not well acquainted, I realize. And while my words may mean nothing to you, I do not begrudge you your anger in the way Anetania Ardane’s arrest was executed. Were I in your shoes, I, too, would be livid.” The Galeynian Queen chose to acknowledge his feelings so that he would not feel as though she’d dismissed them or saw them as insignificant. Before she could appeal to him as a leader, she had to appeal to him as a living, breathing, and likewise, feeling being, who saw his side of the situation clearly. “The guards approached me to seek clearance for her arrest on the very same night she was arrested; it wasn't extraordinarily long after I had awakened and left the Night Garden, and the care of the Gardeners. I do not mean this as an excuse, but my mind was muddied, and it took me completely off guard, allowing me little time to contemplate my answer, let alone forewarn you. My sincere apologies to you that I did not think to reach you through the resonance stone; that was my own folly that didn’t occur to me through the fog in my mind at the time. You have every right to criticize me for failing to act, on that matter.”
She had no trouble admitting to her shortcomings, especially when, as her health and recovery stood, she still technically wasn’t quite fit to resume her place on the throne. Truly… she still needed Chara, someone to help her regain order and pick up the slack that she was currently not able to carry. But that was no longer an option for her. “And I would like to apologize, if the guards treated you with disrespect in your own home. There is no excuse for that, of course, and I trust that you would have complied with their request, regardless, as you've been nothing but cooperative with Galeyn rule. You have my word that you will not be treated as such, again; not you or your people. Lord Canaveris…”
Lilica took a steadying breath and closed her eyes, riding a wave of light-headedness before she felt stable enough to speak again. “I make it no secret that the position of Queen of Galeyn was not something I ever sought. I’d meant simply to uncover this kingdom, awaken it… not to rule it. That was never something I’d have agreed to, had I known what I was getting into, but the kingdom recognizes me, regardless. All the same, this is still very new to me--and if you feel that I have besmirched the D’Marians in favour of the Galeynians, then please know that it was never my intention. And that I intend to do better. I want to do better; to become someone who is truly worthy in leading this broken kingdom. While you might find it hard to believe, the D’Marians are important to me… because they are Chara’s people, and they are important to her. They always have been. And because once, what seems like so long ago, Stella D’Mare was very temporarily my home, as well. Just as Galeyn serves as your home. It is not secret that I shut down the trial in Braighdath that sought to condem Elespeth Rigas--a Rigas, and whether you like it or not, a D'Marian through marriage. Therefore, a precedent has already been set for those affected or influenced by Locque. You and yours matter to me because…” Her voice and eyes softened. “Because you all matter to Alster… and to Chara. And I would be doing my friends and the people I love no favours by not looking out for those who matter to them, in turn.”
It had been her intention to conduct these affairs with nothing but civility and fairness. To acknowledge and validate Aristide’s grievances… until he saw fit to make what was clearly not so subtle a threat. That was when the energy in the room shifted. If Aristide saw fit to show his hand, to make her know what he was capable of, should she not come through for him, then neither would that go unacknowledged. “You are known throughout this settlement and even well into the heart of Galeyn as a benevolent leader, Lord Canaveris. You are generous and caring, and have never failed to step up to others in need. Frankly, you have impressed me as a leader immensely since taking over for Alster Rigas. Your reputation does not precede you as someone with a cruel streak.”
Her voice was quiet, but firm. She was through with beating around the bush. If this was the stance that Aristide chose to take, then she would humour it in turn with her own promises. “Whatever you might think of me, I have been a prisoner and a hostage in my own home for far too long during Loque’s reign. I could not act, lest my treachery trigger something terrible that my kingdom would end up paying for. While your people are welcome here, and are honorary citizens of Galeyn, this is still Galeyn--not Stella D’Mare. It is fair to have you know that I am through with being threatened in my own home.”
Against her better judgement and shaky legs, Lilica stood, supporting herself on the arm of the settee. She would not be looked down upon by someone who threatened the well-being of the woman she loved for his own gain. “I’m aware that you know what Chara means to me, just as I am aware of what Anetania Ardane means to you. In fact, everything I have done--every step I have taken since leaving Stella D’Mare in search of Galeyn, has been for Chara. To become someone worthy of her. To grow as a person, someone who can be there for her, and stand by her side. I couldn’t protect her from Mollengard; even had I been present at the time, I doubt there is anything I could’ve done to save her from that torture. But here, in Galeyn, with Locque finally gone… here, I am in control. I am here, still standing, because of Chara. She saved me in more ways than I can describe, and I owe it to her to make this a place where everyone will be safe and secure. I will protect my people--and here, in my kingdom, I will also protect her from anyone and anything. From you.” Her already dark eyes simmered darker, with the chthonic magic that the Night Garden's fever had yet to burn away. "What happened between you and Chara… that is not my business to address. It is something that should be worked out between the two of you, independent of my opinions. But I will not have you hold her over my head as a bargaining point, or a hostage. This is not about Chara. So do not make it about her."
Why bother with pretense when Aristide was already making his intentions clear: that he intended to hold Chara hostage and threaten her safety if Anetania Ardane was not acquitted? Lilica had come with the intention of negotiating and reassuring him that she would do everything in her power to resolve the Master Alchemist’s case peacefully--and yet, she was not met with someone who was particularly willing to negotiate. But she stood by what she had said, and she would not be bullied in her own home.
“I am a person of my word. I mean what I said when I came here to reassure you that I will advocate for clemency toward the Master Alchemist. I will also make greater strides to include you and your people in future decisions, and of course, you are welcome to say what you will in defense of the Ardane woman. But, Lord Canaveris, know that I will not respond kindly to thinly veiled threats. My people might not look upon Anetania with much compassion right now, but no decisions will move forward without my word. Keep that in mind, before you consider approaching me with thinly veiled hostilities. I hope that, going forward, we can keep our discussions civil. Do forgive my intrusion at this hour; I won’t take up any more of your time.”
Without another word, and with what strength her legs had, Lilica saw herself out of the Canaveris villa, and all the way back to her carriage. Once safely inside the cabin, she folded forward on herself, buried her face in her hands, and openly wept.
While having guests visit her during certain times of the day was well within the few privileges she was offered as a prisoner, Nia had quickly decided, following Briery’s ill-fated attempt to bolster her spirits, and then Nadira’s unprecedented arrival, that she wanted none of it, and none of them. What did it matter, and after all, why bother when any one of them could have been working behind her back, to finally see her condemned and behind bars? With this new turn of events, it was impossible not to see everyone she’d thought she could trust through a new lens. Ari and the Canaverises had handed her over without hesitation. Alster, Hadwin, not even Bronwyn or young, sweet Teselin had seen fit to intervene. No one cared that she still fucking cared about Osric and his family, despite that his son was the reason she might never be able to effectively run on her stiff leg again. As far as she was concerned, she had no friends or allies… and, perhaps, she’d never had them to begin with. It was all just one big illusion she’d bought into because… why? Because she was lonely? Because she’d wanted to believe there was well and truly something--what, a happy ending out there for her?
You’re an Ardane. The Ardanes are dead; the legacy is over. You were never meant for a happy ending. The stubborn voice that Nia had effectively kept to the back of her mind for years had finally found its strength and whispered in her ears, over and over again. It didn’t let her sleep, and when she was awake, it was all she heard, for nothing else made sound in the depths of the dungeons. Not when she was the only one occupying it. If this didn’t do you in, your leg would have. Maybe you should’ve left it infected. At least you’d be going on your own terms--without the knowledge you’d been betrayed. Wouldn’t that have been the nice way to go? Dying, while at least believing you were really and truly loved when you drew your last breath? Wouldn’t it have been so much sweeter not to know the truth?
Sometime later--she wasn’t sure when, since time no longer had any meaning--the guards let someone else into her cell, despite her request for no more visitors. It took her a solid moment to recognize the intruder as Daphni Adela, the Sybaian healer who resided in the palace and worked alongside the bitter Clematis healer. Well, whatever reason she had for being here… at least they hadn’t sent Elias. “Nia.” Daphni’s voice was warm and kind. It rather infuriated the Master Alchemist; she was sick and tired of that tone. No one had used it with her when she had been free and well. Just another fucking manipulation to get what they wanted from her, now that they had her where they wanted her. “Word has it you haven’t been eating; is this true?” One glance at the three completely cold and untouched meals sitting in the corner was all the confirmation she needed, although the Master Alchemist’s bruised and diminishing aura could have said as much.
“I’m afraid I’m not as adept in treating Master Alchemists, due to the differences in your physiology, but I understand that your metabolic needs differ significantly from that of an average human.” There was concern in her tone--at least, that’s what it sounded like, but Nia didn’t buy it. Not anymore. “Depriving yourself of sustenance must be particularly hard on your body… I’ve brought you something to treat nausea, if it will help you eat.”
Nia didn’t respond. Didn’t move from her corner of the room. Why bother dignifying this woman with an answer? The more she entertained these people who came to see her, the more likely they were to show up. And she just… for the first time in her life, she really and truly wished to be left alone. “Nia… I know you have been hurt. I am not referring to your leg.” The Sybaian healer set the tiny pouch of digestive herbs upon Nia’s straw mattress and knelt next to the Master Alchemist, all closed in on herself in the corner. “Don’t let it fester, or it will leave a scar, and scars upon the heart… in my line of practice, those prove difficult to treat, and take a very long time to heal. I know it can be difficult to entertain hope when you find yourself in a situation such as this, but do not assume it is the end. I know you may not believe me, but many people have assembled to work on your behalf. It is not over.”
Unfortunately, Daphni came and went without eliciting a single response from the Master Alchemist, who really wanted nothing more than uninterrupted sleep for more than five minutes at a time. But something always woke her the minute she began to drift: too hot, too cold, pain in her leg, a curious, phantom pain along the scar at her throat… or Celene. Celene’s face, livid and distressed, demanding at why Nia had not run when she’d had the chance. Why she’d trusted Ari to lead her to freedom… and not straight into the arms of her captors.
More time passed. More meals were delivered and went untouched. More attempts to sleep that just didn’t pan out. And, yet again… another visitor. Did her request really mean nothing to the guards? If she had the privilege of guests, then what of her privilege not to see anyone at all?
This visitor happened to be more relentless than the rest. He didn’t indulge her reclusive and isolated behaviour, and didn’t stop talking, even when she didn’t respond. Of course they’d see fit to let Hadwin in, if only to get a rise out of her… She’d stopped asking her question to anyone who would listen: when was it safe to trust, and where did she go wrong? There was just no point, when no one had an answer, and it didn’t matter, anyway. But… Hadwin had an answer, even when she hadn’t asked. Of course, she already knew this answer--but it was validating, at the very least, to hear it echoed by someone else.
“No… you’re right. And that’s how I survived for so long: by trusting no one. Getting close to no one. Making no friends or allies. But as soon as I let my guard down…” Her words trailed off. There was no strength nor inflection to her voice. Her own words sounded far-away, detached from her body. “No--that wasn’t it. It was as soon as I started to care… that is what got me here. Caring about Ari. Caring about Osric and his family. If I hadn’t cared, I’d be gone, already. Long gone from Galeyn. This… this was never about trust. It’s all me. I chose to care, for all the wrong people, so… here I am now.”
It was the first real epiphany she’d had since being thrown in the dungeon. And it was enough for her to slide the blanket off of her shoulders, revealing the diminished form beneath, one that barely fit clothes that had been tailored to a 16-year-old’s body. “It’s no one’s fault but my own. Not Ari’s or yours or Lilica’s… it’s mine. I chose to care. I fell for my own damn trap… unbelievable, huh? All these years, I thought it was easy not to give a fuck about anyone but myself, but the second I start to try and settle down, I guess it just all comes out. I never should’ve cared enough to get close to Ari or to be invested in Osric and his family’s well-being. But I did--and this is where it landed me.”
That brief surge of energy was short-lived. So she’d solved a mystery, answered an unanswerable question… and it didn’t change a thing, except to make her hate herself just a little bit more. “So I’ve got no one to blame but myself… well, I wouldn’t call that a relief. But it’s an answer. It’s something. Something’s better than nothing.” Nia’s diminished form sank against the wall. She was so tired; she wanted to close her eyes. But she couldn’t bear another glimpse of her sister’s hurt face. The only thing Celene had ever asked of her was to survive: and now, she was breaking her promise.
“...thanks, Hadwin. That’s the enlightenment I needed. Sorry I’m not up for playing cards.” She held up her hands, which were not only shackled, but trembled uncontrollably. Sometimes, her whole body shook, like it was freezing cold; sometimes, it was just her bad leg. But more often than not, when she was at her most cognizant and capable, it was just her hands. Probably something to do with not eating and barely drinking. “Can’t do well at poker if I can’t even hold my cards. I'm sorry; I'm really tired. Sleeping is hard.” Nia closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the cold wall. "I think... you should probably just go. You're not looking too great, yourself."
While chaos was slowly ensuing outside of the sanctuary, yet another matter had occurred within. Just a handful of days following the arrest of Anetania Ardane, a Gardener, tasked with periodically checking in on the comatose Sigrid Sorenson, went about completing his rounds one morning. But nothing prepared him for what he found… or, rather, didn’t find.
Every single cot in the small cottage was empty… including that of the former Dawn Warrior who had made an attempt on her own life. Panicked, the young man hurried to deliver the news to Senyiah, who then sent him off with the unsavoury task of informing Haraldur Sorde. The sun had barely risen when he knocked on the Eyraillian prince and princess’s door. Vega had been up most of the night tending to two teething twins; it was just his luck, then, that it would be Haraldur to answer the door. “Commander Sorde… I have news of your cousin, Sigrid Sorenson. It appears… it appears that she has finally awakened. But…” He wrung his hands and looked down at his boots. “She… she is absent from the sanctuary. She cannot have gotten far--Gardeners are already on the lookout.”
Understandably, Haraldur did not waste any time. He hurried out of the palace, so fast that the Gardener could not keep up. But the search for Sigrid Sorenson would not be a long one. Not long into his search through the Night Garden, Haraldur found her, clutching her arms and looking bewildered, as if she was trying to see something that wasn’t there. She must have been weak, being unconscious for so long, and it showed in her gait, but that hadn’t stopped her from leaving the safety of the sanctuary.
She didn’t seem to recognize her cousin until he was in front of her. Her blue eyes were not cold and unseeing like they had been before; they were wide, and aware, and clear. “...it’s Naimah. I know… that I saw her.” She breathed, when Haraldur asked if she was alright, and what she was doing up and about without any assistance. “She’s the last thing… that I remember seeing. And I know I saw her! I know it…”
“Frankly, you were in no condition to carry out such an important order.” Ari’s coal-fire eyes appraised the barely-recovered queen, whose tremulous body had trouble responding to the warmth of the hearth-fire. The rules of hospitality demanded he provide her something to combat her discomfiture, so he wordlessly strode to the corner of colorful crystal decanters and fixed her a general-purpose tonic, a swift preparation made all the more impressive when he had access to only one hand. Setting a disk of heating rock beneath the goblet, he waited a few moments until steam rose from the cinnamon and clove beverage before gripping the handle and presenting it to Lilica. “I stand by my assessment,” he continued, acknowledging nothing of his brief and benevolent interlude that had become an automatic, unconscious response to someone in need. “While I am honored you have chosen to explain your current state of mind upon signing the order, you have also incriminated yourself by admitting pseudo delirium and coercion drove your quill to the paper. In many governments, orders signed under duress, or under a fit of madness or pique, can be overridden and invalidated, but I am not looking to undermine or overthrow your kingdom, your Majesty. That would make me no better a villain than Locque and I, despite my stance of opposition, little desire to see you dethroned. Nor do I desire to disrupt the balance of law and order when I have great respect for the rules.”
He indulged her insecurities about rulership, and were he in an agreeable mood, would have openly empathized with her plight. Having plunged himself into his dual positions initially out of obligation to serve, and not out of a burning sense of passion, he could relate to Lilica’s struggles, as would any leader not born or raised to suit the privilege. In contrast to his brother, Ari received peripheral education in the art of Canaveris diplomacy, ceremony, oration, and procedure, learned and honed only because Casimiro saw in him a meticulousness for bookkeeping and often enlisted his aid for clerical duties and speech-writing, on occasion. On Casimiro’s death and Ari’s subsequent campaigns, the thought of succeeding his competent brother terrified him to the point where he’d awaken almost daily, nursing flare-up after flare-up. The feelings didn’t abate even months after accepting the post and acclimating to the work. Lilica’s struggle to please her suffering people in much the same way he struggled to convince the Canaverises, and later, the D’Marians, of his worthiness to supplant Casimiro and others of his ilk, was not lost on him. Alas...Stella D’Mare required a decisive leader, an unswayable leader, and he had chosen his stance. To show hesitation or deferral at this stage was to muddle the importance and gravity of his crusade. A life was on the line, a life he intended to fight for and not abandon to the wolves who would chase her, lifelong, to the ends of the earth, ruining her chances, their chances, for a future and for a home. For shelter. For peace. For...love. He couldn’t yield. As long as he protected his people and Nia, it didn’t matter how Galeynians or their queen would regard him. For his convictions, he was ready to defend them, come hatred or war or fallen allies. If necessary...he would stand as their enemy.
“Please understand; I am not advocating for Miss Nia’s full acquittal,” he continued, ignoring, for the most part, Lilica’s bid for sympathy. “I merely request that the punishment fit the crime. Galeynian citizens are too impassioned to make rational decisions regarding the fate of Anetania Ardane when their eyes thirst for vengeance. To ensure that procedures remain fair, it was imperative that I silence Chara Rigas, who opposes me by agreeing with the Galeynian modus of ‘justice.’ She will come to no harm, but as she is quite invested in the results of this trial, I found it nigh time to call in the favor she owes me. You may refer to it as collateral; I merely see it as equalizing a heavily weighted playing field. Let my intentions read clear; I bear neither you nor Lady Chara ill will, your Majesty,” he declared, hard eyes softening at the corners, but only just. “Be that as it may, I implore you to understand the error you have unwittingly made. In wrenching Miss Nia from my home prematurely, you have besmirched my honor. Canaveris law dictates I take defensive measures in protecting my interests—just as you feel obliged to protect your own.”
He hovered near her seat, but not to crowd her as an intimidation tactic. Knowing full well she would not accept it, he offered his uninhibited arm as a courtesy, a bold maneuver for someone who, months ago, abhorred physical contact of any sort. “This may be your land, but two D’Marians helped you locate it, and a third D’Marian helped you rule it. We have as much of a right to exist within these borders as you. Our voices matter. They will be heard at the trial. At any rate, I wish you well, your Majesty.” He retreated a few steps, allowing her to rise when she did not accept his aid. Nonetheless, he accompanied her to the door. “I hope to foster peaceful relations, if applicable in the future. Cruelty is not in my nature and I strive for peace, but please note; I will do what I must.” His tired expression tightened. “For my people.”
After Lilica’s exeunt, Ari returned to the trolley of libations, pouring himself a generous helping of dark wine. Touching the plum-colored liquid to his lips, he took a long, troubled swig, and arranged a chair in front of the fire, staring into the dying embers. “I will do what I must,” he repeated to the flames, the tautness of his skin deflating, dropping, with every sip of wine. “Even if you decide to run from me, at least you will have a place you are free to run from, and run to, Nia.” He closed his bleary eyes and lowered his head, exhaustion finally settling into his bones. “You are my people. And I will defend you to the last.” Moisture appeared beneath his heavy lids. “You have my sacred word. And my heart.”
Someone waited for Lilica’s carriage at the palace entryway. Alster Rigas, anticipating a less-than-ideal outcome between the two leaders, met the Galeynian Queen at the door, holding out his hand and helping her to her feet. “You’re flushed, Lilica,” he said, genuinely concerned. “Here. I’ll guide you to your chambers. There must be something I can do to alleviate your discomfort.”
Politely dismissing the Gardeners who gathered around in service to their queen, Alster stabilized her against his shoulder as they made the short but gradual walk to her apartments. Inside, Chara was nowhere to be seen. Seating her against the crown of pillows at the head of her bed, Alster dipped a fresh rag in cool water from the basin and rested it across her forehead. Then, as he’d done for her before, at the onset of her first bout of Night Garden-induced fever over a year ago, he pressed his steel hand over the damp cloth and emitted a light, healing pulse, lifting the strain and siphoning the edges of her fever, temporarily.
“I haven’t abandoned you,” he said in a soft, contrite tone. “I would never abandon you, Lilica. We’ve been through too much together, over the years. I consider you a dear friend. Yes, I might need to oppose you, but I am opposing the Crown, not you. They are two separate entities, just as I am me, Alster Rigas, and also...something other.” He frowned, not quite recovered from the otherworldly experience that almost cost him his humanity in favor of the entity. Of the ‘other.’ “Can you really call it staunch opposition, when I simply don’t want her to die? Too much blood has been spilled already, and I’m afraid that Galeynians who’ve lived under the cradle of fear for so long see Nia’s trial as an opportunity to pay for their injustices in kind. They need the catharsis, and I understand. I understand more than you realize.” His unoccupied hand clutched his stomach, as though to plug the hole that Locque’s death had punched open. “But I can’t stand for it. As for Ari,” he sighed, moving that hand to brush through his sandy hair, “I might be able to reason with him. His position eerily reflects my own. He’s defending a loved one, trying to save the life of one who saved his life. In Braighdath, had you not arrived in time, I was ready to declare war if it meant sparing Elespeth from execution. It’s not far from what he’s planning to do, should the situation unravel. To him, you represent the institution who is calling for her head and are his enemy by default. Though he plays dirty, he is not the type to resort to violence; he never has, not even when ousting me from my position. I’ll be there to make sure nothing is blown out of proportion, either. I don’t agree with his tactics, but I know he won’t do anything to Chara.”
“Of course he will not,” an indignant voice chimed in from the doorway. Alster glanced up to spot Chara, her head of blonde hair dripping wet and body wrapped in a towel, march into the room on slippered feet. “Ari wants to save his lady love; very well. I shall play his game. He is requesting I speak no words of condemnation; fine. I’ll say not a word of reprisal. Galeynians scarcely trust me, anyhow, and D’Marians despise my existence. I’ve no real power in this situation. Besides,” she stared at her feet, still unable to address Lilica outright, “if chosen to represent a side, I would...understand that I would,” she drew the towel taut over her shoulders, “...Stella D’Mare is…it’s my home. Ari told me...he would restore my standing within the community and it made me realize,” she finally raised her oceanic eyes at Lilica, “I’ve...been so lost without...What will happen once we reclaim our homeland? What happens if I join them? What then, Lilica? I...cannot be your advisor forever if land and distance yet again separate us.”
“I mean, yeah, you’re not wrong. Caring tends to do that to people. It nips your survival instinct in the bud and you end up doing stupid things that endanger your self-preservation.” Hadwin humored her negative talk. Knowing it was pointless to instill hope or optimism in someone so enmeshed with the darkness, like someone he knew, he provided an outlet for her philosophies and played off them organically, touting no agenda when she would construe anything he said as a false dichotomy. In her world, there was no escape. No situation in which she survived, and thrived, and got everything she wanted. Again, like someone he knew.
“You know, you remind me of someone. Now don’t take this the wrong way, but my little sis...you sound just like her.” He smiled in spite of the comment. “To her, everyone was wrong. Everything was wrong. Even me. Especially me. So she chose not to care because it was easier than being in pain. But ultimately...she never got rid of that pain. Well, it’s up to you to decide what lies on the other side of death. If there’s ever a place out there where it all just...ends, and you feel nothing anymore. Maybe she finally got a reprieve. I’ll never know.” He idly riffled through the deck of cards in his hands, trying to supplant his loss of dexterity with muscle memory, but some cards escaped his hold and scattered unceremoniously on the floor.
“I guess if you prescribe to the nothingness that’s waiting past the brink, then soon enough, you won’t have to care about a damn thing. It’ll all be over. But sure, you can get that mindset started prematurely. Sample the little death before you feast on the big death; see if you like the taste. I’d say you’re doing a bang-up job of it, already.” He gestured to the untouched meals, her lack of movement, the complete departure of her fighting spirit. “And here I thought you wanted to live. I guess I don’t blame you. Caring for people fucked me over, too, but,” he curled his weak fingers over all the cards he managed to gather, “I’m a sick fuck who enjoys pain. And life is pain, the lot of it. I’ll keep going ‘till it drains me dry. Well,” he rolled into a crouch, a fluid movement that also cost him a shock of temporary paralysis reverberating in his unstable legs, “so much for cheering you up. You’re damn right; I ain’t great myself. Inside and out. Anyway, let me know if you change your mind about the whole living thing. My offer still stands, y’know.” Before standing, he plopped the deck of cards near her feet. “Us miserable, hopeless sods have to stick together, yeah?” Winking, he turned to the cell door and headed off, his lighthearted expression quickly transitioning to grim contemplation.
“Don’t you fucking kill her,” he snapped at the walls, at the gleeful girl wrapped in shadows, her smile pinioned, and hungry. “You’re done. I killed you, and you’re done. You can’t drag anyone down to the hell where I put you.”
Oh yeah? The teeth glinted, shivered, in laughter. Just watch me.
Haraldur rushed out of his family chambers the moment he received news of Sigrid’s disappearance. The poor Gardener didn’t have a chance to finish relaying the news before its recipient broke into an unfaltering run straight for the Night Garden. He wasted not a second of time, afraid that a fraction of hesitation would end in disaster, as was so often the case for him. Luckily, he located Sigrid shortly after entering the Night Garden, spotting her shambling form shuffling down a pathway sheltered by a canopy of interlaced trees. Turning down the little footpath, he approached her from the front, his breath rattling in his throat from the unbroken sprint he maintained all the way from the palace. “Sigrid,” he managed, slowly reaching out to take her arm. “If you wanted to go for a morning jaunt, you could have given word. How long...how long have you been awake?”
Naimah. She was looking for Naimah. Holding back a concerned frown, he nodded and tightened the grip on her arm for balance. “I know where she is. Walk with me?”
As they haltingly traveled under the canopied path, Haraldur lapsed into temporary silence, grappling with suggestions on how to remind Sigrid of Naimah’s passing in as unobtrusive and natural a way as possible, not wanting to disrupt her fragile psyche or plunge her into another long coma by saying the wrong thing. But was there even a right thing to say? Maybe he didn’t need to say much at all. He could let the Night Garden do the talking. Rather, the showing.
Uncertain if what he did was considered the right move, he circumvented the sanctuary...and instead, guided her to the memorial garden. Naimah’s tree, situated on the far right of the four plots, had grown to an impressive size in the short span of time since it was planted, its weeping branches spread wide and its lipstick-red leaves rattling in the breeze. They stopped at the base of the tree and, after giving a long, patient pause to help her process what she was seeing, Haraldur finally broke the silence. “Sigrid. Do you remember...what happened? Where you’ve been? Where,” he hesitated, “Naimah has been?”
On the carriage ride back to the palace late that evening, the Galeynian queen spent most of the trip quietly weeping in the privacy of her cabin. She wept for a conflict for which there would be no amicable resolution. If she did not give the people of Galeyn what they wanted in terms of Anetania Ardane’s punishment, then she knew she risked a full-fledged revolt, and that she would become yet another ruler that the people did not think they could trust. But, should she cater to her peoples’ whims and disregard Aristide Canaveris and the D’Marians’ say in the matter, she had yet to witness what the Canaveris lord was capable of when he did not get what he wanted. Her only comfort was the possibility that Galeyn saw fit to be merciful and spare the guilty Master Alchemist her life--and, given what little she had read up on the history of Galeyn’s past judicials, all signs did point to that very outcome. After all, even Locque, who had been responsible for the one and only time anyone had ever succumbed to death in the Night Garden, had not been sentenced to death: instead, she had simply been exiled, without the possibility of ever being welcome if she returned. So why would it go differently for Nia? Wasn’t this exactly what she wanted? To be free of Galeyn and its people? As far as she was concerned, there was nothing to indicate that the Master Alchemist wouldn’t get exactly what she wanted: her freedom. Except…
If that had been the case… then why had she been pressured to sign the order to arrest her, instead of to banish her?
“Your Majesty.” The driver held the door to the cabin open, looking a tad concerned. She hadn’t even been aware that her journey home had come to a halt. “Shall I send for some help, guiding you inside?”
“No--no, that won’t be necessary, thank you.” She politely declined, and somehow managed to climb out on her shaky legs without falling. After going head to head with Aristide Canaveris, while in a less than ideal physical state… frankly, she felt like she could do anything.
Apparently, Alster Rigas didn’t think so. The Rigas mage met her at the doors, and as much as she’d rather ignore him for so openly deciding to take a stand against her earlier, he wouldn’t let her. “My fever is the least of my worries.” She said flatly, but wasn’t in a state to shake off his help as he guided her back to her chambers, where she desperately wanted to lie down. A headache pounded in her temples and behind her eyes. She hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted to recline until her body did sink into her bed, and a cold cloth was pressed against her feverish forehead. As nice as it felt for some of that throbbing pain and heat to lift, her stubborn streak still resisted, and she reached up to push Alster’s hand away.
“I am the crown, Alster. There is no one else left in the Tenebris bloodline. To oppose the crown, if that is the stance that you so choose to take, then you oppose me, and the hard decisions that I must make to take a stand for my people. Do not fool yourself, so. You are not fooling me.” She adjusted her position on the pillows so that she was sitting instead of lying down. She needed rest; but there was just no time for it. “Decree for Anetania Ardane’s punishment hasn’t even been uttered yet, and here the lot of you are, ludicrously all talking about death! Go look at the records for yourself--no one in Galeyn, in the past several centuries, has ever been condemned to death. Attackers have been fended off and fallen to the Dawn Guard, but a death sentence has never been passed. Yes, Galeyn is angry and sore, but the Master Alchemist is more likely to get exactly what she wants and simply be banished from the kingdom. At best, it might inconvenience the Canaveris lord that he will have to visit his lady love beyond kingdom boundaries. You are all overreacting before the trial has even taken place. There is no reason for war or conflict--yet you all seem to thirst for it. As if this kingdom, held hostage by Locque for months, was not enough!”
She wanted to believe him when he told her that he wouldn’t harm Chara in any way, and it just so happened that the Rigas woman entered the room to reiterate that fact, much to Lilica’s relief. “He certainly wanted to hint at the fact that your safety would be in jeopardy, should anything happen to the Master Alchemist.” She said to Chara, but felt a little embarrassed that she hadn’t called Aristide’s bluff. “Our negotiation was not particularly civil. Criticism of my leadership is one thing, and it is certainly warranted, but I don't appreciate his thinly veiled threats. I am not inclined to receive him so we'll, should I have to speak directly with the man again. Those who so openly use intimidation tactics such as he did are not worthy of respect, and Aristide Canaveris has most certainly lost mine, indefinitely. But if you believe no harm will come to you… then I am inclined to take your word for it.”
It was more than that, though. Chara wasn’t pressured to take Aristide’s side: she wanted to… because he promised her something that even Lilica could not give her. Community, and acceptance among the people who meant so much to her. The Galeynian queen’s heart sank a little bit at that realization, and mention of a fact that she had been avoiding for a long time. That, when Stella D’Mare was reclaimed, the D’Marians, including Chara, Alster, and Elespeth would take their leave of Galeyn. And as queen, with no successor upon which to pass on the mantle of ruler… Lilica would not be able to follow. “Chara… come here.” She beckoned the Rigas woman closer and took her hand.
"I know… what your home means to you, Chara. I know what it means to you to want to feel accepted among your people. I've been trying to earn my own place among Galeynians. Belonging and home… is important. And I realize that is something that here, in Galeyn… I am not able to give to you." She traced circles on the back of China's hand, finding comfort in the mere physical contact. "Whatever you choose to do when you reclaim Stella D'Mare, know that you will have my full support. Even if I cannot go with you… we will find a solution. Senyiah is more attuned to the heartbeat of this kingdom than even I am. I've considered grooming her as a trusted stand-in for times when I must be absent. But let us tackle one crisis at a time."
Releasing her hand, the dark mage closed her eyes and breathed through a dizzy spell that made the room suddenly spin. "I will tell you what I told Canaveris: I intend to advocate for mercy and clemency on behalf of the Ardane woman. But whatever happens to you--I won't have you pay for it, Chara. The moment Canaveris loses his composure and lashes out on you, I want you to tell me immediately. There will be repercussions. But for now… I won't ask either of you to stand with me. I've walked alone in this life long enough to know what I am doing. All I hope is that I can rely on you not to let this conflict escalate any more than it already has. I am already dealing with angry and broken people of this kingdom. I can't… I don't have the capacity to have the D'Marians added to those throngs."
“Oh, gods. Has it really come to that? I remind you of Rowen?” A humourless laugh tore from Nia Ardane’s lungs. It sounded as strained as her voice did. “I knew I’d sunk low… but not that low. Hells, I won’t lie. I wanted to get through to that kid. I had a little sister, once. But Rowen wasn’t any more interested in big-sister advice than she was listening to her biological brother. Seriously, though, Hadwin, if you wanna insult me, don’t be that cruel. Call me hideous or something instead. Don’t compare me to Rowen…”
He wasn’t wrong, though. She did wish she didn’t care. About Osric or his family… about Ari. Somehow, it wasn’t like his betrayal had shut off her feelings for the Canaveris lord, and that was perhaps the most infuriating thing about this situation. She couldn’t even be properly angry at the people who put her here! Perhaps that was why she had given up fighting and running. She just didn’t have it in her, anymore. She didn’t have anything, just… emptiness. That feeling that she was stuck in time, holding her breath, waiting for whatever life--or death--had in store for her.
“You know, it’s weird. To run for so long without end. Like, usually when you run, there’s a destination, right? Or an end in sight? Not for me. There never has been, which makes it all seem… well, kind of futile. Like, why? Why keep going with no end in sight? It’s exhausting. I’ve always known that, but I just… kept going, because… I dunno. I really thought there’d be an end to it? Life would finally hand me a reprieve? Let’s be honest, I’ve been deluding myself in too many ways. So…” She opened her eyes and flashed a sad smile in Hadwin’s direction. “Even if I thought I could trust you, wolf man--but you said it yourself, I can’t trust anyone--I don’t really know that I have a reason to run anymore. Live for the sake of, what? Breathing air? Why fucking bother, when the only reward I’m ever gonna get for evading death is not getting caught?”
Nia drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “So… thanks, but I’m gonna have to pass. I might’ve taken you up on that offer when I was feverish and delirious and still thought it was worth; but I’m still not getting anywhere fast on my leg, and if you got caught trying to break me out… well, that could mean bad things for you. And didn’t you promise that sweet little summoner girl that you were done playing recklessly with your life?” The Master Alchemist shook her head slowly and rolled her shoulders back. There really was no way to get comfortable, being cooped up in a dungeon. “Don’t fuck that up. You know she has the potential to unleash all hell on this kingdom if her magic gets outta hand. But--hey, you really wanna do something for me?”
She shifted her body to face him, resting her trembling hands in her lap. “When you get the chance to get the hell out of Galeyn… drop by Ilandria someday--around the winter solstice. Look for the fireflies that come out in the woods. It’s really a thing to see; happens to be some of my best memories. Dead or alive, I know I’ll never see them again, but,” Nia smiled softly at the memory. “I think you and your summoner friend might like it.”
It was a small relief that Sigrid did not run or react at the sight of her cousin. The last time they had spoken, while she was fully conscious and cognizant of her surroundings and what was going on, they had not parted on amicable terms. She had left Galeyn as a result of the decree not to kill Rowen Kavanagh, which had been the catalyst to cause her to lose faith in justice and anyone she had believed in. That was what had caused her to leave, a damaged, broken, and angry person. It had been just the catalyst that Locque needed to circumvent her weak defenses and take over her mind.
But that anger, if not gone, was at least presently not that which drove the former Dawn Warrior’s intentions. She let Haraldur lead her through the Night Garden, asking no questions and really and truly believing that he knew where she could see the face of the woman she loved, again. Because she had seen her face, very recently, it seemed… impossible as it should have been. But it was real. Sigrid knew it was real! She frankly didn’t have the imagination to dream up so vivid a representation of the beautiful Kariji woman. And that memory… it was so vivid. She had been mere inches away from touching her before Naimah… well, before she vanished.
Sigrid’s heart sank when it turned out that her cousin only meant to lead her to her lover’s eternal resting place, after all. He hadn’t seen Naimah; he knew only where her ashes fertilized the enchanted soil of the Night Garden. Sighing softly, she touched one of the beautiful red branches that so reminded her of Naimah’s full lips. “I know… that she is gone. I know she died. But I saw her, Haraldur! I saw her, and she was whole and well--and I heard her voice! She had… she had her ring. The one I gave to her, but then it…”
The more she tried to recall those last words she had exchanged with Naimah, the fuzzier it all became in her head, and the more ridiculous it sounded. No wonder Haraldur was treating her as though she had lost her mind! “I know she is gone.” She reiterated, in a slightly stronger voice. Unbound from its braid, her long, blonde hair was in fact paler and thicker than what it often appeared, affording her a distinctly more feminine appearance that she perhaps would have liked as it fell over her shoulders and back. “I left Galeyn because she is gone… and because there is nothing left for me here. But I’m… somehow, I am back. I know this is the Night Garden. But I don’t know why I am back. Or how.”
Her hands trailed to her abdomen, which was still heavily bandaged from the self-inflicted wound. While it had long since been cauterized shut (it hadn’t been clean enough for sutures), and she had been treated preventatively for the possible onset of infection, it was still tender, and hurt to bend or move her torso in certain ways. Even walking was uncomfortable, and had it not been for her desire to find Naimah, she wouldn’t have put herself through such discomfort. “I know… that I did this to myself. But I don’t know why. Where is Gaolithe? And why…” She paused, and considered Naimah’s tree, again. When she had left, it had still been so small, but now… “...how is it so tall, Haraldur? What is the season? I can’t tell… not from here. The Night Garden is in itself eternal spring.”
Without a word of warning, she turned and hurried (to the best of her ability) to the path she recalled leading out of the Night Garden. Every step hurt; pulled at torn muscles in her core, at damaged skin, and it felt as though she hadn’t used her legs in some time. But she managed to make it all the way to the edge of the healing garden, and when she peered out at the landscape, trees were no longer losing their leaves, and the air was warm, not crisp. It had been autumn when she’d left Galeyn, but now…
“...spring? No, spring is over. It is almost summer.” Azure eyes wide and confused, she turned to Haraldur, who had dutifully trailed her, and grabbed fistfulls of his tunic in her hands. “It was autumn… I remember, it was autumn. So why… Haraldur, how is it almost summer?!”
“No.” Alster uttered the word, soft and simple, barely above a whisper. While he respected Lilica’s right to remain furious with him, it didn’t diminish his attempts to reason with and make peace with her, as best he could. “I disagree. You’re not the Crown. You wouldn’t have signed the order if it was up to you. Just you. Only you. Ascending to a position of leadership...it changes who you are, shifts or alters your values, even intensifies them, because you are constantly under public scrutiny, pressured to deliver for the good of the people, but not necessarily for the good of yourself. Oftentimes, you’re forced to reject your wants and instead must reflect and represent the will of the people. In doing so, you don a shimmering cloak and you become more than yourself, because expectations demand you be more, always more. So you deliver, and it compromises you. The person you are as Queen differs from the person I see now. Perhaps it’s because I knew you before you became Queen, but that’s what I see. On one hand, you’re a creation of Galeyn. On the other hand, you are you. Not a figurehead, but you. I’ve come to find that they are completely different aspects comprising the same soul. Then again,” he sighed, withdrawing his healing hand, which she rejected on principle, “that’s how I choose to see it. I failed as a leader because I didn’t go far enough to transform for the people, afraid of what I’d become if I sacrificed too much of myself for the D’Marians and their interests. I couldn’t lead them and be here for everyone else, concurrently. I had to choose where to focus my attention. But I digress, because I won’t convince you that this isn’t personal. It is personal.”
He lowered his steel hand, where it sank into his lap; despite its light, cumbersome weight, it felt heavy. “I won’t let Locque take another life. And yes, I say life, because I can read the tension in the air, Lilica. I’m sensitive to their energies. Galeynians have suffered a terrible loss and they’re looking for a focal point to release their overwhelming sense of helplessness and defeat. Locque and Rowen may be the perpetrators, but they’re dead and can’t answer for their crimes. Nia, however, can. They’ll use her as a scapegoat. They’ll have her burn for a much harsher crime when she should be judged for her associations and her measures to perpetuate peace.” He shifted from the bed to a nearby chair, allowing Lilica the run of her bed without his body heat adding to the discomfort.
“All I’m doing is ensuring fairness in light of the circumstances. Conflict still hangs in the air. It clings to the people. Nothing has yet been resolved and won’t be, if Galeynians choose bloodshed over reason. I’ll say it again, Lilica.” He tapped his hand to his chest, a solemn salute. “I don’t oppose you. I oppose the precedent that will be set in Galeyn’s history from here on henceforth if Nia Ardane is sentenced to die. There will be a black mark that cannot be erased and, once blood is spilled, who knows who will answer next for their involvement in defending Nia if she, hypothetically, dies? Will the D’Marians be next? These are all questions we have to ask ourselves, because the worst-case scenario may not be so far-flung. I’m interested in working together, with you and with Ari, if we can mitigate conflict before it spreads and becomes impossible to control.” He leaned forward in his chair, his tone beseeching, earnest, as he tried to reach Lilica behind her barriers of hurt, solitude, and unwavering obligation to her people. He didn’t fault her for her stance; after all, a queen needed to stand with her people, however potentially misguided their wishes. But that didn’t mean he agreed with the direction the results may lead. “Know that I am here to defend Nia, but I am also here to prevent a war, which will be a surety if Nia’s head is claimed for Galeynian vengeance. Above all, I fight for peace. And believe me, you have more to fear from angry D’Marians than from angry Galeynians.”
“He’s right.” Chara leaned against the doorway, a humorless smile carving across her bath-damp features, which glistened in the lantern light. “D’Marians will be the first to cast a stone if they feel wronged. In any case, Ari feels wronged, and he will seed that sentiment into the hearts of all his loyal followers. This is a testy situation that most definitely merits mediation. Alster and myself will happily volunteer. As for Lord Canaveris’s intentions, bah!” She tossed an unconcerned hand. “I’ve known the man for decades. It’s all a front, Lilica. He learned it from the best.” She thumbed a finger in her direction.
“More than likely, from his bastard of a brother that he worships,” Alster muttered, remembering, not too fondly, his cruel treatment from the eldest Canaveris heir during their stint at Messino’s camp.
“Oh, Casimiro? Ah, yes, I remember you were at terrible odds with him. But honestly,” she shrugged, “if I had to choose between dealing with Casimiro, Nadira, or Ari, well, there is no contest. Casimiro and Nadira would burn Galeyn to the ground for lesser infractions. Ari is a mama bear. Docile, for the most part, unless you mess with his cubs. Even then, he’s more likely to feed his captors to death than to cause them any real harm. And I am not his captor,” she crossed her arms, taking care not to let her towel slip from her chest. “I signed an ordinance agreeing to work alongside the Canaveris family as penance for my past involvement. Then, earlier, he offered me positive publicity and promised to restore my name. I should have declined, but I...dammit all, he knows what I want! It isn’t as though I can decline, either, if doing so violates my ‘ordinance.’”
Hesitating at first, Chara joined Lilica at her bedside, mumbling apologies when her damp, towel-wrapped body made contact with the clean, dry sheets. Shame colored her cheeks to admit aloud what she’d buried under the rug for months, concerning the yearning in her heart for a homeland she forced everyone to forsake. To this day, the decision to evacuate the city on the sea forever haunted her, to where she suffered a recurring nightmare of drowning in the multi-hued waters as the waves climbed to terrible heights and swallowed the city whole, wiping it clean from existence. Her embarrassingly short stint as leader of the fledgling sovereign nation would certainly go down in legend, but not for the reasons she strove to claim. Deserter. The turbulent waves roared in her head. Deserter. What makes you believe we would allow your return? You don’t belong. Traitors do not belong…
Then where? Where did she belong? She thought she needed only Lilica and certainly, she existed as half of the equation. Alongside her, she was happy, and loved. But was she fulfilled? Did she feel like this place could be her permanent home, even after the D’Marians eventually returned to the mountaintop vista facing the shimmering sea? Was it a betrayal, to stay in Galeyn, forsaking her home a second time? Would she find arms to welcome her, in Stella D’Mare, or the self-same hatred, as before?
She had no answers. No answers that seemed right, or uncomplicated. The real question scratched behind her eyes, persistent and aching. Was there even a home to return to, or was she holding her breath for a fantasy?
“No, please disregard what I said, Lilica. It is a silly supposition that may not come to pass for years, yet, or decades, possibly,” Chara said, squeezing her arms and thus, the guilt. “If at all. You are correct. We must tackle one crisis at a time. I meant what I said, Lilica.” In response, she slid her cool hand up the feverish woman’s arm, a reassurance as much as a promise. “I intend to sail on the sinking ship with you, and I will. Don’t you dare tackle this issue alone, because this requires all of us to solve. This goes beyond you, and you know it. Leave the D’Marians,” she gestured to herself and Alster, “to us. And leave Ari to me. Believe it or not, we are all united on one front; we don’t want a war. I shall advise him thusly.”
Haraldur schooled his expression into calm, careful not to wear his emotions on his sleeve, else Sigrid believe he was tiptoeing around her out of pity. In actuality...it was because he didn’t know what to do, what to say, and it was easier to stand as a passive, listening audience, than open his mouth, say something off the mark, and yet again ruin his tumultuous relationship with his cousin. After all, hadn’t his words been one of the catalysts encouraging her to leave Galeyn, indefinitely? The last thing he wanted was to say the wrong thing and alienate her anew, but if he showed too little interest, too little concern, how would she construe his lack of a reaction? Would she interpret it as utter disinterest or even disdain?
His head perked up when Sigrid spoke, revealing an alarming detail. Did she...had she remembered nothing in the long months spent under Locque’s thrall? “Sigrid,” he began, but before he could cobble together an explanation, she limped away from Naimah’s memorial tree, wandering off to the borderlands that delineated the Night Garden from the rest of Galeyn’s vegetation and climate. He followed close behind her trail, arm extended to catch or restrain should she overburden herself or tear open the healing wound on her abdomen. When they reached the borderlands, a blessedly short hike from the memorial garden, not much of a distinction showed in the grass marking the two territories. One side appeared greener, its flowering bushes and trees proliferating at a minimum, but aside from the alien flora of the Night Garden, both swatches of land could be distinguished as one and the same, as far as the current season depicted.
The revelation, predictability, galled Sigrid, riling her to the point of grabbing Haraldur and shaking him for answers. But all it did, at first, was shake him free of his preliminary caution. He snapped awake, dispensing of the polite, yet distant demeanor, and began to take charge.
“Ok. I’ve indulged your wandering around for long enough. No more. You’re injured. So, you’re going to sit. Now. Right here. I won’t tell you a thing unless you do.” He pointed at the base of a curious tree which straddled the Night Garden and the Outside, one-half of its branches bedecked in brilliant marigold while the other half sustained a normal spring-green foliage. “I’ll help you.”
Carefully, he brought Sigrid to rest against the tree, minding where he put his hands in case of disturbing her injuries. He lowered to the ground beside her, rested his head against the bark of the tree, and thought about where to begin, and what to omit. For now.
“First off, I’ll start by saying this. I believe you, Sigrid. I believe you saw and heard Naimah.” He didn’t yet mention that she called out the Kariji woman’s name before plunging Gaolithe into her abdomen in a reckless but successful attempt to sever herself from Locque’s influence. This was a story he didn’t want to tell chronologically. “I don’t know the half of it, but Alster seems to believe her spirit entered Gaolithe and she...weakened it from the inside, rendering it useless. Gaolithe is...it’s just a regular sword now. You’re free of it, Sigrid. It won’t dictate your destiny anymore. You’ll also be happy to know that Rowen Kavanagh is dead. Hadwin killed her.” He glanced towards the Night Garden where, beyond the perma-flowering trees, Rowen’s ashes were buried in secret, in a place known only to her family. No irate Galeynians would desecrate her resting spot if they didn’t know where to look. “Locque is also dead, too. Which brings me...to why you don’t remember the last few months.”
He rubbed the back of his neck where the chain of his necklace chafed against his nape, but it was just an excuse to fiddle. To buy time, and organize the best method of telling her the devastating news. “When you left last autumn, we tried to send search parties to find you, but we weren’t successful. Someone got to you first.” He planted his hands on her shoulders, half in comfort and half to hold her in place as his warm green eyes tried to combat the ice in her blue eyes. “Locque. She...did something. Remember how she compelled Elespeth, back in Braighdath? Only, this time, it wasn’t temporary. She had you under her thrall...for months. And there was nothing…” he lowered his gaze, unable to meet her confusion and horror without losing a little of his unruffled composure. “We couldn’t do anything to help you. Believe me, we wanted to, but we couldn’t get close and...she used you as a bargaining chip, to prevent us from retaliating against her when she took the throne. Even after months of compliance, she refused to release you. But,” he swallowed, focusing on the positive takeaway amid all the overwhelming tragedy, “she’s dead, now. She’s dead, and you’re free. Finally,” he couldn’t help it; though he tried his damnedest to prevent it, his features sagged and moisture clung to his eyelids, “you’re...free. You’ll get through this, Sigrid. It’s a lot to process, I know, but...you’ll get through it.”
Elsewhere in Galeyn, a knock sounded on a blacksmith’s door, and the blacksmith answered. He was not entirely thrilled to see who awaited him on the other side.
“What do you want?” The blacksmith groaned.
“Good day to you, too!” The uninvited guest strolled inside, making himself at home by lounging on the workbench.
“So why are you here?” The blacksmith removed some tools from the workbench he didn’t want knocked over or pushed aside from his—ironically—cat-like intruder who seems the type to gleefully paw objects just to watch them crash to the floor. “You want my personal thanks for killing your sister?”
“No.” Hadwin’s expression darkened. “I take no pleasure in what I did, complicated family dynamics and all. But I did it, as promised, so you know I’m a man of my word. You’re also a man of your word, because you agreed that you’d connect me to your very influential community to help me get the job done. Well, I never cashed in on that favor, but maybe you’ll let me do that now.”
“Wait, a favor?” The long-whiskered blacksmith named Frederick rang out a chuckle as deep and clipped as hammer strikes upon an anvil. “I wasn’t offering favors. I was offering aid. But that’s all said and done. You didn’t need the aid, so I don’t owe you a damn thing.”
“But the job’s not over yet, Whiskers.”
“Don’t call me that,” he waved a hammer at the mangy thing dirtying up his bench. “And what do you mean, it’s not over? She’s dead, isn’t she?”
“Well, y’see, my sister still has her sights on someone. Yup, even from beyond the grave, she’s still an active little shit. Wanna get back at her? Wanna really make sure she doesn’t win, even when she’s fucking dead? Because let me ask you. Who do you despise more? My sister, or,” he tilted his head, raising an eyebrow, “Nia Ardane?”
“What the hell are you playing at? Get out of here, you madman!”
“Fair enough, but hear me out.” He rose from the bench, removing the black smears of coal residue that clung to his clothes, compliments of sitting too close to the forge. “What if I told you that she didn’t kill ol’ Osric, but rather, tried to save him from a fatal stabbing? And that...I can prove it?”
Would she have signed the order to arrest Anetania Ardane had it all been up to her? That was something that Lilica hadn’t taken the time to consider. Truth be told, she could scarcely remember doing it at all, through the fog of her fever when her guards had approached her with news that the Master Alchemist was taking refuge with the Canaveris lord. Ari had been right to criticize her decision, given her state of mind: she had felt cornered and pressured. What would have happened, had she refused? Would it really have incited her people so, to take a less abrupt approach than hailing the Ardane woman--who herself had been previously injured, and was barely recovered--away in the middle of the night? For all Anetania Ardane was, by definition, a traitor for knowingly and willingly working for the tyrant that had threatened Galeyn for months--no, over a year, since her presence had been suspected, the Master Alchemist herself wasn’t personally responsible for any of the collateral damage that had resulted from Locque’s rule. She hadn’t killed, and was always quick to remind people that she really wasn’t a fighter. Her only real transgression had been doing a number on Elespeth’s armor, and, in her own way, she really had tried to maintain peace, however futile it had been.
Were it up to her… in all honesty, Locque’s Master Alchemist would be a non-issue. She really had done enough to incite the Galeynian queen’s anger or thirst for justice. And this all felt like a terrible waste of time. But, she could not say as much to her people, who wanted to feel as though their voices and needs were being heard. And if those voices called for justice upon Nia Ardane… what choice did she have but to at least see it through to a fair trial?
“I am not denying the possibility that Galeyn will seek Nia’s blood. But that verdict would have to go through me; and you know I will not allow that to happen.” Lilica sighed, and stared up at the ceiling with her fever bright eyes. “It is my obligation to hear my people, to listen to their concerns and justifications. That is all Galeyn really wants right now. To be heard, and to know that their concerns, their fears, their desire, and their pain is being taken seriously. I have to be that pillar for them and oblige this trial, because if I do not… If I do not, then everything I have done, from uncovering Galeyn to finally eliminating Locque as a threat, will have been for nothing.”
Feeling Chara’s cool hand in her own was more of a reassurance than she’d thought. To have her here, listening and understanding the position she was in, did indeed make her feel as though she was not traversing these stormy waters of leadership alone. When Chara was at her side, advising her, understanding nuances of these political intricacies that she had yet to understand, the Galeynian queen really felt as though she could do anything. “If you were really inclined… I’m sure that some loophole could be found to render your contract with the Canaverises null and void.” She mentioned quietly to the Rigas woman, her dark eyes softening. “You are first and foremost my advisor. And while you have not signed anything to establish your role on paper, a verbal contract is still a contract, and you have sworn yourself into my service. I am sure that it would not require any particularly deep research into established Galeynian law that the monarch’s advisor cannot be dis-established by anyone but the monarch themself, and that having you work for or represent another, unrelated party would be a conflict of interest. But if you sign yourself over to Aristide willingly, because it will benefit you… If you really and truly believe he will do you no harm, then I shall let this unfold as it will. I will not ask you--any of you to stand with me, if other obligations take precedence.”
However, both Alster and Chara went on to insist that they did intend to stand with her--even if it meant advocating for mercy for Nia Ardane. Alster wasn’t wrong: ultimately, they all wanted the same thing, which was the fire that was about to erupt from the Galeynians to burn to a simmer, and for this kingdom to finally find the peace it deserved. What complicated matters was that peace was also required for the D’Marians, if this was all to pan out without bloodshed, and even the Queen of Galeyn did not have the power alone to establish that for both parties. She needed Alster; and most definitely needed Chara. Without them… she knew that this ship would truly sink.
“...very well. I do not have sway over the D’Marians and their leader the way the both of you do. We’ll see this through in a fair manner. I will not have any more blood shed upon this land.” Lilica agreed with a nod, and pulled herself up upon her elbows. “I must ask one of you to retrieve Senyiah. I need something to bring this fever down and get to work in the library. Rest is a luxury I cannot afford if I want to prevent this kingdom and its people from imploding.”
Sigrid’s heart began to race with trepidation. It was almost summer… Almost summer, and yet, hadn’t it been autumn just yesterday? What was going on? What had transpired in the time between autumn and summer, and why couldn’t she remember? The former Dawn Warrior took a seat next to a tree at her cousin’s request, and searched his face for answers. “I don’t understand what is happening.” She confessed in a tremulous voice. “What… what is the state of this kingdom? What is going on, Haraldur? How could I possibly have lost so much time? I must… I must be dreaming…”
She wasn’t, though, and she knew this before Haraldur proceeded to explain to her what had happened, following her retreat from Galeyn. Somehow… somehow, although she couldn’t remember how, she really had fallen victim to Locque. And, somehow, the witch had had her completely under her thrall for… months? Seasons? Over half a year, it seemed. Time and memories that she could never have back, although… perhaps the missing memories were a blessing. “All this time… she was controlling me? To keep you all at bay?” Her voice trembled at that realization. “Did I… but what did she have me do, in all that time?”
That was when Haraldur fell silent, but the tears springing to his eyes made her blood run cold with dread. What, exactly, was it that she didn’t remember? What had happened in all the time that she had lost? Those tears in Haraldur’s eyes were not tears of joy or relief that she had finally woken up. “Haraldur… what happened? Tell me what happened.”
Even more suspicion clutched at her throat when he tried to change the subject. To tell her that nothing mattered, now, except for the fact that she was alive and well. She wasn’t buying it… and she had a feeling as to exactly what he did not want her to know. “Did I… Haraldur, you need to tell me, did I… hurt someone? Did Locque use me as a weapon to cause harm to people?” Gaolithe was barely a passing thought in her mind, now. Whatever had happened with the sword was no longer her concern, nor what would become of her and her future, with or without it. All that she wanted to know now was entirely in the past… but it wasn’t a past that she was willing to put behind her, regardless of whether or not she could recall the events, if they included her causing harm to others.
“Did she… Haraldur, did she make me kill? Talk to me--did she make me kill! Tell me!” The blonde warrior quickly jumped to her feet, her cousin following suit soon after. “Did she make me kill?! Who? Who did I hurt, Haraldur? Tell me what I did!”
Her anxiety had climbed to levels of hysterics, now, and there was no calming the startled former Dawn Warrior. Fortunately enough, the Gardeners, Senyiah included, had remained nearby. While none of them saw fit to interfere with Sigrid Sorenson’s delicate reintroduction to the world, after having lost so much time with regard to her free will, they recognized that she was still a patient who had yet to recover in full, and had not been oblivious to the possibility that, should things escalate, she might become a danger to herself. At the first signs of Sigrid’s hysteria, Senyiah, a syringe in hand, emerged from the brush in long strides to inject the hysterical woman with a heavy sedative. In seconds, her body went limp in Haraldur’s arms, and the Head Gardener dipped her head in apology.
“Please forgive me, Your Highness. She is not yet fit to leave the Night Garden or the sanctuary; her body still has healing to do. As does her mind, it would seem… I think it would be best for her to remain in our care for the time being. But, when she awakens, then under supervision…” She looked up, her dark eyes defeated and weary. The same eyes that almost every Galeynian had, now. “Then she deserves to know the truth. Undoubtedly, it will hurt her, but she cannot live in the shadows of things that she cannot remember. Sometimes, the only way to heal is to open a wound, let it drain and hurt, until the toxins are gone, and there is no pain left.”
Not quite a week after her ill-fated negotiations with Aristide Canaveris, the trial to address the crimes of the Master Alchemist, Anetania Ardane, finally began, taking place in an amphitheatre near the kingdom’s capital. Having never borne witness to too much crime as a kingdom, a proper court had never been erected, and all trials had simply taken place in wide, open spaces. A shame, that this venue, once used for plays and musical performances, was being put to use for the first time since the kingdom had awakened for far darker and dreary purposes than entertainment. At one point, the Missing Links had planned to stage a performance or two in that area… but then, Cweha had died, along with their spirit and, largely, their will to put on such a spectacle without her.
While large, it was still hardly enough to accommodate the sheer numbers of the public who chose to attend. Lilica could have sworn that almost all of Galeyn had chosen to attend--and, of course, the D’Marians, along with Aristide Canaveris. There weren’t enough seats; those were prioritized for the few elderly who had survived their former king’s spell, the injured, and young children and their mothers. In fact, it was so crowded that it was almost impossible not to touch shoulders with adjacent persons. The sheer volume of people was almost enough to overwhelm the Galeynian queen, who had been working tirelessly toward gathering the information and insights that she needed, and carefully choosing her words to address this delicate matter. She hadn’t taken the time to rest since she’d woken from her coma; the only thing keeping her aware, alert, and on her feet were substances from the Night Garden, which Senyiah urged her to ease off on, over and over again. The longer she put off letting her body ride the wave of the fever the Night Garden had induced, the more likely it was to come back with a vengeance when she finally found a moment to rest, instead of simply treating her symptoms, but Aristide Canaveris’s comment had burned into her mind, and even if out of sheer spite, she was eager to prove the D’Marian head wrong in his assumptions about her. That she did have a head on her shoulders to be a leader, and a fair one at that, and that that very head was level and not addled by sickness. There would be time to be weak, to rest, and to recover when this was all over; for the time being, she could not afford to be a feeble queen or a pushover ruler to her people, or to the D’Marians. They deserved her at her best, and this situation demanded delicacy and quick-thinking that just wouldn’t be possible if she were convalescing.
“Native denizens of Galeyn. Denizens of Stella D’Mare. I would have your order and attention, now.” Lilica stood tall at the center of the amphitheater, and while her voice would have easily carried due to its design, she accepted the stone that Aristide Canaveris had offered to her to amplify the volume without putting strain on her lungs or vocal cords. She didn’t like the man, but what she felt for him would not override simple logic and commonsense. “We are here to address the matter of the Master Alchemist, Anetania Ardane, and decide how to go forward with regards to her atonement, given her willing and deliberate involvement with Locque, who terrorized this kingdom for far too long. Kindly note, we have not gathered here to argue whether or not her actions had an impact on us, as a kingdom and as a people; that fact is already established as a given. Rather, I hope to facilitate a dialogue regarding the degree of severity to which we hold her actions, and as such, as a fair and just kingdom, to come to agreement on a suitable atonement for her transgressions.” Not once did she mention the word punishment. No doubt, that was already a word that weighed heavily on the Galeynians’ minds and hearts, but it was her hope that evasion of impactful words such as that would set the tone, and encourage the peace and mercy that she hoped for.
“As part of a fair trial, Anetania Ardane will of course have the opportunity to speak on her own behalf. Miss Ardane.” Lilica turned to the Master Alchemist who, accompanied by two Forbanne soldiers standing at either side of her, stood to the side, her hands still bound in front of her. She offered the tired and defeated woman the amplifying stone. “How might you address the crowd, Nia?”
But the Master Alchemist did not accept the stone. She didn’t even look up to make eye contact with the Queen, or with anyone from the crowd. “What do you want me to say?” Even the amphitheater’s design could not carry her quiet voice far beyond the people standing directly before her. “You already know what I did. Not gonna deny I worked for Locque, knowing full well what she did to this kingdom and its people. Do I really need to state what everyone already knows?”
Lilica pulled the stone away, dropping her hand to her side to their voices contained. “Don’t do this, Ardane. You have people here willing to fight for you.” She didn’t have to nod to Alster or Ari, who stood closeby, ready to speak on the wretched woman’s behalf. “You have a chance to have things work out in your favour. If you give up now, then there is nothing that anyone can do for you.”
“We already know what Galeyn wants for me. Let’s not tiptoe around the obvious.” Nia looked up at last, but her sleepless eyes didn’t seem to register much of what was going on in front of her. She looked neither to Ari, nor to Alster. “Be real, this isn’t about me; not really. It’s about making your people feel better in light of being so damn traumatized. So why don’t you ask them? Ask them what they want.”
“Your Majesty. If the accused is not ready to speak, then will you hear the voice of your people?” A tall, middle-aged man spoke up and stepped forward with a handful of other men and women. These were the Galeynians that each city and village had chosen to speak on their behalf; to ascertain every voice was heard. “Locque had promised that no Galeynian blood would be spilled. However, statistics clearly reflect the contrary. Since awakening from our King’s spell, at least one hundred and sixty-six Galeynians lost their lives, either as a direct or indirect result of the witch’s actions. This number is a low estimate; we have yet to determine the identity of some of the bodies found who have no surviving family to identify them. And amidst all of this death… the only thing the Master Alchemist did, who claimed to have everyone’s best interest in mind, was tell us to wait. To be patient. To trust in the process, and that all would work out in the end. And this is the result.”
He gestured to the amphitheater full of people, but in particular, to the sides the Galeynians occupied. “There should be more than a hundred more people here, today, but there are not. We were a dwindled and weakened people to begin with, and now, with our numbers--even including D’Marian presence, I have no doubt that we could hardly be considered a kingdom. Your Majesty.” He turned back to the Queen, and brought his hands in front of him, palms up. “Galeyn cannot condemn your inaction during Locque’s reign. You were a prisoner and a hostage, just like the rest of us; it would have been impossible for you to openly oppose her without dire consequences, perhaps more dire than what eventually occurred. But when the situation escalated, the Master Alchemist, who had promised to mediate and balance our needs and safety with that of her Queen’s, she did not help us: she saw herself as being in danger, and so, she ran to save her own skin. She did not want to have to face us in the aftermath of her promises for peace crumbling. Anetania Ardane may not be directly responsible for any of the deaths that have occurred: but it cannot be overlooked that they occurred in tandem with her loyalty to Locque, and her waning efforts to stand by her own words. Her crimes are her lies and her negligence, and they can be attributed to this tragedy. We have endured too much as a kingdom to let this transgression go, or treat it as insignificant. On behalf of every innocent citizen that has lost a life, a loved one, or who has otherwise lost hope due to the events of the past year…”
He lowered his hands and made direct eye contact with Lilica. “We, the people of Galeyn, deem no more suitable sentence for Locque’s advisor, than that she pay for the lives lost in this kingdom with her own life.”
As arranged in cooperation with Galeyn and Stella D’Mare, with Alster and Chara as acting liaisons, the long-awaited trial took place a week after Nia’s arrest. The date, a hasty selection, considering the Galeynian Queen had yet to recover from her Night Garden-issued fever, was chosen for two reasons. For one, Galeynians were fast-growing eager to know the fate of the last living traitor to the Crown, and two, Nia, who neglected her health, was deteriorating at a concerning rate, her weakness such that she required the aid of the two Forbanne guards to help her ascend the stage. For her part, Lilica strode onto the scene, masking her latent malady so well, it alerted the attention of Aristide Canaveris, who had made malady concealment into an art form and who, thus, knew how to spot when someone was faking a full bill of health.
Before the Queen delivered the opening statement, he approached her, pressing an amplifying stone into her hands. Despite the amphitheatre’s natural acoustics, speaking still required a fair level of projection and breath support, which would place a strain on anyone who, for whatever reason, couldn’t vocalize above a steady whisper. “Be well, your Majesty,” he whispered, and he meant it. No malice clung to his words, nor was there any underlying subtext to parse. Just a small kindness to demonstrate his willingness to cooperate, even if his willingness arrived too late. Retreating, he joined Alster and Chara, who stood towards the back of the stage, partially hidden by the shadows that eclipsed their faces via the position of the late morning sun angled against the high amphitheatre walls. One could tell, by the rhythmic tapping of feet and routine glances over the dense thicket of crowd, that Alster and Chara were on edge, both. D’Marians peppered the stands in undulating waves, aware of their presence and aware, no doubt, of what they’d done to their people.
Ari tried to catch their eyes with a reassuring look. “You shall have your pardons,” he told them, in low tones. “Further...I apologize. For overcomplicating matters.”
Over the days, the three had convened several times, speaking at length on how to approach the event with delicacy, as well as the critical importance of civil discourse.
“I know you’re angry, but Lilica isn’t your enemy,” Alster had relayed, during one such meeting. “She doesn’t need to be your enemy. We’re all working for the same goal. Understand there needn’t be a declaration of war when we, all of us, unanimously strive towards a peaceful solution.” Taking a risk, he mentioned, “This is your legacy, Ari. It doesn’t belong to your brother. It belongs to you. How, then, would you, as Aristide Canaveris, address the crowd? How can you vouch for a life most precious and simultaneously preserve the home you’ve offered if you incite a war? Can you justify tearing this place apart to satisfy a vendetta? That’s not what you want. To bring her home, you must also have a home. Not pieces of it.”
On the eve of the third meeting, Ari’s stone carapace exterior had started to crack. He was relenting.
“She saved my life.” Ari’s voice was soft. Breaking. He clawed a hand over his face, shielding his onlookers from catching just an iota of his raw desperation. But it didn't matter. His words gave him away. “In exchange, I did not allow her to run, confident in my ability to exonerate her through legal action. I can not fail. If I fail...I well and truly will have betrayed her. If I must unleash a volley of threatening rhetoric, or worse, shape my threats into tangible form...if that is what I must do to uphold my promise, then—”
“—Absolutely not, no. It does not necessitate making enemies of your allies,” Chara had interrupted, giving an impatient huff and a steely glare. “Withdraw your aggression, Lord Canaveris, and I might feel charitable enough to reinstate your standing with Queen Lilica. We are not to let your darling creampuff die, do you understand? Lilica has the final word. Dispel your fires and demonstrate your capacity for intelligent decision-making and we shall all escape this disaster unscathed.”
At last, he relented.
“Are you nervous?” Alster whispered back to the Canaveris Lord, sensing that he was also not immune to the jitters, but for different reasons than addressing a judgement-prone crowd on the stage.
Ari said nothing, but a small, almost imperceptible nod fluttered the cloisonné-beaded earrings dangling from his ears. For the occasion, he was impeccably dressed, as usual, wearing a mottled-blue coat which outlined and separated each individual color in gold thread, giving the resemblance of a stained-glass window at a church. And, though he wore his hair in a ponytail, beads of sweat not attributed to the warming weather gathered at his neck.
Lilica’s eloquent and well-practiced opening statement had omitted any damning and condemning words in relation to the defendant on trial, a smart decision for which Ari had to give her credit. Included among the queen’s introductory remarks was the opportunity for the guilty party to defend her position as a former agent of Locque, but Nia had seen fit not to take advantage of the platform, preferring to accept whatever sentence the Galeynians granted her—even if the sentence meant death. No, Nia. Fight. Fight. Do not abandon yourself. You must survive. A future awaits. A home awaits. Ari sought her gaze, sought to nonverbally relay the message so she would hear his encouragements chant in her head, but she did not look his way or acknowledge his existence. He was dead to her. Or, perhaps it was the other way around. She was dead to the world, to everyone in her vicinity, and he wasn’t certain if his voice would reach her across the vast gulf where she stood, waiting for her body to unite with her defeated spirit. What have I done? Is it too late? Too late to save you when you wish not to be saved?
Apparently, the Galeynians who mounted the stage thought so. The middle-aged man, the de facto spokesperson for the group of village and regional representatives, stated their sentence for Nia, and the sentence...was death.
Before the crowd at large could utter a collective cry of approval, Ari used the lull to vault forward, amplifying stone clutched in his good hand. His right hand had yet to depetrify, a worrying development, and, as such, remained an ineffectual fixture glued to the handle of his cane. “My deepest condolences go out to the families and friends who have lost loved ones during this unprecedented and most egregious attack,” he began, bowing to the presenters on the stage. “Please know that as a D’Marian, I am not unaffected or immune to the plight our kindly and benevolent neighbors have suffered. My greatest regret is that we could not provide shelter for everyone in Galeyn; alas, only Galeynians within proximity to our village were able to benefit from access to the underground tunnels running beneath our settlement. Even so, we are considered extremely fortunate and realize our privilege in the face of others who have lost lives, homes, livelihoods, and entire communities. I hear your lament and recognize its pain. Having lost our homeland and countless countrymen ourselves, we strongly empathize. However, before you decide to condemn this woman for her alleged inaction during a situation far beyond her control to mediate,” he turned and gestured to Nia, who still avoided his gaze, “allow me to explain why this is not the case. During the height of disaster, when monsters rained over our heads in Blackest Night, I can vouch for Miss Nia’s whereabouts. You have asked yourselves, ‘Where was she when Locque cast us aside?’ To that I say; she was saving my life.”
He paused a moment, allowing his bold declaration to settle and breathe among the vast crowd. Now, it was his turn to avoid Nia, suddenly terrified to gauge her reaction—or lack of a reaction. Lack of interest. In him. In her surroundings. In her will to survive. He couldn’t handle seeing her dead eyes sunken in her sallow, colorless cheeks lest he, too, succumb to hopelessness and despair.
“One of the Unseen attacked me in my villa. Fortunately, everyone had been evacuated, so I was its sole target. Alster Rigas,” he nodded to the mage, who timidly stepped out of the shadows, “banished the monster before it could dispense with my life. However, my condition required immediate and specialized attention—that only a Master Alchemist could provide.”
Taking a long, measured breath, Ari tucked the cane under his arm and raised his gloved, crooked hand for crowd-wide inspection, arm trembling in anticipation for what he was about to do. Nadira was going to kill him. He swore he could hear her indignant squeak in the audience. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Alster give him a measured, solemn nod. Nodding in turn, he yanked off the white glove—revealing an ugly, twisted, gray-granite hand of stone.
“I have a particular malediction which has afflicted me since I was a child,” he began, trying to iron out the wrinkles in his voice. “In times of stress or anxiety, pieces of my body, commonly my outer extremities, petrify for intervals of two to three days. On occasion, longer. Always temporary and seldom a bother,” he reassured, downplaying its prominence to prevent the crowd from startling. From...pitying. “Yet this time, as I lay, seized with fear from the aftereffects of the monster’s terrifying presence, it affected and petrified my heart. I most certainly would have died if not for Miss Nia’s swift response and exemplary care. She has my unerring gratitude and loyalty.” Too uneasy to acknowledge the crowd, or Nia, he stared at his hand, on display like a crude art exhibit with him as the central subject of gawking and spectacle, and concentrated on the threads of his speech, not on the pinpricks needling his skin. “Though she might not have curbed Locque’s destructive hand, realize that no one was apt to pacify the summoner Queen once her tirade had begun. Not even her most trusted advisor had hope of purifying her blackened soul. Of what little Miss Nia was able to accomplish, I hope to speak for my people when I express the significance of her small but heartfelt, wholesome life-saving action. No cold and unfeeling person would have the capability to do as she has, for me.” He raised his eyes, but aimed them high, avoiding what he feared to find in D’Marians and Galeynjans alike; pity, disgust, betrayal. “Though I am not Galeynian, please receive my testimony true. In my lens, she has demonstrated redemptive qualities through her undisputed efforts to save the life of this humbled, grateful man.”
“Galeynians.” Alster addressed the bewildered crowd. Ari, hair soaked through and sticking to his overheated face in response to the reveal of his greatest secret, the one he swore never to release publicly, was in need of a break. He didn’t use an amplifying stone, instead relying on his full-bodied singer’s cant to fill the arena. “If you must cast blame, cast your blame on me. Were I more expedient in my response to banish the monsters and close the rift, perhaps more lives would have been spared. If you feel a death sentence is prudent based on Miss Ardane’s associations, then cast your aspersions foremost on incompetency, not affiliation—and incompetency is not deserving of death. In fact, I would argue on behalf of Nia’s essential and very competent position as liaison and mediator for the Queen. If not for her tireless efforts to foster peace and play the thankless role as Locque’s morality counsel and minder, I imagine our dealings with the unstable summoner would have been far more gruesome, and catastrophic. Should we not put an end to this bloody chapter in Galeyn’s history and realize that desiring Miss Ardane’s death cannot move us forward, towards healing? What’s more, hasn’t she proved she is more useful to us alive, as evidenced by Lord Canaveris’s story?”
“Hey! You gotta finish the story!” An all-too-familiar voice roared from the front of the crowd. Whenever Hadwin Kavanagh showed up at events, one never knew what to expect, be it good, bad, or questionable. Nonetheless, he climbed up on stage independent of aid, despite his wobble and teeter, and unapologetically blasted his bombast for all to hear. A small group of Galeynians trailed him, seemingly supporting and backing his right to say whatever he fancied.
“You know what she did right after leaving the Canaveris villa, right? Cuz she didn’t stick around and take cover to save her own arse. Ah,” he coughed and sharpened an apologetic grin. “Slip of the tongue. There are children present. Anyway, nope! She didn’t do that. She went straight to the farmlands and checked on the well-being of a grieving family. A family you know as that of good ol’ Osric. May that loveable bloke rest in peace,” he crossed his fingers over his head, an ancient Collcreaghian gesture to honor the dead. “She and Oz had a great rapport, see, and well, everyone should know by now it was my sister who offed him. Not Nia. On the day it happened, she was trying to save him but her timing implicated her. Your hatred’s in the wrong direction. Rowen Kavanagh is your culprit.”
Spouting the name gave him pause, nearly unseating him and his tentative stability. He swept his leg forward, catching his balance before taking a nasty tumble on the stage.
“This here’s the Guild of the Lyre,” he said, recovering his place and regaining his bearings as he nodded to the people in his company. “You should all know this lot. Gifted storytellers and purveyors of the truth. They got a wide reach here in this community, so I’ve heard. So it’s pretty wild they let me speak here today. They might not be a committee selected to represent the whole of Galeynian, but their vote to say ‘nay to death!’ must count for something, don’t you think?”
To corroborate on Hadwin’s story, each member of the Guild of the Lyre vocalized their desire to stay Nia’s execution on the grounds of heroism, confirmed and attempted, and her recognized measures to advocate peace in spite of the unpopular appointment as Locque’s advisor. They spun a plausible and performative tale, suggesting in harmonizing notes of entreaty that she, like Lilica, was something of a hostage herself, enticed by Locque’s protective promises and made to serve evil when the alternative was, at best, a life on the run and at worst, death by a wrathful summoner’s hands. Their words leaned on poetry, accessible to the audience, but never derivative. It possessed a singsong meter and rhythm, an ode in miniature, and concluded long before it exhausted its welcome.
At their conclusion, the D’Marian crowd, largely befuddled into silence, gave an almost collective roar in support of the Guild’s evocative and sincere storytelling.
“Leave it to D’Marians to care about the accused only after a song and dance,” Chara muttered to Alster, who looked on, agog at the loud cheers of support for Nia—with the exception of the Rigases. They hunkered in their seats, mute and moody and unimpressed. “Moved by art...sometimes I am ashamed to call these people my people. Damn wolf, getting bards to traipse along on stage to string a crowd along during the sanctity of a trial. Making a mockery of the courts now, is he?”
“To be fair, this is an amphitheatre. And there’s nothing more humanizing than a story. But largely, I think we’re also getting a delayed reaction,” Alster said, noticing how the majority of D’Marians, concern for Ari fueling their motions, were also looking to him for guidance on how to behave. Their leader extended his good hand outward, regulating the yips and yells and cheers that were better suited for a rally and not a potential execution.
But the general mood of solidarity didn’t last long when, during a lull in the whoops and hollers, an emboldened D’Marian spoke up. “We’re wasting our time on Ardane! She didn’t kill anyone. But that blonde warrior worked for Locque and she killed a D’Marian family!”
“Yeah, why isn’t she on trial? She did worse!”
“She incapacitated a dozen Forbanne with her doom sword!”
Alster and Chara froze at the sudden—and dire—turn of events. “And here returns the riotous D’Marians we all know and love,” Chara sighed, mostly to herself.
“Sigrid Sorenson was under Locque’s thrall!” Alster answered in haste, hoping to quash the fast-accumulating revolution before it caught and became contagious. “Just like Elespeth Rigas, last year. I had your support, then. Locque commanded Sigrid against her will. She killed the D’Marian family. We don’t put a puppet on trial, but the puppetmaster!”
“D’Marians, please cease and desist!” Ari lowered his hand, a gesticulation meant to invoke silence. “Lord Rigas is correct. Our anger is misdirected. The ones who must pay the price have already paid for it with their lives. We are merely arguing semantics at this juncture. Please, let us focus our attention on the matter at hand. I am sure we shall have the opportunity to discuss, at length, Sigrid Sorenson’s innocence,” he emphasized, leveling the crowd with an uncompromising stare, daring anyone to argue otherwise, “but the opportunity is not for today. Exercise civility, D’Marians.” Ari turned his dark eyes to Lilica, granting her a polite dip of his head. “We are guests here.”
Despite Alster and Ari’s paranoid predictions as to how the Galeynian crowd would react to the Master Alchemist’s present in Galeyn and the trial she now faced, Lilica really and truly did not believe that her kingdom, her peaceful people who only sought to return to a state of normalcy that they hadn’t experienced for over a century, would seek Nia Ardane’s death. Hence, when the decree came forth from the mouths of state representations that sought the Master Alchemist pay for the actions of her former employer with her life, the Galenyian queen was as disappointed as she was taken aback. However, before the crowd could erupt into yays or nays for the proposal, Aristide Canaveris stepped forward… and silenced the crowd with a hand that appeared to be entirely encased in stone. Well, today really was full of surprises… And now, in hindsight, it made sense as to why he appeared to have concealed that hand behind his back when they had visited a week ago. For all the dark mage felt she was doing quite a respectable job putting her own malady aside so as to find the strength and energy to address this very trying issue, she apparently wasn’t the only one concealing some startling affliction. Except, now Aristide’s was out in the open for everyone to see, and all in defense of Nia Ardane.
This gesture did, in fact, elicit a response--however small--from the condemned Master Alchemist. She looked up from her worn boots, her eyes growing wide and… confused. Lilica couldn’t blame her; Ari had indeed been the one to hand her over to Galeynian authorities, yet now, he stood in her defense. Even if she was cognizant enough in her weakened state to comprehend exactly what was going on, it would test anyone’s hope to see half of a room want to condemn her, while the other half, influenced by their leader, did not seem to wish to follow suit in that opinion.
But that alone might now have been enough to sway the majority of the crowd. Before the crowd’s reactions could settle or escalate, Alster--in typical Alster Rigas fashion, both Lilica, Elespeth, and everyone he knew noted--tried to deflect the peoples’ need to blame onto himself. The Queen wanted to groan: this was the last thing she wanted, passing along the blame game until it eventually settled upon someone whom the crowd saw fit to take out their hurtful frustrations. “Alster…” She hissed, without taking her eyes off the crowd, “Now is not the time to offer yourself up as martyr…! Do not give them a scapegoat…”
But that wasn’t the end of it; not by a long shot. As if the overbearing defense for Nia Ardane could not become any more dramatic, Hadwin Kavanagh, of all people, literally led a group of entertainers through the crowd to sign and recite poems, that had all been written in light of the Master Alchemist’s heroics. One glance at the woman on trial, shrunken in comparison to the two Forbanne soldiers who stood on either side of her, revealed her deep-seated confusion and… maybe, a little bit of awe. Certainly, she hadn’t expected so many people to come to her defense in the manner that they had, including those whom she had neither ever met nor spoken to. Clearly, this trial was not shaping up to conduct itself like she had anticipated; or like anyone had anticipated.
The trouble was, these tactics were largely geared toward eliciting D’Marian support. From those who stood with Ari, and saw fit to show mercy to the woman who had saved their beloved leader’s life, to those completely taken by the song, poems, and entertainment of this band of bards, the tactic was cear: to sway the population most likely to respond to to what pulled at their heartstrings the most. As the bards’ performance came to a close, the shift in the air was palpable, and Lilica knew without having to take a vote that Ari, Alster, and Hadwin had largely won over the D’Marian crowd. However, even with the immense loss the Galeynians had experienced with regard to their population, from those who hadn’t survived their former king’s spell to those who had fallen directly or indirectly by Locque’s hand, those native to Galeyn still outnumbered the D’Marian population. And it was unclear if the band of Galeynian bards and Hadwin’s account of how much Nia had cared for certain Galeynians would be sufficient in swaying enough Galeynians to tip the vote in the Master Alchemist’s favour.
And, what was worse, the song and poems of the bards had in fact ignited such passion in D’Marian hearts that the people of the seaside city suddenly latched onto another tactic entirely: deflecting the blame and the kill order to someone else. Someone who had not attended this hearing, because she was under careful watch at the Night Garden, not left alone for a single moment since she’d learned of what she’d been forced to do under Locque’s thrall, and thus could not be trusted not to currently be a danger to her own life.
That was the last straw that urged Lilica to step up, raise her voice, and bring the amplifying stone to her lips once again as voices in favour of and in opposition to the D’Marian’s new target began to escalate.
“We will have order at this hearing!” The Queen’s voice, raised and amplified, cut through the crowd at such a startling volume that it successfully extinguished the shouts to a murmur. Satisfied, she lowered her voice, and took a breath to stave off the dizziness that threatened to shatter her illusion of being in good health.
“We will not deflect from the matter at hand, today. Sigrid Sorenson does not stand trial, and she will not be brought into it out of spite or ire.” Lilica went on, in a tone that was much calmer, but still firm. “As Alster Rigas has pointed out, she was enthralled and under Locque’s complete control for months, and her first act of free will when she broke free of the spell was an attempt to take her own life. It has in fact come to my attention that upon learning of the deeds the witch forced her to do, she reacted in such a way that led us to question her mental and emotional well-being, and is currently under close watch of Gardeners around the clock. Imagine knowing that you killed, against your own will, and that there is nothing you can do about it.” She paused, allowing the people a moment to remember Elespeth’s predicament, before she reiterated it herself. “I spoke on behalf of Elespeth Rigas who suffered a similar fate at Locque’s hands. The precedent has been set, and I will not be putting victims on trial today. The Dawn warrior will not receive retribution; as it stands, she may never be the same again. That is all that I will say on that matter.”
ing the distressed Dawn Warrior as a scapegoat, Lilica turned her attention directly to the Galeynian state representatives, and did not bother to conceal her look of concern. “Good men and women of Galeyn, and of Stella D’Mare… I will admit firsthand that everything I understand of established Galeynian law is secondary to me. However, in my extensive research of crimes committed in the past, and the consequences that followed them, please correct me if I am wrong, but Galeyn has never--at least, not in as long as its recorded history--sentenced anyone to death for their crimes, no matter the magnitude. In fact, Locque herself, who misused her skills and powers as a Gardener and led to the only known deaths occurring within the Night Garden, was merely banished from the kingdom. Exile is the greatest punishment that this kingdom has ever bestowed upon an accused. Please take a moment to consider that.” She shifted her gaze to address the crowd in its entirety, then, holding her palms upward. “Galeyn’s greatest criminal and villain to date was never sentenced to death. It does not stand that Nia Ardane, who is not directly responsible for any of the deaths that have occurred, should receive a more dire verdict than that which was decided for Locque.”
“You are right, your Majesty. Galeyn does have a strong history of lenience, tolerance, and mercy… and look where that has gotten us.” The middle-aged representative countered, anger tracing lines on his face. “Look at the losses we have suffered as a result. Because we are not known to punish or to fight back. This must change, and now. We must set an example for the years to come that no more will this kingdom be the dirt beneath ill-doers feet. Enough is enough; we have lost enough. We have suffered enough. Tradition will not protect us from further threats; only change will, your Majesty!”
“But you wish to make an example of the wrong person, and under the wrong circumstances!” One of the bards that Hadwin had encouraged to sing in Nia’s favour spoke up. He was a younger man, with a far gentler voice, and as such, it did not resonate to the same extent. But he spoke anyway. “Have you not heard what Nia Ardane has done for this kingdom? She saved a man’s life, when no one else could have possibly been successful!” He gestured to Ari, before shifting his body to address the crowd again. “And she cared for Galeynians! She is not responsible for the murder of Osric, and in fact, sought to look out for his family even after they rejected her. This woman’s love for those who matter to her is unconditional, and impervious to the consequences.”
“So she saved a D’Marian. And you expect that to be the reason Galeyn shows lenience?” Another woman from the band of Galeynian village representatives stepped forward with her own counter. She appeared more irate than the middle-aged man, and gestured to the D’Marian crowd with a deep frown. “Like their leader already said, these people are here as guests. They are transient; they take up our land now, but when the moment is right, they will leave us all and return to their beloved city by the sea. Yet they want to have stakes in this kingdom’s powerful and historical decisions? Unless they wish to declare permanence and become true citizens of Galeyn, their voices and their wants should have no voice, here! It was not they who went to sleep for a hundred years to escape the wrath of a witch who ended up with the opportunity to kill us, anyway!”
Things were getting out of hand, and fast. Order was unraveling as passions and opinions escalated, and the longer this went on, the more Lilica feared that she was losing control. “Please, kindly note that it is because of the D’Marians that you are all here today. That I was able to find this kingdom and all and break my father’s spell.” The dark mage reminded everyone. “I can say with great confidence that I could not have made this journey and uncovered my home successfully without the help and support of Alster and Tivia Rigas. Surely, they are more than guests here. They are respectable and valuable allies that deserve a place and a voice here as much as the rest of you. And, as lord Aristide Canaveris has already clarified, they have a reason to be invested in this trial: Nia Ardane saved the life of their leader. If we are to conduct this in a fair manner, then I will hear all voices, from all sides, as well as their arguments.”
“Your Majesty.” The middle-aged state representative frowned and raised his voice amidst the din. “Who do you stand for? Your own people? Or mere visitors?”
“I stand for everyone who is standing here now, as a result of eliminating Locque!” Lilica’s heart beat so hard she felt it in her throat. Her vision occasionally blurred in her peripheral sight; she felt her legs beginning to tremble. She was losing her composure and her strength with every passing second; it was about time she took another dose of tonic from the Night Garden to alleviate her symptoms. This hearing was going downhill, and fast, but she refused to see it crash and burn in anger and opposition.
“It is clear to me that no one here has come with a sound enough mind to cast a rational vote on this matter--including the accused.” She went on, when she’d captured the crowd’s attention again. “I will not have my people be known for making rash decisions inspired by vengeful passions. Consider this hearing officially adjourned for today. Galeynians, and D’Marians, I want you all to return to your homes and lives and take a steadying breath. Meditate on what you said, what you want, and what happened today. We will reconvene here, tomorrow at dawn, and I expect this conversation to continue with logic and civility. We are not savages. I don’t want impassioned arguments: I want facts and suggestions that will now cast a shadow upon us as a people.” She turned her body to address the crowd. “And we are not Locque. Mercy does not make us weak: and vengeance does not make us right. We will leave this matter to rest until tomorrow. Consider this trial adjourned for the time being.”
Lilica lowered the resonance stone and turned to Nia, who had appeared utterly dumbfounded, but too mentally absent to properly react. “Can’t you see how hard we are working to spare you, Anetania Ardane? You would do well to say a word or two to support the people who are speaking up in your favour.” She hissed, not meaning speak angrily to the Master Alchemist, but her patience had already been tried. “This would go a lot more smoothly if you would at least try to stand up for yourself...”
“For what? The freedom to… keep running? My leg hurts too much. I’m tired. This… is too much.” Nia dipped her chin to her chest and folded her trembling hands in front of her. “Can I go, now? At least in a cell I can close my eyes for five minutes…”
With a sigh, the Galeynian queen gestured for the Forbanne guards to escort the weak and defeated Ardane woman back to her carriage, before turning toward Aristide, who, along with Alster, looked particularly concerned with how this trial was unfolding. “Lord Canaveris.” Likewise, as he had spoken to her before in gracious tones, the concern in Lilica’s tone as she addressed the Canaveris lord’s hand was no falsity. “I can’t imagine how uncomfortable that must be for you… If you would like to return with us to the palace, I am sure Isidor Kristeva could reverse the effects of your curse and return your hand to its normal state.”
“Lilica.” Elespeth Rigas stepped forward and put a hand on the Galeynian queen’s shoulder. “You don’t look well; you’re hot to the touch. Perhaps Alster should should accompany you back to the--”
“I am fine, Elespeth. Thank you.” The dark mage regretted her biting tone as soon as she spoke. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she let out a sigh. “My apologies. Today has already taken its toll on me… Some of Senyiah’s tonic from the Night Garden will set me right. I… am sorry that today did not pan out quite so ideally.”
Rubbing a hand down her face, Lilica took a steadying breath and rolled her shoulders back. She could stand tall. If she could stand tall, pretend that everything was in order… then maybe she could convince herself she had what it took to prevent this trial from spiraling into chaos and inciting civil warfare. “Nia will not speak for herself, and we cannot force her to do so. My voice and reasoning has sway, as do all of yours, but if we want to convince Galeyn that she does not deserve death, then bards and merry melodies are not going to cut it. We need individual human testimonies that this woman has done some good in this kingdom--for D’Marians and Galeynians alike. Lord Canaveris, she has spent an ample amount of time with you in the D’Marian settlement, yes? Speak to anyone and everyone who has had good relations with her. See if they will step up and relate, citizen to citizen, their valuable experiences with the woman. I would be surprised if she hasn’t used her skills in alchemy to be of help an abundance even in small ways; she would’ve done so to gain acceptance, before everything plummeted downhill for her. I will see if I can do the same here in Galeyn. Hadwn,” she nodded to the faoladh, who had yet to depart the scene. “I will enlist your help, on this part. You’ve managed to convince the D’Marians to be merciful: see if you can find people to convince the Galeynians, if you are physically able. Tomorrow…”
She trailed off, looking to the disgruntled crowd as they departed the amphitheater. This hearing had left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth, and that was concerning. “Tomorrow will be different. This kingdom will not serve its first death sentence under my rule.”
The back and forth volley between the D’Marians, the Galeynians, and the leaders and representatives on stage was escalating at a clip too grueling to slow, like runaway Night steeds racing downhill in the dead of night. And in the center of the conflict, Lilica held her own, withstanding multiple assaults from two different communities, each unrelenting in their expressions of justice and outrage. Many D’Marians, temporarily placated by the stand-down order from Queen and Lord alike, lapsed into silence, but others still pursued the idea of Sigrid Sorenson under custody, not so much because they disagreed with her innocence, but because they could not abide the unfairness of disregarding her case in favor of a woman who did not kill, and yet was paying a steep penalty, regardless. Further, an off-color comment from one of the Galeynian representatives sent the D’Marian crowd frothing, sending their enraged spittle into the air.
“That’s how you really feel, huh?” One D’Marian man lobbed at the woman on the stage. “When one of our own helped you lot awaken from your mass nap and also banished the monsters at your door, saving your ungrateful lives?!” He pointed at Alster Rigas, who frankly would have been flattered if the circumstances were different, but he knew better than to buy into the fickle endorsement, especially when he recognized the tactic. It wasn’t the first time someone referenced his name and deeds to try and score points to win an argument. After all, people despised him until he was useful. Then, he was bandied around as a prize, marked as the pride and property of Stella D’Mare, and touted as an indispensable tool that his ‘handlers’ had the power to withdraw in an instant. Nevermind the fact that he made it incredibly clear that no one controlled him. “If we’re freeloaders, then we’re the best freeloaders you’ll ever have!”
“Yeah, if you want us to leave so badly, we’ll leave!” A put-off D’Marian woman slung her opinion at the stage like sharp-pointed rocks puncturing tender skin. “And you can have this whole place to yourself! All two-hundred of you!”
“Enough!” Ari commanded of his people. “This is a trial, not a verbal bar-brawl. I ask that everyone air their grievances in a respectable and productive manner, else we cannot resume with proceedings as they are.”
“That’s right! Listen to Lord Canaveris!” A D’Marian situated close to the stage, his vantage point clearer than most, whirled to face the full stands of people. “Or you’re all going to fray his nerves and turn him to stone!”
“Yeah, if his heart freezes again, what will happen?”
“It will be his blood on your shoulders if Lord Canaveris dies because you kill Ardane!”
One D’Marian threw his fist in the air and started a chant, which caught traction in moments. “Free Ardane! Free Ardane! Free Ardane!”
Ari paled. It was exactly as he feared. The moment he revealed his decades-old secret, D’Marians immediately shifted perceptions of him, treating him now as a fragile thing, apt to shatter and break at the slightest provocation. They defended him, and Nia by default, yes, but the cheers and chants were primarily a tactic to get a rise out of their Galeynian detractors, who they opposed out of spite.
I did not need to incite the D’Marians, after all, he thought grimly. They would have done so on their own.
He understood their affront. Braighdath had evicted them over similar circumstances, and they would not abide a repeat of history after investing so much of their energy rebuilding an approximation of their lost home. Rightly so, D’Marians were outraged...and he, with them. For five hundred years, they fell under Andalarian occupation. Before that, they served countless other empires and kingdoms, a showpiece of land too coveted to let slip into independent rule. In a show of magnanimity, Stella D’Mare’s various strings of oppressors all allowed the development of a semi-autonomous region in Old Town, ruled by Rigases, in exchange for complacency. No standing armies. No uprisings. Recognition of their ruling nation and its governing body of laws was absolute, but at least their culture and way of life would be preserved. The land, however, always belonged to someone else. At last, when they shattered the chains of their Andalarian overlords and claimed independence, Mollengard wrested their fledgling sovereignty from their battle-weary hands and forced them to flee, leaving D’Marians bereft of the one constant they could never have.
For millennia, they were visitors in their own home. Now, they fared worse. Castaways. Vagrants. Refugees. ...Homeless. Generations of hunkering down in gilded cages, in muffled compliance, all abandoned for naught but broken people scattered to the four winds, sneered at for existing.
Perhaps I wished to declare war on Galeyn for an additional reason, he thought darkly. Perhaps I wished to conquer this place, myself, and grant us somewhere of our own.
Ari, too, experienced that surge of righteous anger, as he had felt it when Lilica expressed the same sentiment at his villa. Partly, he wanted to validate their concerns because he understood how deeply it hurt to be denied a home, to be denied ownership. Yet, supplanting his anger was an even more prominent concern; he was no longer considered untouchable to his fellow citizens. A weakling, his protective aura of mystique disrobed, the magician’s secret revealed, Lord Aristide Canaveris was now a liability; a liability unable to save one soul, the soul who had trusted him implicitly and who he had crushed underfoot. In the end, his monumental leap of faith hadn’t reached Nia. It hadn’t reached her at all.
Somehow, between Lilica’s authority and Ari’s de-escalation tactics, they pacified the crowd to an adequate level of manageability and adjourned the trial on the grounds of inconclusive evidence and contempt of court. They reminded D’Marians and Galeynians that failure to cooperate with due process would not only delay the results of an official verdict, but restrict public viewings and participation to only essential personnel, and no one else.
Upon the crowd’s dispersal, Ari’s first instinct was to approach Nia, but he stopped mid-stride, deciding against the desire. From his short distance away, he overheard what passed from her lips to Lilica’s ears, and he cupped a hand over his chest to deter it from petrifying a second time. Proximity to Nia was certain to reduce him to a stone husk, and a husk could not delegate, only wait to crumble. He refused to catch her fatal melancholia out of sympathy, aware of what it might do to him in his delicate constitution. The D’Marians were right to treat him differently. Now that he unbound his wounds for everyone to gawk at, he was...breakable.
Shamefully, he averted his eyes from the sight of the demoralized Master Alchemist and waited for the Forbanne to escort her off the stage. Disgusted by his behavior, he turned and made to retreat to save what little face was still available to him, when Lilica blocked his hurried exit.
“It is of little consequence, your Majesty,” he said, expertly concealing his sensitivity on the subject, despite the urge to coldly deflect anyone who inquired of his curse, even if they meant well. It would disservice Lilica’s efforts of extending a tentative truce between them if he persisted in his flagrant shows of disrespect, especially when she’d taken so much initiative to disarm the venom spewing from the mouths of her people. He wasn’t ungrateful. On the contrary...she had impressed him.
In place of reactive, borderline hostile dismissal, he offered a genteel smile of appreciation, crediting her benevolent gesture. “Your offer is kind, but I will have to decline. While I’ve heard tell that Master Kristeva is without peer, I do not require emergency attention at this time.” A blatant lie, but the truth would be impolite...and irrational. What else could he say? That he’d lose the remains of his self-respect if he accepted unsolicited help from another leader? That he trusted only Nia to treat his symptoms? That, bad though the flare-up, it seemed to prevent others from blooming to the surface? That...he refused to seek healing until they obtained freedom for Nia? In solidarity and in shame, he would carry the burden—indefinitely, if she died—as a stigma of his broken promise. Undoubtedly, it would affect his art, but the hand represented the many renderings of Nia’s naked form it lovingly recorded in his sketchbook. He’d sooner let it desiccate and crumble into detritus than permit it to create after it contributed to the destruction of something most beautiful and cherished. If she perished...what was the point in making anything beautiful ever again?
“Perhaps the constancy of my malady will inspire the Galeynians to release Miss Nia out of charity. Doubtful, but nothing is lost in the attempt.” He managed to yank a glove over the gnarled, unsightly thing, like throwing a tarp over a dead tree in winter, blotting it from existence.
By then, Alster, Elespeth, Chara, and Hadwin joined the circle, responding to Lilica’s summons and her plan of action.
“First off, let me apologize for earlier,” Alster said, scrubbing the back of his arm, looking meek and sheepish. “I wasn’t trying to martyr myself back there. Not intentionally. It just...happened that way. I panicked, so I said whatever I could think of to lift some of the blame from Nia’s shoulders, but then D’Marians started rallying behind me to get back at the Galeynians and...now I’m a convenient hero for them again,” he sighed, his shoulders drooping. “They’ll use me for clout.”
“Not to mention, the D’Marians now want justice for Sigrid,” Haraldur came up from behind everyone, a knot of annoyance forming between his eyebrows, intensifying his severe expression. “What do they hope to accomplish, demanding her head? They won’t get it, or her.”
“Please understand that the D’Marians are not employing such tactics out of malice,” Ari gently explained. “I sincerely do not believe they wish for Sigrid Sorenson. They merely wish for their voices to matter, because they have not mattered for centuries. For generations. Even in their own homes. To gain leverage and prove their right to exist as a collective who are also hurting and desperate, they will loudly proclaim, ‘We are here. We have a purpose. We may not be yours, but please do not ignore our cries.’” He lowered his cane, leaning his petrified hand atop it to relieve its heady weight. “Lord Rigas,” he tilted his head at Alster, “your deeds and your actions legitimize D’Marian presence in Galeyn. Though you may disagree with their capricious and ever-fluctuating regard for you, they require a champion to alleviate their alienation and isolation. You will find D’Marians are more willing to cooperate when they feel a sense of belonging to a greater community to which they can actively contribute. Unfortunately, community cannot endure if Galeynians and D’Marians are split on such a critical decision, so you have my word that I shall endeavor to collect as many individual voices as possible to sway the vote in Miss Nia’s favor.” Lowering into a bow before Lilica, he dismissed himself, coattails billowing in the breeze as he strode off stage, shoulders set wide and head raised in defiance to counterbalance the threat of defeat that settled so deeply into his bones.
Tomorrow came, and tomorrow forecast similar weather conditions among the crowd; a chilly wind in the hearts of Galeynians and a furious squall ready to splutter from the mouths of D’Marians. Due to the very limited time frame, Ari and Hadwin’s search for willing participants to share their testimonials amounted to a small number, its majority coming from bar patrons of the places the faoladh frequented with Nia, and several members of the Canaveris family, including Nadira, Lazarus, and Sylvie. Outside the family, young Elida Farroway, who still kept the rose, crushed between pages of a book, as a memento of Lord Canaveris’s soirée wherein the Master Alchemist presented it to her as a gift, along with words of encouragement, chose to stand by the accused. Some denizens from the palace even volunteered to speak for Nia. Haraldur Sorde, who enjoyed a relative amount of celebrity among Galeynians, agreed to discuss his limited but benign, cooperative, and generally inoffensive encounters with the woman, if it would ease the D’Marians’ bloodlust off Sigrid’s head. Bronwyn Kavanagh and Teselin Kristeva joined Hadwin’s small contingent, the former more than happy to list Nia’s inexhaustible virtues backed by anecdotal evidence, and not limited to the small but thoughtful comfort given on the eve following her sister’s death. Together, they all stood on the stage, waiting to be presented by Ari, Alster, Chara, and Lilica, the latter of whom...looked a little worse for wear.
In lieu of having the Galeynian Queen speak first, Alster and Ari volunteered to address the crowd, buying a little time for her to recover some of her bearings long enough to conduct the trial. Chara stayed beside her, subtly offering a shoulder on which to lean and clutch.
“Galeynians. D’Marians. Welcome to day two of the trial: the Kingdom of Galeyn versus Anetania Ardane. We shall forthwith resume discussions on a suitable redress for Miss Nia, the accused.” Ari made a sweeping gesture towards the Master Alchemist, but maintained eye contact with the crowd, again too heartbroken to dedicate his full attention to Nia’s worrying physical and mental condition. “Today, we focus on individual testimony, of which we have twenty-two, all told. I hope you have received ample rest and reflection in the twenty-four span since our last encounter. To recapitulate, we are all in agreement to conduct ourselves with noble bearing, yes?” Ari waited until he heard a verbal confirmation from the majority of the crowd before resuming his speech. “Very good, then. Kindly remember, it is Miss Nia Ardane who stands trial; not Sigrid Sorenson,” he scanned the bobbing heads of the D’Marian half of the audience; following yesterday’s spat, they integrated less with their Galeynian peers, preferring a wider line of demarcation between themselves and the kingdom’s citizenry.
“Before we begin, it is imperative to remind Galeyn that I, indeed, am responsible for turning Miss Nia in to the authorities. Clarification on my part is needed. Bear in mind, my decision to comply with the arrest order is an expression of my respect for the justice system, a system built to oversee a fair and balanced trial. I entrust Galeyn to refer to the protocols laid out by their constitution, which state the likelihood of a conditional pardon if the accused have proven themselves invaluable to the needs of an allied party. I understand this edict was originally drafted into law in reference to your deep, historical ties to Braighdath, the ‘allied party’ in question, but as this protocol does not specify Braighdath or the Dawn Guard in writing, ‘ally’ can just as easily refer to Stella D’Mare.” He lowered his glossy head to the audience, less of a bow, which would weaken his bid, and more of a reverent nod. “I, Lord Aristide Canaveris, humbly beseech your consideration in granting Miss Nia Ardane a conditional pardon, by your trusted and proven ally, who requires her specialized alchemical expertise to resolve, in full, the breadth and depth of my current affliction.”
“It can’t be done without the aid of two Master Alchemists and a skilled mage,” Alster added, once the crowd was given ample time to digest Ari’s impressive knowledge and interpretation of Galeynian law. “If we hope to eliminate any signs of recurring petrifaction, we need Nia Ardane for this undertaking. Doesn’t it stand to reason, then, that she’s most useful to us alive, and not dead? Master Alchemists are so far and few in between. It would be inadvisable to kill someone whose rare and formidable abilities can prove an asset and an improved quality of life to our society. In lieu of death, please allow her to pay her debts to Galeyn through service to the community.” He looked over his shoulder at the small group of men and women ready to testify to Nia’s benefit. “I’m sure our gathered witnesses would all readily agree to this more beneficial course of action.”
Something strange occurred with regard to Nia’s behaviour following the trial that first day. Despite that things had not been looking up for her, and everyone’s suspicions--that Galeyn wanted her head--had in fact been confirmed beyond reasonable doubt, upon returning to her cell, the Master Alchemist seemed… oddly at ease. She even ate, not only the new meals provided for her, but previous meals that had gone untouched and had yet to entirely go stale. This was good news, or at least Lilica chose to interpret it so, when it reached her. Did this mean that something had swayed the condemned woman at the trial, that day? Had she decided it was not time to give up if so many were willing to speak on her behalf?
That was how the Galeynian queen interpreted this turnaround from Nia’s otherwise catatonic state in which she ate nothing and hardly moved. It would never have occurred to her just how far from the truth she actually was.
As promised, everyone reconvened the next day--well, not everyone. A handful of Galeynians had decided that the open and public trial had proven too much for them to tolerate, with the heated emotions and insults volleyed back and forth between D’Marians and Galeynians. But just because there stood fewer Galeynians, and some had chosen to withdraw their opinion, the group of state representatives had not dwindled, and they all looked prepared to deliver exactly what Queen Lilica had requested: arguments based on logic and reason, not impassioned emotion. But, with both Ari and Hadwin having found handfuls of D’Marian and Galeynian citizens willing and ready to give individual testimonies, the Galeynian queen had to believe that there still stood a chance for the condemned Master Alchemist to walk free.
Lilica, against the warnings of Senyiah, who insisted they put off the trial until the queen was well and strong and able to stand for long periods of time, arrived in a timely manner and held her head high… but today, the mere act of doing that sapped her energy, and deep down, she knew she would not get through this without support. She was wordlessly grateful when Ari and Alster took the stage first, allowing her time to try and collect herself, and ever relieved for Chara who still sat at her side, even if she was prohibited to speak, as per her agreement with the Canaveris lord. In any case, Lilica had to admit that Ari was good at this: at addressing a crowd in a way that sought to elicit the responses and outcomes that he strove for. No wonder he was such a political force to be reckoned with… A real master of words, tone, and persuasion. Somehow, he’d even managed to gain a firm grasp of Galeynian law in the short time that they’d had to prepare for this trial. If he couldn’t convince the Galeyniains to shift their vote to compassion, then she feared all truly would be lost.
Despite everything and everyone they had gathered to speak in Nia’s defense, however, nothing prepared them for what happened, directly following Aristide’s speech. A voice from off to the side spoke up for the first time, when she had squandered her chance to speak the day before. “I was told I’d have a chance to speak for myself.” It was Nia, flanked on either side by Forbanne guards. She did not look up--particularly not at Ari--but spoke clearly. “Does that still apply?”
“Of course.” Lilica, who sat within earshot, was quick to approve the accused’s request, and straightened her spine. “Lord Canaveris--the amplifying stone, if you please.”
Ari complied, but Nia made every effort not to make eye contact as she took the stone from him and then took a stand, to face the people who wanted to kill her, and who wanted to protect her. The rock was not heavy, but her trembling hands required that they both hold it in front of her mouth to keep it steady.
“I’m going to make this short, so as not to waste anyone’s time--and because I don’t know how long your Queen is going to be able to pretend she’s not ready to faint.” The Master Alchemist spoke in her strained and unpracticed voice, vaguely gesturing to Lilica with a nod of her head. “So here’s what I have to say: on behalf of Galen, I want to make it clear that I’m not here to defend myself. And I accept the sentence this kingdom proposes.”
“You have got to be kidding…” Lilica hissed, and looked about ready to stand and tear that stone out of Nia’s hand, but she knew her legs would not permit such an abrupt and reckless action. The announcement elicited loud murmurs from all sides of the crowd, such that Nia had to raise her voice a little, even with the use of the amplifying stone.
“Here’s the thing: I’ve been running from death and punishment from a very, very long time. I was terrified of the possibility that I could die. But I’ve had a lot of time, lately, to do nothing but just sit around and think, and it’s occurred to me… that death is a stupid thing to fear. Especially when you try to look to the future, and don’t see anything that particularly makes you want to oppose it anymore.” She shifted her weight to take it off of her bad leg, which would begin to throb with as little as five minutes of standing. The infection might have been gone, but the damaged muscle still caused her grievances. “Everything I did, I did because I’m a coward, and I’m selfish, and more than anything, I wanted a reason not to have to run anymore. So, I sought a home, but… this could never be my home. Not under the circumstances that brought me here--and I should have known that from the very beginning. That lack of foresight was my bad. And running isn’t much of an option anymore: it’s fucking exhausting, and this leg doesn’t get me very far, these days. All this time, I thought I was running and hiding for hope, for the chance for a future, but I was deluding myself. I wasn’t running or surviving for me at all.”
One hand touched her throat, and the ugly star pendant that had sat there for over a decade… and she tore it from her neck. “My older sister made this ugly-ass thing. Great Master Alchemist, she was, but a shitty jeweler. She made me promise I’d survive, and all this time, I really thought her spirit was protecting me, but I was… wrong. She wasn’t protecting me or watching over me. She was holding me hostage to her desires, to some far off future that she couldn’t have, because she’s fucking dead. All this time, I’ve been completely beholden to the dead… how fucked up is that? My family’s gone: long dead for over a decade now. They don’t know what it’s like to live in the shadow of their perceived crimes. They don’t know how hard it is… So why the fuck do they get to decide what I do? Why bother fighting for some mythical future where I can actually trust people not to fuck me over?” Her words, growing ever more impassioned, brought colour to her cheeks, and the trembling in her hands grew worse. “The truth is, you can’t trust anyone, no matter what you do or what they tell you. You never know who’s gonna turn on you, and for what reason… It doesn’t matter that I’m a prisoner right now. I’ve been a fucking prisoner my entire life… and I didn’t even realize it!” She even let out a strained laugh. “Imagine, being this fucking blind for over a decade… if I’d had half a chance to really think, maybe I’d have realized this sooner. I guess I have you all who sought my arrest to thank for this forced pause. When you’ve got nowhere to go, all you can do is think.”
With what little strength her arm had, Nia tossed the necklace aside, and it landed like a blemish on the white, stone floor of the amphitheater, several yards away. “So… I accept this punishment. You people have all wanted nothing more than to have a handle on your own homes for some time, now. Don’t let me fuck that up--you all deserve to just fucking live in peace. And if I have to die to make that possible, so that no one ever thinks to fuck with you again, then that’s fine. That’s alright. As for you, the D’Marians,” she turned to face the half of the crowd who--bless them--had been advocating for her pardon and release, “there are other Master Alchemists out there that can lift your beloved leader’s curse. I can even give you some names and places to start looking, since we’re kind of an elusive bunch. I was jotting notes on the procedure, and they can be found in my old bedroom, back at the palace. Any Master Alchemist can interpret them with ease. I just…” Already winded, Nia closed her eyes and took a break, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “I want this to all be over.”
“Forgive my ignorance of Galeynian law, but to my limited knowledge, an accused does not get to decide their own fate.” Heads turned at the late arrival of a new presence that no one had anticipated. Isidor Kristeva himself, well-dressed and clean, and with his hair tied at the back of his neck, strode through the part in the crowd to make himself heard. A man who so abhorred addressing anyone, let alone the public, had indeed chosen to speak. And just as Nia’s words came as a shattering surprise… so, too, did his.
“Not long ago, you all learned that I was a ‘victim’ to Anetania Ardane’s depravity… but I’m not here to talk about that. I’ve already addressed it, but for my own personal experiences with this woman, I would like to think that my vote also matters for something. So, here it is:” He turned directly to face a shocked Nia, then, his features firm and unyielding. “You, Anetania Ardane, do not deserve the easy way out. You do not deserve to forget everything and cease to exist so that you don’t have to face consequences. What Galeyn has asked for is, frankly, too good for you--and I agree with Lord Aristide Canaveris’s amendment to your sentence: that you remain here, for as long as Galeyn deems necessary, dedicate your skills to helping those who have been affected by your direct or indirect actions, and face the sentiments of all of these slighted people. Lifting the D’Marian leader’s curse is really the least you can do, after you stood by while the witch, Locque, had her way with this kingdom. Death really is too good for some.”
Lilica’s jaw dropped, and she almost forgot to close her mouth. This was not the defense that she had expected, and not from Isidor Kristeva, of all people. He hadn’t even been present the previous day: no one, to her knowledge, had approached him, or informed him that the trial had carried over into today. Unexpected as her words were... it was still a tactic that may well work in Nia’s favour. The Master Alchemist herself appeared taken aback and at a complete loss for words. The entire crowd stirred with unrest, at Nia’s decree and Isidor’s rebuttal; it was not the peaceful proceedings that everyone had hoped for, but… something had been stirred in the crowd, on the Galeynian side in particular. She could see it in the faces of the Galeynian state representatives: they appeared suddenly… uncertain. Ill at ease.
“Alright--thank you, Master Kristeva. Your input is valuable.” The Galeynian queen, against her better judgment, finally took a stand before the crowd, taking the amplifying stone from a dumbfounded Nia’s trembling hands. “I understand some paties have come here to speak individually to…” Lilica’s voice trailed off. Before she knew what was happening, she was falling, her knees buckling and her body bound to hit the ground. She was fortunate that Isidor was already standing there to catch her before she hit the ground. At once, a good portion of the crowd was on their feet, raising their voices in concern--particularly the Galeynians, who wondered what was happening to their Queen.
To buy them some time, and to give Lilica a chance to recover, Elespeth stepped up and took the amplifying stone from where it had landed on the ground. “Take an intermission to gather your thoughts and decisions! Your queen needs a moment.”
Chara was also at Lilica’s side in seconds, but the queen of Galeyn was already struggling to her feet. “I’m fine. I got light-headed…” She tried to dismiss the severity of her symptoms, but the flush across her nose and cheeks suggested that she was fighting off a fever, and failing miserably. “I am going to see this trial through to the end. Let us hear the testimonies…”
“Why are you defending me?” Nia spoke up, speaking directly to Isidor, but the question was directed at everyone who had gathered. “What’s going on…? I’m guilty. I’ve come to terms with this--I made peace with it. I knowingly worked for a tyrant… I don’t deserve--”
“Oh, I’m not defending you. I am trying to prevent you from making a mess of this kingdom by being the token that incites civil war between Galeynians and D’Marians.” Isidor Krisetva hissed and roughly grabbed Nia by the shoulder. This incited the Forbanne guards to step into action and flank the prisoner on either side, prepared to pull her away should the Kristeva alchemist initiate violence. “I meant what I said: you don’t deserve an easy way out. Some people are livid that you are still alive: some people--lots of people,” he gestured to Ari, Alster, Lilica, and then to the whole of the D’Marian crowd, “are going out of their fucking way to exonorate you. You sided with the wrong person, Ardane--so you get to face them both. The angry people, and the bleeding hearts. That is what I want for you. And if, in the end, you end up benefiting from it all from it all and earning freedom…” He dropped his hands to his sides. “Then I can only hope you’ll have learned something in all of this. It’s time you make peace with reality, Anetania Ardane.”
“I don’t… understand.” Clutching her elbows and dropping her chin to her chest, Nia dropped her voice to a whisper. “I don’t know what’s real anymore…”
Meanwhile, there appeared to have been much talk among the Galeynian representatives, some heated words and intense conversation. At last, they broke away, but there had been a shift in dynamic. They no longer appeared to all stand as a united entity. “You do not speak for all of us!” The middle-aged man who had spoken for the group just the other day shouted at a younger woman, who stepped forward, along with a handful of others from that same cluster.
“Not all of us; but most of us. It is no longer unanimous.” She shouted back, flanked by not all of the other representatives… but the majority. There had, indeed, been a divide, since Ari’s, Nia, and subsequently, Isidor’s speeches. “Your Majesty. You are barely able to stand… and yet, still, you stand for us, for a matter that we wanted resolved, perhaps prematurely. This has already been drawn on for too long, and it is clearly costing you your health, when you already put so much at risk to save this kingdom from the witch.”
“Wait!” The man she had been arguing with took her side, his face furious. “We are not in agreement--”
“It doesn’t matter. Your vote to condemn the accused to a death sentence is outweighed. Because the rest of us--the majority of us, accept the D’Marian leader’s proposal. Your Majesty.” She clasped her hands in front of her, lines etched into her face that exemplified over a year of living in fear and stress. “You are right: we are not a violent people. We are… hurt, and some feel that the only way to rid themselves of that hurt is to make others hurt. But if this woman on trial did, in fact, save a D’Marian’s life, and has planned to rid him of a complex curse… then we, too, advocate not for a decision that will put the people inhabiting this kingdom at odds with one another, but to better Galeyn. What is left of it.”
Turning her head to address the crowd, the woman raised her voice and called, “Those of you who wish for the accused to atone for her allegiances through actions of community service--please, stand with us. Let us set this matter to rest.”
Sure enough, the majority of bodies occupying the amphitheater stood. All D’Marians, and approximately a little over one half of Galeynians were in favour of sparing Nia’s life. Not unanimous… But enough that the popular vote was indisputable.
“Then it has been decided. Anetania Ardane, found guilty on accounts of aiding and abetting Locque, shall be sentenced to perform reasonable acts of service in this kingdom, at each community’s discretion. We shall work out the details… at a later date.” Letting out a sigh, Lilica took a step back and stumbled into Chara, who was the only thing holding the weakened queen upright. “Please take me to the Night Garden,” she murmured, hoping that Ari would have the decency to relieve Chara of her own servitude for long enough to see the queen to safety. “Senyiah… will know what to do. Haraldur.” Before she was led off to an awaiting carriage, the Galeynian queen addressed the Forbanne Commander, who stood nearby. “There is no need to have Ardane return to the dungeon. However, she is still to be confined to a room, and keep those shackles on her for the time being. We’ll discuss her freedoms in stages when she had the lucidity to be trusted with them.”
Ari’s speech—and Alster’s advocation of it—caused a little bit of dissent among the gathered Galeynian representatives. Some frowns and fierce whispers proliferated, their disunity showing a bit of promise. If people were beginning to change their minds, then perhaps Nia’s sentence would be recanted. For the first time since her arrest, Ari dared to hope, dared to raise his eyes to search for the silver lining in the sky.
He even dared to view Nia’s sudden interest in speaking for herself as a positive, progressive sign. Surely, she must have realized the increasing likelihood of her continued survival, a survival that did not necessitate running for her life, or shirk the potential for a home. For a future. Even if the future did not exist with him.
When Lilica requested he hand over the amplifying stone to Nia, he complied, closing the distance between them. Not since the night they’d linked arms, just before he delivered her to her captors, had they met in such close proximity. They stood so close, he could hear the troubled breathing rattle in her chest, smell the accumulated sweat clinging to her skin and clothes...the same clothes Sylvie had given her to wear, now ruined. Yet still, despite their nearness, he avoided her gaze, and she, too, did the same. The amplifying stone left his good hand, expertly conveyed so that their fingers didn’t accidentally brush. Then, he stepped away, clasping both hands over his cane to combat the nervous energy jittering through his limbs in anticipation of her words, her argument. Her defense.
She opened her mouth, and…
His heart plummeted.
“Nia,” he whispered, but she wouldn’t hear him. Wouldn’t look at him. As she spoke of her willingness to die, spurred by her frustration of trusting the wrong people and for living over a decade, bereft of basic, inalienable freedoms each person deserved, she yanked off her beloved necklace and tossed it aside. It landed on the stage, a contrast of twisted metal upon smooth alabaster. He stared at the discarded necklace, flinching as though she’d tossed him out alongside the jagged pendant of her sister’s amateurish creation. How would have events differed if he’d never turned her in? If he never betrayed her trust? If he allowed her to run and they organized a long-off date for a reunion, ready to start anew? Had he been the catalyst to her all-encompassing, fatalistic, self-damning attitude? Had it been he, who single-handedly handed her the tools to her own self-destruction? I did this to you, haven’t I? My final contribution, it tipped you over the edge. If you survive this...I do not expect you will forgive me.
A wave of malaise darkened the tint of his silver lining, turning it a stormy gray. It eclipsed his general surroundings such that he hardly noticed when another person traversed the stage. He recognized this man, making his vague acquaintance, once, months ago, but he knew him better for his vaunted reputation. What did Isidor Kristeva want with these proceedings? Curious, he looked to Alster, who returned with a somewhat confused shake of the head. Evidently, the Rigas mage hadn’t invited Isidor to speak, understanding that anything to do with Nia Ardane was currently a sore point for the reclusive Master Alchemist.
“Should we be worried?” He whispered to Alster beside him, who, believing in his friend’s integrity, slowly shook his head, ‘No.’
And so they listened to the man’s unorthodox but effective defense of Nia Ardane, less so championing her goodness, and more so doubling down on her guilt and her need to suffer her poor, mishandled decisions. This angle seemed to have its intended effect, swaying the majority of the Galeynian representatives and the crowd at large, as evidenced by their expressions of doubt and contradicting, clashing whispers.
But before anything else could occur, Lilica, struggling to introduce the small crowd and their individual testimonies, teetered over and...collapsed, eliciting cries of concern from the Galeynians—and even some of the D’Marians. Chara and Alster were at her side in moments. Buoyed upright by Isidor, she was on her feet, but barely, leaning heavily against her supporting crutch.
Alster thrust his hand over Lilica’s forehead, frowning. “Lilica, you’re burning up. Let’s adjourn, or at the very least, call a brief recess. I can relieve your fever long enough to carry us through the rest of the trial.”
Not surprisingly, she refused to heed the advice, preferring to see the verdict through to its bitter end. Ari, who had occupied the front of the stage beside Elespeth, reassuring the worried crowd and calmly calling for order, observed the Galeynian Queen from his periphery, features softening in the subtlest hint of approval and recognition for her enduring spirit, despite the rigors of fever and illness.
Forgoing the testimonies, it appeared the Galeynian representatives, who were deep into the throes of discussion, were prepared to pass on their amended verdict. By the sounds of the infighting among the party, the results sounded promising.
And they were.
By popular vote, three-fourths of the crowd standing to support the newest motion, Nia Ardane was found guilty. But she would serve her punishment not in death, but in life, to the communities affected by her wrongful alliance with the deposed and defeated tyrant. For better or for worse, Nia would not receive her ardent wish.
“Galeynians. Our debt of gratitude is bottomless.” Ari said, electing to have one last, albeit brief word, before Lilica succumbed in entirety to her fever. “As a gesture of friendship, a symbol of our intertwining communities, please accept from us a gift. We shall rebuild the palace observatory, restored to its original splendor. I dedicate the observatory as a memorial to the beloved Galeynian men and women who cannot be here with us today, but who surely will not be forgotten. We Canaverises believe as you do; that the spirit returns to the earth, nourishes the land, and enriches the flowers, the trees, the crops. We as a people will flourish. Galeynians as a people will flourish. It is written in your histories, and histories, doomed as they are to repeat, do also predict patterns of wealth and prosperity. The sun shall return to bless this land, fair Galeynians, and we D’Marians shall endeavor to clear the sky for you.”
Appreciative applause and whoops of delight from the much louder D’Marian populace followed in the Canaveris lord’s wake as he retreated, making first for the Galeynian Queen, who Chara had steadied in her arms as they waited for the royal carriage to draw closer to the open space backstage, for a more direct and cleaner getaway.
“Please accept my sincerest apologies, your Majesty,” Ari bowed, and this time, it dipped him to a height lower than the small and slight woman, a significant feat, considering his fairly tall stature. “I’ve put you through much grief, no doubt. I would very much like to go forward as trusted allies and comrades, pending your approval. You have my indefinite cooperation. And my respect. To jumpstart the prospect of a benign and beneficial union,” he turned to Chara, “you are hereby relieved of your service to the Canaverises. Next we meet, we shall discuss reinstatement and reintegration. Perhaps it would not be such a terrible idea for you to contribute some community service to the D’Marian settlement.”
Not wanting to keep them from obtaining immediate treatment from the Night Garden, Ari wished the two well before returning to the stage, where the small gathering of people willing to give their testimonials still remained; in particular, the Canaverises, the Kavanaghs, and their friends. “There is no need to testify on Miss Nia’s behalf,” he informed the people. “However, if you would all like to congregate at a later date, we can discuss and draft ideas for how best she can serve our communities.”
“Are you not going to speak to her?” The voice belonged to his niece. Bright-eyed Sylvie shifted her dark eyes in the direction where Nia, accompanied by her two Forbanne guards and Haraldur, descended the stairs, en route to a nearby carriage.
Ari half turned, catching the movement of Nia’s boots as they crunched on the grass outside the bounds of the amphitheatre...but he didn’t look up to acknowledge the rest of her. “No, Sylvie. Let her rest. I doubt she desires the company of Canaverises. Come,” he gestured to his family, “let us return to the settlement. We have an observatory to design.”
As he ushered the people off the stage, Ari stopped mid-stride when something brushed his feet. Lowering his head, he glimpsed the pendant, its sharp, jagged edges a hazard for anyone wearing the heavy, clumsy thing around their necks. From an aesthetic standpoint, he disliked the jewelry piece, deeming it ugly, lopsided, and awkward, but he couldn’t devalue its sentiment and significance, and for that, couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind. Scooping it from the stage, he slipped the clunky thing into his pocket...and headed home, his footsteps leaden. Heavy. They had won. Nia would live! Victory was assured. If so...why did he feel so lost?
Nia’s carriage, as before, hosted her two Forbanne guards, but with the addition of Haraldur, the small, four-person conveyance became a little cramped with too-big, too-tall bodies trying to keep their knees in and their shoulders squared to account for the limited space. By the position of the sun outside, morning had crossed into afternoon, a handful of hours yet before nightfall, meaning there remained over an hour to kill until the daylight-traveling Night steeds, at normal speed, reached the palace. Normally quiet and reserved, Haraldur, sitting across from Nia, noted the bare section of neck where her sister’s necklace once hung.
“I had one of those, too,” he remarked softly, idly playing with his wedding band that hung from a gold chain around his own neck. “It belonged to my mother before she died. I carried that necklace for years. Until recently...when it fell apart and I finally let it go. It protected me from death, even when I didn’t want the protection. Especially when I didn’t want the protection. I had no interest in survival, but there I was, forced to live on, held hostage by a life I didn’t want. It made sense to die. When you’ve done what I’ve done, when you’ve wiped out whole communities, civilians...children,” his fingers slid from the band, from his chest, “why bother justifying your existence?”
“But sometimes you have no choice but to justify why you’re still here. When death doesn’t want you, you might as well ask yourself why, and accept the answer; that you’re not going anywhere.” He sought the Master Alchemist’s haggard face for understanding. “So ask yourself: why didn’t you die today, Nia? Why won’t people let you die? These are questions I might have to ask Sigrid, too, when I tell her she was forced to kill a D’Marian family, a child, too, all in the name of your awful queen who you valued so highly, more than the people who actually gave a damn about you. You turned a blind eye to innocent civilians getting slaughtered. What for? Did you think it would give you peace of mind, knowing the home you fought to steal was financed by the blood of innocents? Did you sleep well, warm and safe in your cozy bed every night, knowing how you earned your ‘freedom’? By taking it from other people?”
Though his words were harsh, his expression hadn’t shifted from its impassive yet unerring stare. Like his attitude of late, he was too exhausted to properly emote. To properly feel. His soldier’s persona took prominence, and it was a persona that inspired fear and stirred quiet intensity, but not anger. He wasn’t angry. He was...numb.
“You can’t forget what you did, Nia. That’s the first step to forgiveness. To never forget. To this day, I haven’t forgotten the faces of the children I killed, directly or indirectly. Breane’s face will never leave me. This is what you’re in for, and I hope you stick around. I hope you do this the hard way, and you put in the work for the things you value, and you earn everything honestly, because what Isidor Kristeva said out there is right. You sided with the wrong person, and now you pay the consequences. That’s how punishment works. You get the thing you want the least. Live with it. That’s what I did.” His severe features softened, a tad. “And I got a family out of it.”
Nia was granted a place in her previous chambers. She was also granted a bath and a fresh set of clean clothes. Meals were provided three times a day, as before, but the food delivered was a vast improvement from prisoner’s fare and focused on nutrition-heavy selections from the Night Garden to bolster her failing health. Gardeners had paid frequent visits to address the state of her weakened leg, offering ointments, tinctures, and teas, and suggesting rehabilitative exercises to improve its muscle mass and flexibility. Her manacles, while not scheduled for removal, were given a few extra links, improving her range of motion to about half an arms’ length.
Everyone accepted that Nia would be incapable of serving the D’Marian and Galeynian communities without first regaining her strength and mental fortitude, which would take a few weeks at best, factoring her current rate of recovery. To keep the focus on convalescence and recuperation, she received scant few visitors over the first three days, limited in company to Gardeners, attendants, and Forbanne who guarded her door and allowed her outside for her daily sanctioned walks around the palace (she wasn’t yet steady on her feet to graduate to strolls around the Night Garden). No one let her sit idle, or wallow alone; a guard was always stationed inside her chambers, assigned to ascertain she didn’t harm herself or attempt to end her life. Never was she permitted to reject her daily walks, or skip meals, because no one trusted her to treat her health as a serious issue that required a speedy and progressive response.
Three days had passed since Nia’s overturned death sentence and subsequent removal from the dungeons. That afternoon, following her guard-accompanied walk, she returned to her chambers to find Sylvie Canaveris sitting on the edge of her bed.
“Hello,” she waved to the Master Alchemist, her smile turning a little shy, and self-conscious. “The door was open and you were not inside, so I...let myself in. It is awfully uncouth of me, I realize, but I...did not think you’d allow me entry if I knocked and asked politely.” She gathered tresses of loose, dark hair and wound them around her shoulder, an excuse to keep her eyes cast downward. “My uncle is on the premises today, so I accompanied him. We’re making preparations to rebuild the observatory, but first we must demolish some of the unworkable stone and clear the rubble before breaking ground. If you feel a few tremors throughout the day, don’t be alarmed; that would be us,” she smiled again, despite her fidgeting hands. “He does not know I sneaked inside to visit you. I asked if he would visit you and he said, ‘No.’ When I asked him ‘Why,’ he said you would not care to see him and he wants to respect your wishes. I, however, will not.” Releasing her hair, she stood, finding the confidence to cross her arms over her chest in defiance.
“He is terribly sad. He assumes I don’t see it, but I can tell. Is it true you would not talk to him? He worked so hard to overturn your sentence. It may not seem so, but he cares about you a lot. We...we all do.” She dropped her arms, no longer able to maintain her false bravado. “What happened that evening...happened against his wishes. Authorities came to the villa, unannounced, asking for you. He had intended on telling you everything, upfront, including his plan to bargain for your life so you would not have to run and forever lose your chance for a home. He deeply regrets hurting you. He wanted to save you from Locque, before the end, but...he did his best. We all did our best to help you.” Tears threatened to spill from the corners of her dark eyes. She stubbornly muffled her sniffles with the back of her hand. “I just thought...you would like to know. I’ll see myself out.” Bobbing her head in defeat, she shuffled out of the room and gently clinked the door shut behind her.
The moment the vote was cast--that Nia would not die, but would not only live, but live to serve--the entire world fell away for the rogue Master Alchemist. Sights and sounds were drowned out by the full immersion of her conscious mind into her confused and distressed thoughts. What was happening? Why was it happening? Just the other night, it had dawned on her that everything would be okay. That she didn’t have to make any more excuses to survive on behalf of people who had gone and died and left her alone in an unforgiving world. She’d done well, getting on all by herself for over a decade, but every marathon had to come to an end at some point. It didn’t matter if they would be proud of her for living, or angry with her for dying: for the first time, all that mattered to her was that she didn’t fear death anymore. For years, it had come after her, and she was ready to turn towards it.
Except, that wasn’t happening. There would be no reprieve, no end in sight to this marathon. This world and its people, they weren’t done with her yet, even if she was done with all of them. When just hours ago, there had been no future in sight, suddenly she found herself faced with a future rapt with more uncertainty and unknown variables than ever before. What was she in for? How long were they going to keep her here? And even when, one day, they saw fit to let her go… what then? Keep running, only on a bad leg, with less to her advantage than before?
She hardly realized the change of scenery when she was moved from outside to a carriage. It took her even longer to clue in that the carriage was moving… and that Haraldur, the stoic Eyraillian prince and Forbanne Commander, was talking to her. Trying to relate to her. But she couldn’t relate, because their circumstances weren’t the same. “...you seriously think there’s anything you can say to make me feel worse? About… everything?” Nia snorted and shut her eyes. The movement of the carriage made her dizzy, and for the first time in over a week, she had something in her stomach to throw up if it came to that. “Your journey to self-righteousness and upstanding morality is your own, Prince Sorde. When you run for your life for a decade… when every time you think it’s safe to trust someone, as soon as you let your guard down, they find your weak spots, you start to care less and less about what it takes to see the sunrise another day. Sorry I’m not the pinnacle of morality--but I’m alive. Even when… I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t be…”
Why? Why couldn’t anything go as expected? Locque, an infallible wielder of awesome power, was gone. Ari, who she had been so sure of, the one person who had been her true safe haven, had betrayed her. And now… now, even death didn’t want her! “What’s even the fucking point? Of feeling guilty or not feeling guilty? I allied with Locque to survive. Because anyone would have to go through her to get to me, and I figured, that was fucking unlikely. My fault was in not considering the reason why I was surviving… and that it was a shit reason to begin with. And now… what? I’m indentured to the crown of Galeyn, when a good quarter of the kingdom still wants to see me dead, anyway? Explain how my help is going to be of any consequence. This kingdom could’ve been rid of me and healed. They made a mistake.”
Nia’s distressed outlook would not change overnight, and as things were unfolding, they would get worse before they got better. To her, there was no difference between that cell and her old bedroom, or the old clothes Sylvie Canaveris had lent her to the new ones that clothed her now clean body. Although, she’d have preferred to retain her ruined clothes and wallow in her own filth, to the alternative of bathing in the tub tucked into the self-hygiene area of her room, in full view of whatever guard was permanently stationed inside her quarters. Frankly, she’d been granted more privacy in the dark confines of her cell, and had she been given the choice, she’d have chosen that straw mattress and lack of sunlight to not having a second to herself in the large, well-lit bedroom several stories above ground.
Nonetheless, on the slight chance that they would finally leave her the hell alone long enough to catch her breath, she complied with their terms… mostly. Eating was difficult; she had no appetite, couldn’t taste anything, and anything she put into her stomach nauseated her, even with tonics from the infirmary and from the Night Garden to settle her gut. The tinctures and salves to treat the pain in her stiff left leg went largely untouched, simply because she didn’t care to address the issue, and those awful walks around the palace often left her begging to return to her room just minutes in. While Nia Ardane did not make an attempt on her life, or to harm herself, it was clear that she didn’t see fit to improve her condition anytime soon--which, inevitably, led to a good deal of frustration on the part of those who were trying to encourage her to recover her health.
On the third day since she had been moved from the dungeon, her daily walk took her as far as the infirmary. Frequent check-ins were required to assess both the recovery or decline of her health, which was in and of itself a struggle, even with her cooperation. Even Daphni’s infinite patience was being tried by the Master Alchemist’s stubbornness. There was such a delicate balance between giving her the autonomy to look out for herself and forcing treatment on her, but the Sybaian healer was about ready to cross a line. “Did it occur to you, Miss Ardane, that walking would be less of a burden if you applied the tinctures from the Night Garden?” She asked, while Elias, who simply had no patience, checked the condition of Nia’s shrunken body. “One is for pain, and the other for muscle tension, if I recall. It was Senyiah’s orders that you use them both.”
“Even if I wanted to waste my time with that, it’d be forever before they’d take effect to a reasonable extent. They’re topical, Miss Sybaian healer.” Nia droned monotonously, and shook her head slowly. Her brunette locks fell in a tangled cascade down her shoulders and back; it had been eons, it seemed, since she’d tied it back in her intricate rose braid. “There’s nothing wrong with the outside of my leg.”
Daphni sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fair enough. I was actually conversing with Roan of the Dawn Guard earlier; Dawn Warriors are experts in and of themselves on battle related injuries that damaged muscle tissue. Evidently, there’s a method that could get you back on your feet without any pain with just a few treatments and in a couple of days. They take a fine needle--”
“Stop right there--I’ve seen the Dawn Guard. I know what they do with needles. No thank you.” The Master Alchemist was quick to dismiss the suggestion. “Newborn babies have better pain tolerance than I do. I’ll pass.”
“Then use what the Night Garden provides you with.” The Sybaian healer huffed a sigh as she moved to help the weakened Master Alchemist down from the table. “Start finishing more than a quarter of your meals, use the topical treatments for your leg, and take a tonic to get a full night’s sleep. I am trying to work with you here, Miss Ardane: but if you don’t cooperate, then you are going to lose the privilege of choosing for yourself.”
“Hey--I’m doing what I can, alright? I’d eat more if I wasn’t sick all the time. I’d sleep if those tonics could help me stay asleep.” Nia argued with a pout. “I’d love to have a good night’s sleep. It’s about the only thing I can look forward to.”
Crossing the room, Daphni retrieved a vial, which she then handed to Nia’s Forbanne escort. “Yes, I do recall you reporting that previous sleep aids have failed. This one from the Night Garden is very potent, and I would be surprised if it was not successful.” The Sybaian woman looked to Elias for his explanation of the Master Alchemist’s chronic digestive upset, and the tremors in her hands that sometimes spanned all the way up to her arms… but he had no answers. Nia was weak, of course, and her leg still injured in the aftermath of infection, her pulse always racing and her breathing quick and shallow--like her body was still prepared to run at any given moment--but otherwise, there was nothing physically amiss with the Master Alchemist and her astounding resilient physiology. No underlying aliment or disease… which made Daphni all the more certain that her symptoms resisted medicine because they were not ones which medicine could effectively relieve. It was for this reason that she reminded herself she could not be too hard on the deflated Master Alchemist. She didn’t get the sense that she was lying, given that bruised aura, full of holes and sore spots.
“Great. Always a pleasure, Miss Adela.” Nia flashed a tired and unconvincing smile as the Forbanne guard led her from the infirmary and--quite slowly, given her leg--back to her room. To her surprise, it was already occupied upon her arrival.
“...Sylvie?” Confusion and surprise were written all over the Master Alchemist’s face to find Ari’s niece sitting at the foot of her bed, waiting for her. What was she doing there? Had Ari sent her…?
The young girl went on to explain her presence. How the Canaverises would be present on the palace grounds for the time being as they repaired the observatory: a place that used to be her favourite dwelling in the palace. A place where she could find a moment to herself, or play the harp she had yet to finish refurbishing, or bask in the ghostly images of her sisters who were not really there. But, that aside, it turned out that Ari did not know that she was there at all. Sylvie had come of her own volition to… what? To tell her that, somehow, the Canaverises had always been on her side, and Ari had regrets? “...I’m not supposed to have visitors, Sylvie.” She said quietly and closed her eyes. “Look, if you’re worried about your uncle’s curse, I’m sure reversing it is going to be part of my atonement, since it will require two Master Alchemists… and I’m one of the only two Master Alchemists in this kingdom.”
True to her word, the young Canaveris girl did not linger. With indignant hurt, she took her leave and closed the door quietly behind her. If Nia’s words had wounded her, then she did feel remorse; this wasn’t about Sylvie. She was just a child, and couldn’t be held accountable for the actions and betrayal of her family. Nia couldn’t hold anything against her, but all the same… she didn’t want to think of Ari. Or of having to speak to him, because she wasn’t sure what she would say. If there really were any words that could ever repair what had been between them… then she was at a loss for them. And, clearly, so was he, or else he’d be here. Even if what Sylvie was saying was the truth, that they really had wanted her freedom, how had it not occurred to them that if Locque had found out they’d been plotting against her this entire time, things could have ended very, very badly for the Master Alchemist?
With a heavy sigh, Nia gingerly made her way over to her bed to take the weight off of her leg, and applied one of the useless salves to the ugly, jagged scar running up her calf. Another scar, another reminder that she’d survived… when she should have been dead. And might have been better off that way.
That evening, the Ardane woman required no insistence from the attending guard in her room to take the the new tonic to induce sleep--the third in a series of failures, since the Master Alchemist could not seem to nod off for more than minutes at a time before her rapidly beating heart would startle her awake, either chilled or in a cold sweat. If anything could afford her a solid eight hours--hell, she’d even take an hour--then no convincing was needed. As per the written instructions that accompanied the vial, Nia downed the contents as the sun was setting, and lay her weary body upon her bed. Sure enough, her eyelids became too heavy to keep open, and eventually they closed of their own accord.
And that was when the images started flooding her mind.
She was young--at least, younger than Sylvie. The Ardane estate was in utter chaos, surrounded by the Ilandrian king’s men, who endeavoured to break down the door. Felyse had a hard grip of her daughter’s wrist as he hauled her through the corridors, and into a guest bedroom. “What’s going on? Why is this happening?” A young Nia asked her mother, her voice laden with concern. “Hasn’t our family helped the crown for generations? Mother, why do they want to hurt us?”
Felyse didn’t have an answer. She pressed along one of the walls with her spare hand, until a false panel came loose, revealing a hole. It looked to have been intentionally built into the structure, and was big enough to fit maybe three people. “Get in,” was all she said, as she forcibly pushed her daughter inside. “Don’t you dare move from this spot until this madness is all over.”
Nia’s hand caught the Ardane matriarch’s arm. Her brown eyes were wide with fear and concern. However much the young alchemist feared and despised her own mother… there were greater enemies afoot. “You too. There’s room in here.”
A flicker of emotion that Nia didn’t recognize sparkled in Felyse’s eyes. Suddenly, she put her hand on her daughter’s cheek; a tender gesture that was completely unfamiliar to her. She touched her as if she were actually something very precious. “I am going to make the king rue the day he crossed the Ardanes. Those soldiers don’t know our family and what we are capable of; they have no idea what they are in for.”
“Mother…”
“I will retrieve you myself when I have disposed of them.”
Felyse finally withdrew, arranged the panel back in place, and left her daughter in the dark… but she did not return. From her hiding place in the wall, Nia heard screams, shouting, the sounds of conflict and violence for hours. At last, when the Ardane manor fell completely, deathly silent, Nia took a chance and emerged from the wall. Felyse had said she would come back for her, but… what if she was hurt? What if she needed her help?
Nothing prepared the young teenager for what she saw when she emerged from that room. Blood… so much blood. Everywhere. Bodies, of servants, of staff, lying in… pieces. The smell alone was enough to make her want to throw up--but she had to find Felyse.
“Mother…” She called, avoiding the carnage to the best of her ability, but her boots were still soaked in blood, and left sticky footprints on the floor. Eventually, she found the Ardane matriarch, but Felyse never would have returned to retrieve her. She couldn’t in her given state, lying in a pile of her own blood, her hands severed from her body (something that Nia would learn much later that Ilandria did to many of the Master Alchemists they’d captured). Nia screamed, petrified, but she couldn’t look away from the sight of the last of her family… gone. “Mother.” She choked out the word, tears streaking her face. How often had she wished for this woman’s death? And now that it had come… how badly she wanted to see her draw breath again. To touch her face again, one more time, like she was actually something worthy.
That was when the dead woman’s head turned, blood leaking out of her mouth, her nose, and her sightless eyes. “You’re the last,” her voice gurgled, as her mouth screwed up in a grimace. “And you sought death… so we have all died in vain. Dishonour, Anetania… you are a dishonour to us…”
Nia turned and ran. She ran and ran, and couldn’t understand why she wasn’t getting anywhere. It was as if her house had become a labyrinth, somehow causing her to wind up at the same spot, and behind every door she tried… was Felyse. Bloody, dead, partially dismembered, and always murmuring the same words. “You dishonour us…” She couldn’t escape her, couldn’t escape the image of her, now burned into her mind, and couldn’t find a way out of her own house. Nia was trapped and condemned, trapped and condemned…
Until she opened her eyes and awoke with a blood-curdling scream. She was sweating, and cold, and her whole body shook. Morning light leaked in from cracks in the curtains, but it did nothing to assuage the raw terror that flooded Nia’s veins. Reaching for the empty vial on her nightstand, along with the small, glass jars containing the tinctures for her leg, she grabbed them all and threw them hard against the wall, where they shattered into pieces. “Done…! No more! I’m fucking done with this!” She shrieked, that terrifying image of her mother burned behind her eyelids every time she so much as blinked. “Just… leave me the hell alone!”
While Elespeth was by no means a carpenter, she was at the very least able to lend her skills to the Canaverises by lifting particularly heavy materials that Ari in particular was unable to manipulate due to his petrified hand as the observatory underwent extensive repairs and redesign. She was not one to question how and at what rate the Canaveris lord and his brethren went about their work, but it was impossible not to notice his handicap: that heavy, petrified hand that could easily have been returned to flesh and bone, were he not so stubborn. The first day, the Rigas woman chose not to say anything, simply grateful that he was making such an effort to mend the rift between Galeynians and D’Marians by reconstructing this ruined observatory. But by the second day, when it was clear he was working at a much slower pace than the others, she couldn’t help but speak up. This would take forever and a day if something wasn’t done about that hand.
“How long do you intend not to address that?” She asked Ari outright as she crossed the room to stack some smooth stone that the Canaverises had expertly shaped into perfect bricks with their magic. “With all due respect, Ari, doesn’t this seem a little ridiculous to you? Isidor has already agreed to fix that hand of yours. You might not be his favourite person, considering how you turned the public against his best friend, but on behalf of both Alster and Lilica, I know he’d do a good job restoring that appendage for you. He’s not one to partake in petty sabotage. Or, you know well that you have a second option.” Dusting her hands off on her thighs, she arranged them on her hips and ignored the fact that the Canaveris lord clearly did not want to have this conversation. Too bad: it was about time someone pointed out the glaring, stone elephant in the room. “How long do you intend not to go and talk to her? It would do you both some good to work out your issues. She’s allowed visitors within reason and won’t get any better keeping to herself… and you won’t get any better touting around extra weight that you can’t even use.”
“Elespeth.” Senyiah, out of breath and looking as though she had been rushing around, called for the Rigas woman at the doorway of the ruined observatory. “Where might we find your husband? We could really use his services.”
“Alster? Last I checked, he was doing some damage control between some D’Marians and Galeynians who are having trouble working out their differences long enough to collectively rebuild some of the damaged homes in the central village…” Elespeth’s brow crinkled in concern. “Why? Is everything alright?”
“No. I mean, yes--hopefully, it will be. We’ve had a… small setback with the Ardane woman. The infirmary staff, the Gardeners, and even Master Kristeva’s efforts haven’t been fruitful in lending assistance. We’re simply going through our options. Please,” she nodded respectfully to Ari, “excuse my rude interruption to your hard and generous work, Lord Canaveris.”
The Head Gardener took her leave as hastily as she’d made her entrance, leaving Ari and Elespeth with more questions than answers. The former Atvanian screwed her mouth up into a frown. “How much do you want to bet you could be of better help in this situation than my husband? Ari… I’m by no means close to Nia, but the woman is as transparent as fresh spring rain and--let’s be honest, she probably couldn’t keep a secret for long if her life depended on it. Don’t you realize just how in love with you she is?” Her green eyes softened around the edges, and she shook her head slowly. “Love like that doesn’t just… disappear overnight. Do you really and truly think she’ll ever be herself again if you don’t at least try to talk to her?”
Sure enough, Senyiah found Alster doing his best to mediate interactions between a group of Galeynians (who had not voted in favour of Nia’s new sentence), and D’Marians who were still sore over what some Galeynians had said of their “transient presence” in this kingdom. Very little was getting done amidst all the arguing, and poor Alster was barely getting through to either side. The damage scattered around the kingdom would be resolved long before relations between D’Marians and Galeynians, it seemed.
“Alster. Might I have a word with you for a moment?” The exhausted Head Gardener politely pulled the Rigas mage aside to explain the current situation surrounding Galeyn’s ‘prisoner’. “It is my understanding that you, in fact, have some experience with drafting sleeping tonics. I rather hoped I could bother you for one, if you have the time. Would you walk with me?”
As they strode out of hearing range of any eavesdroppers, Senyiah lowered her voice to ensure their conversation did not become public knowledge. “The Master Alchemist in our care has shown biological resistance to any tonics crafted by the infirmary, and even one put together by Isidor Kristeva. She was given one from the Night Garden recently--one that Breane had, in fact, had formulated for tricky situations. While it had its intended effect, it wasn’t without… side effects. You see,” she sighed and clasped her hands in front of her. “Breane’s talents were nested in healing from the inside out, and while effective, not everyone is ready to face the damage and shadows that her draughts might make them see. Anetania Ardane has not been forthcoming with us about what plagues her mind and her heart; few know much of her history or the burdens she carries that she chooses not to share with the world… and it is clear that the tonic she took may well have done more harm than good. It was an honest error in judgment on my part; I did not realize just what that draught would unearth for her, and now that that wound is open…”
Senyiah sighed and wrung her hands. “Ideally, we would have her see that messy healing process through to the end, but she is neither ready for it nor mentally capable of enduring it, in our opinion. I’m afraid our attempts to see to her health have unfortunately led to some setbacks. I feel terrible asking for your assistance, but… the rest of us are at a loss. Since she awoke this morning, she has ceased all cooperation, and her symptoms are worse than before..”
Alster agreed to try and be of help, and he requested that he first see and speak to the distraught Master Alchemist. Senyiah complied, although hesitantly, and led him to Nia’s room, where not one, but now, two guards were stationed inside. She had made no move to harm herself in any way, but neither had she stood up from the corner of the room where she was huddled, all folded in on herself and shaking. At the first sign of Senyiah’s return, she looked up in fear. “No more--I told you, no more!” She shouted in a hoarse voice. “I won’t have any more of your Night Garden shit. It’s not worth it. None of this is worth it. I’d be fucking better off dead…!” Clutching her elbows, she dug her fingernails into her exposed flesh. “What will it take? What do I have to do… to have you all just leave me alone!”
Master of facade and projections of well-being though he was, it didn’t escape the perceptive person’s attention that the indelible Aristide Canaveris had begun to show signs of wear. While part of the reason could be attributed to the dense weight of his petrified hand anchoring him into a stooped slouch and tiring his movements, some had noticed he’d never recovered the verve and energy exhibited during the trial a few days ago. He addressed his people and concerns wearing a polite smile and a willingness to serve, as usual, but the smile never reached his eyes, sonorous and eclipsed by some vast darkness none could reach or address. Those who interacted with the Canaveris Lord most often were privy to his tells, namely Sylvie, Nadira, and Lazarus, but even their supportive and understanding presence didn’t remove the shadows that descended upon Aristide’s face and roosted there, indefinitely.
When the day’s work had ended and they headed home to the villa, he immediately retreated for his quarters and stayed there, an immediate concern for anyone who knew his gregarious nature. If he wasn’t entertaining people, he was in his workshop, chiseling some new masterpiece or dabbling with paints for hours, sometimes well into the night. But with the exception of designing the observatory’s plans, which were just a modified rehash of the old design, albeit with a few D’Marian touches, he hadn’t touched a paintbrush, or a hammer, or any tool used for creating, since Nia’s arrest one week ago, when his hand first flared into solid stone. However he ended up spending the time in his chambers, the lantern light flickering under the cracks of the door ruled out sleep, and the whispers attendants reported hearing from inside indicated he was speaking to someone, but they couldn’t determine who. Or what.
On another matter, no one, neither Sylvie nor Nadira, could convince him to seek an appointment to reverse the petrifaction on his hand. In allaying their concerns, he lied and assured them it was a recurring flare-up, not the same one, and it would vanish on its own, as it always did, within a day or two.
That was four days ago.
Another morning graced the palace grounds. True to his word, Ari had gathered his most capable earth mages, Canaveris and branch families all, to contribute in the reconstruction of the observatory. Having spent the first several days demolishing cracked and shattered stone, anything unsalvageable or unstable, they put aside the rubble for repurposing, carted in some marble from a nearby quarry, and began shaping the bricks and mixing the mortar. To maintain the integrity of the observatory and its elegant and delicate curlicue spirals, its resemblance to a Night Garden stalk a source of architectural pride in Galeyn, they kept as much of the original facade intact as was reasonable, which only amounted to the foundation and a few pieces from the observation deck, but it was something, at least.
Among earth mages, brick-making was one of the least physically demanding or difficult tasks to achieve. Equipped with measuring tools and a pencil, one simply drew out the shape and carved out the blocks from the slab with their magic. So effortless the process, even Ari, one-handed, contributed to creating a few piles of bricks when available. While it was nothing impressive compared to the other earth mages and their significant output, to a non-magical stonemason, it equalized to about a day’s work.
As Ari surveyed the grandiose floor space, in particular, the base of the observation tower where they would soon start construction on the stairs, he turned to find Elespeth Rigas crossing his line of sight, but she was not just merely walking by to deposit another load of bricks from one station to another. No, she had something to relay to him, and resolved to address her point head-on, no lead-in or word mincing.
“I appreciate your concern, Lady Rigas, but it is unnecessary,” Ari said, his hand, and any hint of its hardened, unwieldy mass, expertly hidden under the folds of his wide, bell sleeve. “I’ve long contended with the quirks of my condition, minus the assistance of a Master Alchemist. To have one is a perk, a privilege, but I do not require one. I am ambidextrous, and hence am fully capable of lending my assistance one-handed, whichever hand is available, as has frequently been the case in various instances.” For someone who enjoyed elocution, his words were terse and deflated. Strained. As though every phrase and note uttered was a task of the most monumental order. “Please remember, Lady Rigas, my main role and function here is as overseer. I am here to delegate and supervise this project until completion. Aside from my managerial presence, my physical contributions are finesse-based and timely, besides. I am here to add the finishing touches and flourishes, which will be implemented during the later stages of this project. If you recall, I am an artist by trade; not a mason.”
What he failed to convey was his flagrant lack of desire to ply his trade. For long nights, he lay awake on the floor, staring at the white ceiling, trying to fill its blank canvas with whorls of color and dimension, a relaxing pastime he oft enjoyed before going to sleep, but to no avail. Nothingness stared back at him. And when he turned his back on the nothingness, his eyes caught the remnants of a something, a something once alive and whole and meaningful, now reduced to a hunk of cold marble hunched in the corner of his chambers. Casimiro. The fingers of his good hand uncurled, reaching, seeking the comfort of the broken, wanting to make contact and clutch to his chest the reminder that there was a piece of himself he hadn’t yet lost. In less than two weeks, destruction made its cyclical turn, taking Casimiro from him a second time. And he, returning the favor, shattered Nia like she were his brother’s marble statue. All he had left of the two were remnants, and he could rebuild neither of them. His hand wasn’t poised to create. The world had grown colorless and stiff and heavy, like Locque’s inky, oppressive sky. Impossibly dark. Absolute black. If art was an interpretation of reality, then he wished to interpret oblivion...by making nothing at all.
His fingers made contact with the smooth shape of intricately carved stone, scanning the contours, the little divots where the petrified skin dimpled and tapered to introduce the forearm to the wrist bone, to the hand. Its touch was reaffirming, its temperature, a balm on a burn. “Goodbye, Casimiro,” he whispered to the remaining piece. And, closing his eyes, he reduced it to a pile of useless detritus.
Another figure entered the room and joined in on his and Elespeth’s conversation. The Head Gardener, searching for Alster, seemed in particular want of his assistance—and the reason soon became clear.
“A setback?” His eyes widened, his concern too profound to school under professional, detached calm. “Will Miss Nia be alright?” Senyiah offered small comforts, but nothing definitive, and her comments veered on the vague. As she respectfully withdrew from their company, it was difficult for Ari not to think the worst, based on what little he learned. “I am afraid you are mistaken, Lady Rigas,” he managed, after a long, troubled pause. He turned from Elespeth to inspect the condition of the wall as an excuse to avoid her scrutiny. His face, he was certain, gave him away; he felt the tightness in his stricken eyes, the twisting of his brow, the pull of his mouth as it slackened, and drooped. His worry was uncontainable. It yanked and threaded at his heart, ready to rent free and pop open the seams.
“I cannot help her.” He grabbed hold of his petrified hand. It tugged at his shoulder, pinching the muscles and forcing him to lean more heavily on his cane to offset the pain. “Love is a powerful force, but it is also a destructive one. Even if she has not yet abandoned her fondness for me, I fear my presence will only nudge her further along her path to destruction. Please,” an entreaty left his lips as his head tilted forward, bowing from burdens both physical and emotional, “let us cease this discussion. It is...it is unproductive. There is work we must complete.”
Alster was thankful for the interruption. His reputation was, in turns, undergoing some restoration from D’Marians who suddenly decided his usefulness outranked his dangerousness, but he still had a long way to go in terms of mediating effectively between his people and the Galeynians. A good mediator also elicited trust and trustworthiness, and D’Marians hadn’t yet come around, in full, to accepting his proposed solutions and steady counsel. When Senyiah arrived and requested his aid, he adjourned the meeting between the warring groups, promising to revisit their issues tomorrow morning. In the meantime, he recommended everyone take some time to relax and destress, so they could revisit the dispute with clearer heads and minds.
As he listened to the Head Gardener’s explanation of the current situation involving Nia Ardane, Alster frowned a little, but nodded, considering his options. “I’ll be the first to admit that creating tonics is not my specialty. My magical persuasion is better suited for creating talismans and conducting and manipulating energy pathways from within one’s own central nervous system. But if all other traditional avenues have failed, and she can’t find herself able to sleep, then I’ll see what I’m able to do. I have a few ideas, none of them tonic-related, but if it’s a deep, dreamless sleep she wants...I think I can do that. It does require that I be in the same room as her. Also,” he prefaced, keeping his voice low, aware of eavesdroppers and what they thought of his connections to dark, eldritch magic, “what I have in mind may seem a little...unorthodox, but please don’t be alarmed.”
Having Senyiah prepare him ahead of time meant that when Alster walked into Nia’s chambers, he was unfazed by what he saw. The distraught Master Alchemist, reduced to psychosomatic shivers, bundled herself into a tight ball in the far corner of her bed, yelling at everyone to give her the peace and quiet she so desperately craved.
“Nia,” he said, his tone calm but carrying, soft but also capable of overtaking the most heartrending screams. He had his fair share of dealing with difficult patients, and the first step to lowering their barriers was to come off as non-threatening, unobtrusive, but also present to the point of being impossible to ignore. One foot at a time, he made his gradual approach to her bedside, a firm but gentle defiance of her plea to be left alone. “Do you want to be dead, Nia? I can grant you death.” That got her attention. Tentatively, he continued. “It’s not permanent. I can grant you a little death. A place where no one and nothing can hurt you, for a little while. Would you like that? Untouchable oblivion?” Edging closer, he lowered onto the bed beside her and offered his prosthetic hand, palm facing up. “If that’s what you want, Nia, take my hand, and don’t be afraid of the darkness coming to greet you. Accept it, accept me. And you’ll be free of pain. Are you ready?”
A small, comforting smile edged his lips, emitting warmth despite the coldness of his hand, and of his proposal. “I’ll show you true darkness. It’s like a womb. It will enfold you. Enwrap you.” His voice dipped into a rhythm, almost singsong, almost as a lullaby. “Drift...and be gone.” Their hands met, fingers entwining. No sooner had they made contact than tendrils of inky ichor leaked from his hand and swirled around Nia’s form like silken strands from a spider’s spindle. It wrapped and folded over her like a cocoon, like a blanket, killing the light from her eyes, squeezing out her consciousness and all lingering thoughts, and stilling the shivers in her limbs. Alster flicked his wrist and the darkness retreated from its victim, but it had already taken what it wanted. It siphoned her dreams, it siphoned her awareness, it siphoned her existence. Still, she breathed, and still, she lived, but now, slumped and unresponsive against him, she was deep in her own consciousness, safe in the throes of available oblivion.
Guiding Nia’s head to her pillow, she tucked the unconscious woman into her bed and rose, turning to address Senyiah, aware his methods might worry her and would merit explanation. “She’ll be asleep for a full day. Twenty-four hours. Don’t let anything disturb her. When she awakens, she’ll be hungry and thirsty. Make sure she’s given plenty of food and drink. It will be vital that she grounds herself to this plane of existence immediately after awakening, or she’ll be stuck in a fog. Don’t be disturbed,” he lowered his eyes, watching Nia’s very shallow breaths flutter in her chest. “She’s just in a very deep sleep. A death-like sleep. Similar, I imagine, to what King Theomyr cast upon you, his people. But I only gave her a small sampling of that sleep, and it will wear off in a day. Hopefully, this will have the same effects as a rejuvenating nap, and she’ll wake, calmer and mellower, and be better able to combat some of her current symptoms.”
“Lord Canaveris,” one of the earth mages under his employ hailed him over. “We discovered this in the rubble. What would you like to do with it?”
Ari, rising from the chair where he sat and made bricks, an excuse to alleviate his petrified hand from its constant vertical position, followed the earth mage to a ditch at the end of the room, an area in the process of being bricked. Peering into the ditch, he found a curious sight. A dirt-stained and string-snapped harp, its wood frame surprisingly undamaged, despite the fall it must have sustained, was wedged inside the crevice.
He tried to hide his shock and wonder at its miraculous reemergence. How had this delicate instrument survived?
Before he realized what he was saying, Ari announced his intentions aloud. “We unearth the harp and have it cleaned. It belongs to someone and I should have it returned to its rightful owner.”
Rightful owner. That meant…
The following day, he found himself at Nia’s door. After asking several inquiries of the people who attended her, he learned of her location and current status. She was awake. Recently awakened, from a spell Alster cast on her to induce sleep. He assured the attendants he would not be long if they would allow him a quick visitation, as he merely wished to return something of hers.
Merely, he reminded himself. He was obligated to redeliver a lost possession to its owner. Nothing more.
Still, he hesitated before knocking. The knocking itself was a courtesy; a guard posted beside the door, informed of his arrival beforehand, had already given him permission to enter.
Inhaling deeply, he summoned his courage, rapped on the door three times...and stepped inside.
In addition to the sole guard outside, two guards lingered on the inside, but stood afar from Nia’s bed, offering her the illusion of privacy. The woman herself was reclined, a half-eaten plate of food on the nightstand and a tin of water in her hand. The bedsheets hid most of her body from view. All for the best, he thought. To view the whole of her in a less than ideal state seemed invasive and disrespectful. Not to mention, it would wrack him with guilt.
“M-miss Nia,” he stuttered, bowing in greeting. He never stuttered! He cleared his throat. “I hope this morning has found you well?” An inane question! He chided himself for the insensitivity and tried his best to navigate the most difficult conversation he’d had in years. Was she even listening? Was she in a state well enough to listen? He couldn’t tell; his eyes remained averted. “Forgive my current state of dress.” He gestured with his unladen hand; his petrifaction was out of view, behind his back and concealed by his glove and the sleeve, resting against the cane. He was referring to the dark brown, dusty jacket he donned and the messy locks of hair strewn across his forehead, with the rest bundled into a messy ponytail. “As you might have heard, my mages have been hard at work rebuilding the observatory. And, well, it is for this reason why I am disturbing your much-needed rest.” He glanced at the open door and nodded. On cue, two attendants carried in the harp, which had been cleaned and restringed to the best of the restorationist’s ability. They set it down in the empty corner of Nia’s room, opposite her bed.
“During our excavation, we discovered your harp, somehow unscathed, resting comfortably in the bottom of a ditch. Forgive my insolence in assuming you would want it returned, but it is yours, nonetheless. Do with it what you’d like...Nia. Excuse me,” he hurried, staring at his feet. “Miss Nia.” He didn’t have the right to refer to her without an honorific. Not after everything he had done to harm her. “That is...I believe that is all.” Daring to try something bold, he raised his eyes...and looked at her. She was looking right back at him. His breath hitched. “I…” he retreated a few steps, cutting eye contact. “I shall not bother you again, Miss Nia, if that is your wish. You do not have to cure me of my curse. We can make different arrangements for your community service that do not involve me, if you would prefer to sever all dealings with me. Ah...please excuse me.” He turned, face flushed, and made to escape the room before the situation escalated. Before he complicated, or worsened matters. Before he destroyed her further, and killed her chances at recovery.
At first, Nia hadn’t even noticed that Senyiah had returned with Alster. When her frightened brown eyes looked up, and saw that he was drawing near, the Master Alchemist recoiled and pressed her back flat against the wall. “Get away--get away from me!” She rasped, and hugged her arms tighter around her body. “Whatever it is you have, I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it! I just want you all to leave me the hell alone!”
She would have shut him out, just as she tried to shut out the rest of the world and retreat into herself, until he asked her something that no one else had proposed: Do you want to be dead? Was he… Was he offering to end this for her? This pain and all of the symptoms associated with it? Nia had never run toward death before. She’d always run from it, terrified for it to take her, but now… now, what was the point of living, of existing, if all she knew was pain? I want to go home, a desperate voice inside of her begged. I want to go back to Ilandria. I want my family… or I don’t want to be here at all.
“I’m not safe. Nowhere, am I safe. Not even when I sleep. Especially not then.” She whispered. Tears gathered in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “Do I deserve this? I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I never wanted death. I believed… I really believed that this could all work out. I was wrong. I’m sorry I was wrong… but I didn’t want this for Galeyn. I wanted to be safe, but I wanted everyone else to be safe, too…”
Her hand trembled uncontrollably as she took his. At any other point in time, and under any other circumstances, she would have done her damndest to mask this moment of immense vulnerability from everyone in the room. All her life she’d run from danger like a prey animal, and just like a prey animal, it was too dangerous to let on when she was unwell. But that dream had stripped her completely bare of defenses, such that nothing was left of her but her own raw fear and pain, and there was no masking it with her bright smile or distracting conversation. She wasn’t falling apart: she had already completely unravelled, and there was nothing left holding her up. Alster was offering a reprieve--in fact, he was the only one who had given any thought to what she wanted, without any judgment on his part. Whether or not he, like Ari, had played much of a role in her arrest was irrelevant right now. The Master Alchemist had shattered into about as many pieces as the statue of Casimiro in the Canaveris villa, and there would be no reassembling those pieces right now.
“I want it to stop.” She whispered in a voice that trembled as badly as her hand. Those memories, the images, the wounds that her dream had torn open to bleed freely. She wanted to stop bleeding. “Please make it stop…”
True to his word, magic--darkness--leaked from the Rigas mage’s prosthetic hand and coiled around her wrist, her arm, her body. And it stole from her: her voice, her warmth, her sight, her sense of hearing and touch… her memories. Her consciousness. Before she knew what was happening, the Master Alchemist’s shrunken body went limp, slumping forward.
At a glance, she looked dead, and it was enough to startle Senyiah such that she hurried forward to make sure Nia Ardane still drew breath. “...and if it doesn’t work?” The Head Gardener asked quietly, keeping her voice especially low so as not to alert the guards behind them. “This woman has presented us with quite the anomaly. As a Master Alchemist, we all expected her physiology to differ from that of an average human. She has a strong body; no illness or disease plagues her. Given her practice, I am sure she is able to withstand fasting for an alarming amount of time without putting her health at risk. And yet, she is as unwell as someone who is afflicted… Now I fear that whatever carefully concealed wound Breane’s tonic has opened will only hinder any chance we had at making her healthy enough to carry out her sentence and lend her skills to this kingdom. If only…” She sighed and dipped her head. “I knew I would be saying this sooner or later… but if only we still had Breane. The Night Garden has not found a suitable Gardener to fill her shoes. There is no guarantee that it ever will.”
Taking a step back, she nodded her thanks to the Rigas mage and led him out the door. “Thank you, Alster. And… I hope it is not too much to ask that we keep this--all of us--between ourselves.” The Head Gardener nodded to the two guards standing in the room as well. They said nothing, but their lack of response was enough for her to feel reassured of their silence. “I simply don’t know how the kingdom would take to the news of how you used your chthonic magic, Alster. The people… well, we are all still very sensitive to the topic of prolonged sleep, as I am sure you can understand.”
Trusting the guards to keep an eye on the unconscious woman, and to report to her when she finally awoke, Senyiah saw Alster out of Nia’s room, and left the Master Alchemist to rest, floating through dark oblivion, a reprieve from whatever pain that tonic from the Night Garden had caused.
True enough, Nia did not stir for a full twenty-four hours after being visited by Alster. She didn’t dream: faces and voices and memories did not disturb her. She experienced nothing, and, for a time, had simply--spiritually--ceased to be. But the magic that sent her away was not everlasting, and around the same time the following morning was when the Master Alchemist opened her eyes.
At first, she wasn’t sure where she was. Her limbs felt heavy; her mind was cloudy, and there was yet a part of her who wanted desperately to go back to sleep and return to the darkness--but she couldn’t ignore the dryness of her tongue, her throat, and how desperately she needed water. Sitting upright wasn’t easy; she heard her joints crack, as if she had been inactive for quite some time, and the manacles that still bound her wrists weighed them down as she reached for a glass and a decanter of water on the table next to her. Clumsily, she filled the glass, spilling water on the table and on the floor, but hardly noticed as she downed the beverage in its entirety before filling it again, and repeating.
Upon her awakening, one of the Galeynian guards informed the one standing just outside the door to go and fetch Senyiah, along with a plate of food for the Master Alchemist to eat. Nia didn’t ask any questions or tell them not to bother: she was hungry. Not just with a growling stomach, but sharp, churning pains that reminded her of exactly why she had always been so reluctant to fast in the past, even for the sake of performing her alchemy well. She was not adept to dealing with pain and discomfort to such an extent… and, for the first time in weeks, since she was taken from the Canaverises home in the middle of the night, she wanted to eat.
Much to everyone’s (particularly Senyiah’s) relief, Nia did not look at the ample breakfast with disinterest. The fruits and vegetables were completely unfamiliar to her; they must have come from the Night Garden, but she didn’t question a single thing on her plate before she began to dig in. She knew she would regret this later, just like every other time she’d made an attempt to eat: she’d suffer cramps, or nausea, and the jury was out as to whether or not she’d be able to keep it down. But she was so hungry right now that she wanted not to be hungry--so, in the moment, she just didn’t care.
“Nia. How are you feeling?” The Head Gardener asked her, careful not to crowd her space, but also curious to know how Alster’s forced “reset” of her consciousness had affected her. “Do you remember… what happened yesterday? How out of sorts you were?”
The Master Alchemist didn’t respond at first. She was shoveling mouthfuls upon mouthfuls of the nutrient-rich food into her body at such an alarming rate that at last she had to stop to literally catch her breath. Already, stitches pinched her sides whenever she inhaled from eating too quickly. “...I remember what happened. You really fucked me up with whatever you gave me from the Night Garden. It brought up vivid memories that I’d forgotten for a reason.” Her tone was flat and unimpressed, but the deep circles, once dark as bruises beneath her eyes, had lightened a little. “And… it’ll come back again, won’t it? When I fall asleep again. Those dreams will come back.”
She didn’t want to say anything, lest drawing attention to it exacerbate the woman’s symptoms, but she noticed the slight tremble in her hands, while nowhere near as pronounced as her full-body tremors the other day, had not abated upon her awakening. Alster’s spell had given her a much-needed reprieve from these symptoms, it was far from a cure. Something beyond Nia’s flesh and physical health was damaged; perhaps it had been damaged for a very long time, and Breane’s sleep tonic from the Night Garden had been just enough to push it all to the surface. “You won’t be provided with any more of the tonic that incited those dreams, Anetania. As for what will happen from here on out… it is difficult to say. Let us take things one simple step at a time. I know you were only issues three meals a day, but…” She looked at the plate which, in mere minutes, was already half-clean. “If you’d like another serving of food, it can be arranged.”
“Let’s see if I can manage to keep this down, first.” Nia sighed and leaned back against the pillows. “Hey--what Alster did for me. Do you think you could ask him to do it again? I mean, later on? Maybe not for… an entire day. Just for a night. I don’t remember dreaming at all… it was really nice.”
“I am not sure that prolonged use of chthonic magic is going to be the answer to your problems,” replied the Head Gardener, with a skeptical frown. “For one, you cannot rely on Alster Rigas forever, and for another, there is no telling what the long term drawbacks might be. But… I will speak with him, nonetheless. In any case,” she clasped her hands behind her back and headed toward the door. “Expect the rules to return to the way they were, today. No refusing meals or a walk around the palace, and… well, it looks as though I’ll have to craft another ointment for you leg--”
“Oh hell no. No more medicine from the Night Garden--no fucking way.” Nia visibly tensed, and the tremors in her hands intensified. “I’ll eat whatever you want me to eat and walk the length of the damn kingdom, but I am done with your Night Garden medicines, topical or otherwise. No more.”
Senyiah tucked her greying hair behind her ears and sighed. “You are indentured to the crown of Galeyn for your convicted crimes. Frankly, I shouldn’t be giving you the freedom of making that choice. But given the circumstances… I’ll investigate some alternatives.”
The Head Gardener left the Master Alchemist, while not alone given the presence of the two guards, to some time to herself. But that time wasn’t long--frankly, to Nia’s great relief, as she was somewhat afraid to be alone with her thoughts. Well… it wasn’t such a relief, when her visitor revealed himself, although if she were being honest, she was far more startled than she was disappointed.
“Ari…” What was he doing here… now? After she’d been arrested, imprisoned for weeks, after she had teetered on the cusp of a complete mental breakdown… now was when he chose to visit her. “I’m a prisoner--or something like that. Somehow I don’t think ‘miss’ is even appropriate.”
She was, however, curious as to exactly what had brought him to her that day, so she resolved to hear him out. Evidently, he had come to deliver a harp: the one that he had gifted to her, that was very, very badly damaged, yet had somehow managed to survive the collapse of the observatory. Some of the strings were snapped well beyond repair and would need to be replaced, but it had been quite some time since she’d strummed familiar chords on the beautiful instrument. It reminded her too much of Celene; of home.
Nia wasn’t fooled. “You came here to bring me a broken harp that I couldn’t play, even if it was intact?” She lifted her shackled hands, which were, as always, trembling. And one of his was tucked carefully behind his back, which drew a frown to her face. “Wait… is your hand still afflicted? You didn’t go and see Isidor to restore it? You know Alster would put in a good word for you, and there’s no way he can despise you as much as he despises me. Why are you still carting around a hunk of stone? That just seems plain stupid.” With a sigh, she motioned to one of the guards. “Hey--I’m supposed to be contributing to the community, right? Well,” she held up her shackled wrists that nullified any and all abilities she possessed as a Master Alchemist., “let me start by reversing the symptoms Lord Canaveris is suffering from his curse.”
“We are not permitted to remove your shackles.” The guard replied simply, but Nia wasn’t about to give up.
“Then go get permission. We’ll wait. Lord Canaveris isn’t going anywhere.” She leveled Ari with a look that suggested if he left now, he’d be losing his one and only opportunity to talk to her in the days to come. It seemed to work, for the Canaveris lord halted his retreat as the guard took his leave to see if he could obtain permission for the Master Alchemist’s request.
An uneasy silence settled over the room for a few minutes, but Nia didn’t mind. She wasn’t uncomfortable; but Ari most certainly was, and she let him be uncomfortable for just a bit, before speaking up again. “Initially, I was going to run and obtain treatment for my leg, you know. I’d heal up, then I’ve have found a way to contact you. To figure out… how we could make this work, from a distance or otherwise. But I was too sick; and so was Hadwin. He couldn’t take me beyond Galeyn, and if he’d left me where I was, I’m not sure I’d have made it. So, instead, he brought me to you… and I really thought I was safe.” The bite from her tone had subdued just a bit, but there was still a heaviness to her words that she hoped he felt as much as she did. Nia could hardly describe what she’d felt, since the night Ari had let her be taken away by palace guards and Forbanne… but whatever it was, she wanted him to feel it, too. “You’ve always made me feel safe. Hell, even your mother made me feel safe when I was recovering. And I was so sure I was right about you--I was damn positive. But then, you just handed me over, and… it was like that first time, all over again. Only a slower death. A more painful one.”
Nia rubbed the scar at her throat. Since that night, it had been acting up, throbbing or burning like a brand new gash. “I can’t fully blame you. You had to comply under Galeyn’s law; you had to do it for your people. And, in hindsight, I’m not sure what I would’ve done if I had to run again. Eventually, I’d have run out of steam… and it wasn’t until I was thrown in that dungeon that I realized just how tired I was, and running wasn’t an option anymore. I knew Galeyn would want me dead, so… so I made peace with death. And guess what? I’m not afraid of it anymore. It’s not so scary. I never asked to carry the Ardane legacy: I never asked not to die the day those soldiers stormed my home and slaughtered what remained of my family. It’s really fucking unfair that that responsibility was put on me when I wasn't even as old as your niece. But, now, thanks to your vote, and Alster’s, and Isidor’s words swaying the public, only a quarter of this population wants me dead now. So--here I am. Stuck in here with only occasional, supervised walks around the palace, until I’m well enough to serve this kingdom for who the fuck knows how long. And after that… what? You tell me.”
She leveled her dark eyes on the Canaveris lord, who did his darndest not to meet the intensity of her gaze. “Your niece came to see me the other day. She said you’d planned to turn me in from the beginning--but that you regret you couldn’t tell me sooner. As if a heads up would have made a world of difference. So--what then, Aristide Canaveris? What, exactly, had you envisioned when that had been your plan? That Galeyn would be so quick to forgive me? Honestly, I don’t know why you all vouched to have me live. It doesn’t make much sense to me. If I’m being honest, I don’t… I don’t even know what’s real anymore. Or who is real, or what it means to feel safe. The second I let my guard down, I just panic. So, I’ll ask you again…” Nia sighed, deflating, and closed her eyes. “...what were you thinking?”
Aware his presence may have been unwanted, as well as unexpected, Ari stood a respectful distance from Nia, hovering near the harp where the attendants deposited it in the corner. With the curtains drawn over the elegant windows, allowing slivers of morning light through the tomb-like room, dimness cast the instrument in questioning shadow, preventing a good, detailed look at its current condition. “It is not so broken as you believe,” he said, shifting his attention to the wooden frame, its dainty curves uniform and sporting no cracks, only minor dings and chips in its varnish. “Whatever tumble it sustained, a convenient ditch cushioned its descent. Rather marvelous, that it did not shatter or splinter beyond repair. Prior to bringing it here, I had the instrument appraised. According to the luthier, the damage taken to its body is not significant enough to affect the sound too terribly. It will play, perhaps not to its original capacity without replacing the majority of its structure, but it can produce beautiful sounds, if properly tuned and reinforced by a steady, caring hand. I would not have brought it to you, otherwise, were it nothing more than an unsalvageable scrap of wood.”
How telling, the ease it took for him to palaver on about the integrity of a fallen instrument than to face the woman of his uninterrupted affections, the woman he’d injured grievously and who likely cursed his existence with every fiber of her being. If he scanned her eyes, he was certain he’d find in them a font of boiling resentment reserved for his unforgivable transgressions. He wouldn’t blame her for reserving such hatred in her heart, for desiring him gone, for…
He raised his head, his expression folding in bemusement. Did she...truly wish to relieve the symptoms of his leaden hand? “Miss Nia, thank you, but it is not necessary—”
She didn’t hear him, or rather, chose to override his polite refusal and sent a guard to retrieve the key to her shackles while he dazedly agreed to stay at Nia’s strong, uncompromising request. Alone with the exception of the one guard who remained behind, Ari clasped his hands behind his back and kept to the far wall, unsure of himself, or what Nia wanted from him...until she began to speak, and he nodded, almost relieved to have her address the unresolved tension floating between them. He leaned against the wall, fully accepting of the barbs aimed in his direction. He closed his eyes, shuddering his sense of sight to experience the verbal sting at a stronger level. She needed this catharsis, he realized. She needed and deserved to hear from him a proper explanation, and this ranked at higher importance than his convenient disappearance from her life. If it would help her to heal, then he would tell her everything she desired to know.
“It has long been my intent...to make you feel safe. That has not changed,” he said, his words sunken like a treasure landing on the seabed, lost and undiscoverable. His eyes opened, but only a sliver. “You saved my life. I owe you my all, my everything...my heart.” His unburdened hand dangled to his side, fingers itching to press against his chest and check if was still beating, or if his curse seized it to stone. “But I could not begin to offer you even a dram of my boundless gratitude if you were elsewhere. I would have no reach to influence your outcome, should your situation suddenly turn dire.” Wedged in his corner, he tried to straighten to his full height under her scrutinizing gaze, but thought against it. She wanted him to feel small, cowed, so he played the part. “If you had run, there would be no conceivable future for you, for us, that would not involve something illicit. If you had run, and Galeyn caught you, then your chances of gaining a lesser sentence under the kingdom’s tribunal would have been impossible, and death, a surety. Alternatively, had I been the one to release you, then I would be marked as an enemy of the state, and my defense to spare your life, unheeded. My people, too, would suffer for my treachery. Whether you believe me or not, everything I did...it was to ensure you a promising future. A...a home.”
He lifted his eyes, daring to find hers in the muffled dark. They sagged, too overladen from a parade of sleepless nights to produce the proper luster to shine amid their dry, cracked status. “The majority of D’Marians favor you now, Miss Nia. After your indenture with Galeyn reaches its terminus, and I will endeavor to expedite this process by continuing to sing your praises, Stella D’Mare will welcome you—as you and I have long hoped for and dreamed. That is where your ‘afterward’ shall lead you—granted, you bear any interest in taking permanent residency among a nation whose leader...failed you, on the most fundamental level.”
Despite the intensity of his guilt, he approached Nia’s bedside, crossing the invisible boundaries he created between them. His cane clunked as he moved, his feet dragging out of time to the mournful rhythms rather than accompanying the beat in a purposeful, confident stride. “I shall not beg for your forgiveness, Miss Nia. It is freely yours to grant or deny. From the beginning, I have always meant to defy your queen, but as I grew ever fonder of you, I realized I cared less about what happened to Locque, and more about what happened to you. I do not regret my contributions, however minor, for they removed you from that horrid woman’s service, but I do regret how deeply my meddling has affected you. I thought, perhaps, if you were made aware of my intentions beforehand, it would lessen the blow of my betrayal, but alas...perhaps not. For that, I take full responsibility for the grief I’ve undoubtedly made you suffer. I am truly, sincerely sorry, Nia. It was my selfish desire to have you live, because…” his flesh and blood hand gripped the bedpost nearest her for balance as he lowered to his knees, dipping to below her level in supplication. “Must I say it?” A lilt of a smile formed on his lips, a tactic to prevent himself from letting flood the intense emotions he had always done so well to muffle. “You are so very precious to me, Anetania Ardane. To let you die would cause my heart such acute devastation; surely, it would freeze anew. It is my dearest wish for you to find safe harbor, somewhere, in this life. With or without me, it matters not. Just as long as you are happy, and loved. As yourself. As Nia. Not an Ardane, if that is your desire. ...It does not need to be with me…”
“I…” he clambered to his feet, lightheaded from the unplanned outpouring of his soul and afraid of the consequences if he carried on with so much raw, uncontrolled heartache. It wasn’t safe to fall apart. He didn’t have the right to fall apart, and he had gone too far. “My apologies. That was…” he trailed off, looking mortified with himself. “Please, do not worry about my hand. Carrying this burden is but a small price to pay in atonement for the hurt I’ve caused you. Focus on your health, first. I-I must go.” He hurried to the door, clutching the doorframe as he clicked open the latch. “Be well, Nia,” he said over his shoulder, his tone like autumn leaves underfoot; crushing. “Take care.”
Upon his hasty departure, he heeled the palm of his hand against his eyes. Tears were falling, despite his best efforts to stifle them.
For the remainder of the day, Ari threw himself into his work, hinging on every conceivable distraction. From the mundane to the significant, the Canaveris Lord was involved almost to the point of hovering, and loathed being left alone for more than a minute. Sensing his master’s unease, Lazarus accompanied him as he made his rounds from station to station, supervising the brickmaking and bricklaying processes for the observatory and even volunteering to run simple errands, despite his handicap.
Before Ari stepped into the supply wagon to aid the driver in delivering the second shipment of stone to the palace by selecting the best cut from the quarry, the hulking golem managed to pull him aside.
“Your hand. Ari, it spread to your wrist,” he said, matter-of-fact. His assessment required no physical contact, keen observation, or sly reasoning to deduce. Their psychic link always kept Lazarus abreast of danger, and the capricious nature of Ari’s curse was always a dangerous thing. “Won’t you seek healing?”
“No need.” Ari presented his dear friend with his best, most unfazed smile. “I’ve suffered no other flare-ups since this one emerged. Frankly, it is refreshing to contend only with the one. The increase in surface area is incremental. Hardly worth the fuss, Laz.”
“Your hands are important. You need them for your art. How are you able to sculpt?”
Something pained and dark twisted in Ari’s eyes. His voice scraped in his throat, like a rusty dagger on a whetstone. “I have no interest in sculpting. It was an ordeal to lose Casimiro the first time. Now, I lost him twice. I will not create if I must also watch as the things I love are destroyed. Not when I want to value beauty as it remains. Relatedly, I will not seek healing if my body is so determined to crack and shatter. Everything has its time.” Wearily, he hauled his beleaguered body into the carriage. “Perhaps the universe is telling me the same. I have cheated death multiple times, Laz. Do I dare test its might again?”
The golem’s brown eyes grew large in alarm. He gripped Ari’s good hand, hissing his discontent. “You are not surrendering to death, Ari. Do not let that Ardane woman’s head fill you with poison. She desires death and suddenly, you desire the same?!”
“I do not. I want to live. You do not realize...how much I want to live.” Ari smiled for a second time, a wistfulness and sorrow too strong to conceal beneath his mask of serenity. His eyes misted, becoming overbright. “But not at Miss Nia’s expense. ...Never at her expense. I have put her through enough and she requires rest. Laz,” his hand loosened in the golem’s strong grip, hanging limp, “we always suspected this day would arrive. If my heart were to succumb to stone tomorrow, and no one was nearby to reverse the damage, then it would truly spell my end, independent of the preparations in motion to lift my curse. Anything might occur in the interim between planning and possibility—but I daren’t rush the process. I must have patience, and faith...and acceptance for whatever the outcome.” He lifted his head, preferring to watch the passing of clouds overhead than to glimpse the silent panic gripping at Laz’s features. “A few weeks ago, I faced my own mortality. It would be inane of me to dismiss the experience, or to believe I am now immune. I nearly died. The reminder is clear. ...I cannot be so complacent. It will come again. Despairing over it will only kill me faster.” Ari’s head tilted in his friend’s direction, almost begging him not to overact. “Please do not fault Miss Nia. Her attitude has not influenced my behavior. I have...I have always mused about the end, Laz. Always. But perhaps now, as my condition worsens, I should grant it the foremost attention it deserves.”
Without another word, Ari disappeared into the supply wagon, leaving his overwhelmed manservant to ponder whether to accept his master’s morbid flirtations with Death, or fear for this attitude taking so much precedence in his mind. No one had ever asked Ari about his relationship with his mortality before, because no Canaveris was comfortable enough to explore the option with him. Beyond causing him upset, no one was keen on upsetting themselves, and so, they chose to ignore his close and most recent encounter as if it never happened. He was alive; ergo, no one need dwell on or give voice to the opposite outcome. After all, why speak of the living like he was a barely risen corpse? Yet, it was Ari who yearned to speak about his experience and even offered up his opinions unprompted, finally confiding in someone, the only someone, who would not tell a soul about their conversation because he was honor-bound not to. Honor-bound or not, Lazarus helplessly stood as the supply wagon rolled his master away—a master he swore to keep safe from harm. To keep him alive.
How did he proceed, then? How could he best serve him? By maintaining his secret, or ensuring he survived?
By the time Ari returned to the palace, a second shipment of alabaster stone in tow, it was almost full dark, a time when the earth mages usually ceased work on construction and headed home to the D’Marian village. Owing to the eagerness of said earth mages, every single available hand aided in hauling the ore off the back of the supply wagon and setting it on the ground adjacent to the observatory. Thanking everyone for their hard work and effort, Ari dismissed his workers for the day, allowing them the freedom to return home or to gather at a local pub—however they saw fit to spend their time. While Ari intended on traveling home to the D’Marian settlement, he instead opted for a stroll around the Night Garden, having the pleasure of visiting it in earnest one other time, and that had been during the day. It had also been in Nia’s company; he fondly remembered how they approached the orchard and selected the curious sunrise-colored fruits from the trees and tasted of its peach and lemon-flavored pulp. Wondering how the area would look during eventide, he wandered in that direction, boots and cane thudding against a well-marked, stone-laden path.
He heard wondrous tales of the beautiful Garden’s bioluminescent flora, and half-anticipated their emergence as the sun plunged below the horizon, but where he stood, under a grove of dark trees, nothing illuminated his path. Lost, he didn’t even know which direction to turn and no Gardener was nearby to guide him to the orchards he sought.
The darkness pervaded, and its uneasiness bred a similar reaction in him. Dread creatures lurked in the dark, unseen, dangerous, singing with murderous rage. He listened for the snap of a branch, the howl of a sour wind, a scuffling in the bushes.
Nothing. Nothing. Except...
A wink of a light grazed his periphery. A low pulse. Yellow-green, and weak, but gentle, like the up and down of butterfly wings as it rested upon a flower. Ari turned, and saw it, floating in the air like a pixie of the night. It approached, blinking its yellow-green glow. Then another came. And another.
A rainstorm of fireflies swarmed in to greet him.
“There you are,” he smiled, and held out a gloved hand. “I have heard many tales of your beauty. ...They are not unfounded.”
His smile faded, his hand lowering before it made contact with a tiny, winged lantern that stumbled into his path. Something was missing. Someone was missing.
He couldn’t be here without her.
To his credit, Ari stayed to hear her out; every heavy, burdened, pained word that she wanted him to hear. Everything that had been on her mind from the moment the guards had taken her from his home last night. He heard her, and he responded, in kind, to the questions whose answers she had sought for weeks. Some of what he said was exactly what she’d expected to hear; that stammering for forgiveness, that his heart had been in the right place, that it had never been his intent to hurt her. But what she hadn’t been prepared to bear witness to was the raw, unbridled emotion in his voice. Predictably, he didn’t meet her eyes, but neither did he hide from her in cowardice. Her words, however angry and hurt, were nonetheless open and honest, and he recognized and respected that now was not the time for embellishing dialogue the way he was so used to.
Nia hadn’t expected that raw honesty from him; but she appreciated it all the same, knowing well that her very presence probably made him feel small and uncomfortable. “I didn’t want to be wrong about you.” The Master Alchemist leaned back against her pillows, looking about as deflated as she felt and sounded. “I really didn’t. I’ll be real, Ari--part of me saw you as being too good to be true. Way too good to be true. That some handsome, well-cultured D’Marian aristocrat would take an interest in me? That you would not only give a damn about what happened to me, but were willing to take steps to see me have a future I probably don’t deserve? Even at the time… hell, even now, it doesn’t feel real. You don’t feel real to me, because I know my odds, and what are the odds that you really and truly mean everything you’re saying to me right now?”
The worst part was… she believed him. There was nothing to suggest that Ari wanted anything for her but to be safe, well, and happy. Certainly, his people had factored into his decision when he’d handed her over for arrest: that was what she had expected to hear. Aristide Canaveris was no one if not a man of his people, but… but that was not all of it. Not only had he wanted to give her a fighting chance, but he’d wanted that fighting chance not only to be for her safety, but for… a life with him. One dwelling amongst the D’Marians, who evidently had changed their opinion of her the moment he’d declared what she’d done to save his life. Somehow, in his haphazard logic, he had been thinking of the path to their future together. It might have been easy to write that off as a petty lie, under other circumstances, but not after everything she had witnessed him declare before the crowd of D’Marians and Galeynians. He had spoken to her importance and her worth before the entirety of the kingdom of Galeyn. However risky his plan had been, however inane one could call him for having so much riding on his confidence to exonerate her… he had done it all for her.
At least, that was what she wanted to believe. Just as she had wanted to believe he would always keep her safe. That he was not another mistake in her quest for finding love and belonging. Nia had trusted him more than she trusted herself; what she couldn’t decide was whether that was what had ultimately saved her… or gotten her killed. “I don’t doubt your confidence in your skills. If you were so sure from the beginning that you could talk your way out of having me killed or imprisoned for life, then yeah, I’ll believe that. But at what expense?” The Master Alchemist’s eyes dropped to her shackled wrists. Now, it was she who had difficulty meeting the Canaveris lord’s eyes. “Is it really so unclear to you that you… you gambled with my life? Not just now. Not just recently, when only a few days ago, Galeyn wanted me dead. Do you know… Ari, did it ever occur to you what might have happened if it had ever become clear to Locque that you actually opposed her? If she had taken the time to notice those little pebble spies that you had lying around the palace? Do you know what she’d have done to me--and to you?”
Of course, she didn’t need to spell it out. He knew--he had known all along. But somehow, he had been so invested in his confidence that there had never been a doubt in his mind this was the right path. The path for her, for them… He hadn’t doubted for even a second. And, for some reason, he’d been so sure that Nia wouldn’t doubt it, either. Regardless of her own confidence in his skills to sway a crowd, however, fear was sometimes stronger than hope. Running was risky, but it might have guaranteed her survival far more than standing trial were she successful. Perhaps that was where the two of them differed: Ari cruised upon the strength of his own hope. But she… every movement she had made, since the first time she had trusted too soon, too quickly, had been influenced only by fear.
“I can’t blame you for having so much faith in yourself. Thinking that your words would hold so much power over my fate. I mean, after all, you did get what you wanted, right? I saved your life, you saved mine. So we’re even; no reason for you or your family to feel indebted to me. I’m still a prisoner for Galeyn for an indeterminate amount of time, but I’m alive, right?” Nia’s smile was flat. Nothing like the wide, infectious grin she’d once sported in the past. “But, yeah, it could definitely be worse. I’ve got a room instead of a cell, good food if I can keep it down, and no one is at least directly trying to kill me. So am I supposed to be grateful for this? Grateful to you and Alster and Queen Lilica? The worst thing I’ve got going for me are unsteady hands and a sore leg and one hell of an issue with sleep. I should be grateful, shouldn’t I?”
And, deep down… part of her was, however much she was loath to admit it, because in doing so would completely invalidate her anger, and right now that was one of the only things fueling her energy. That was the problem: she wanted to be angry, but at the same time… so badly did she want to forgive Ari, to tell him she understood, and that she couldn’t think of a future without him, because no other future came to mind. But these two sentiments couldn’t exist simultaneously, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to feel so vulnerable again. Not even when Ari exposed his own vulnerability to her. Not even… when he called her something precious, and said, not for the first time, that her life was important to him. “...I suppose, at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter, does it? You got the outcome you wanted, you don’t have to bask in guilt, because I’m not dead. It doesn’t really matter how I feel, because Galeyn’s made it pretty clear that my feelings don’t matter. Maybe we all just need to accept what is as it is--me included. What’s the point in playing mind games with myself, right?” The more Nia spoke, the more that anger that fueled her began to dissipate… until she started to realize that, perhaps, it had not been anger at all, but just hurt and misunderstanding. How could one ever truly be angry at someone who had fought for the preservation of their life in particular? How could she maintain this illusion that he was a villain when, in fact, he was here, practically begging her forgiveness?
Can things go back to the way they used to be? She wanted to ask, and she almost didn’t, but instead, different words made their way to her lips. “...regardless, it doesn’t make any sense to have you hauling around a hand that must weigh as much as a small boulder.” she commented, and lifted her trembling hands to reach for his petrified appendage. “Let me take a look while we wait to see if I’m blessed with the privilege of having these damned shackles removed. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything with my skill set, so I can’t guarantee I’m not a little rusty… but I’m confident that I’ve fixed you up enough times it shouldn’t take too long.”
To her disappointment, Ari decided he was not willing to wait around, or to accept her help at all. Instead of giving her his hand, he pulled away in a rush. “Ari… wait.” Her voice had gone soft, perhaps too soft for him to hear, or simply not urgent enough to make him want to stay. He was up and out of her room before she could utter another word, leaving her alone again with her thoughts… which is precisely where she did not want to be.
Nia was not the only one slated to dedicate her time and skills to bettering the distressed kingdom of Galeyn in the wake of the damage Locque had caused. After several days spent without speaking to anyone while recovering in the sanctuary, Sigrid Sorenson had finally decided to emerge, and she made it clear that she had no interest in discussing what happened while she was under Locque’s thrall. Haraldur and Vega, and even Alster and Elespeth had attempted to broach the subject to help her reconcile the fact that it hadn’t really been her fault, and that she could not be blamed for what took place by her hand. But the former Dawn warrior was done with having people try to appeal to her out of sympathy. Many of them just couldn’t understand, and those who could, like Elespeth, weren’t helping her by reassuring her of her innocence. Like Nia, it came to a point where sitting and brooding no longer served her, but caused her to ruminate on thoughts that she would rather purge from her mind. Unfortunately, after having barely recovered from her self-inflicted injury, she was not yet able to pick up a sword and do the work of the Galeynian guards or the Dawn Guard. So after a good deal of nagging at the Gardeners to discharge her from the sanctuary, she took it upon herself to join in the community effort to put the pieces of this kingdom back together.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t nearly enough room in the Night Garden to establish a mass memorial for all of the lives lost in the past weeks, Galeynian and D’Marina alike, so after some careful consideration between Senyiah and Lilica, it was decided that the soil of the land just adjacent to the palace would be tilled, and various flora planted in memoriam. While the observatory was being transformed into a memorial in its own right under Aristide Canaveris’s guidance, the majority of the public did not frequently access the palace, and it was not fair to the families of those lost to have to go out of their way to visit the symbolic resting place of their loved ones. Therefore, the second largest garden (secondary, of course, to the Night Garden) was designed to bear new life from the ashes of those fallen. This was also a project that the citizens themselves could shoulder, giving them the opportunity to feel productive in their own rights. And while some of the D’Marians still held mixed feelings toward the former Dawn warrior for her role in slaughtering a D’Marian family on Locque’s whim, the Galeynians seemed to harbour no such hard feelings, and were both accepting and supportive of her endeavours.
Sigrid was not much of a gardener in any respect of the word, but she could follow orders and take direction. There wasn’t much skill involved in dropping seeds into dirt, so long as she was told where to plant them, and for the most part, everyone respected her wishes to largely be left alone when she was not seeking direction. Well--mostly everyone. It had to come to pass that the blonde warrior would not be at peace for long, and was bound to run into a triggering element sooner than later. That element just so happened to be in the form of Anetania Ardane, the Master Alchemist who had been sentenced to death, only to have that sentence reduced to community service, despite that she served the most terrible enemy this kingdom had ever seen. Sigrid had not anticipated seeing her out here: and she was not prepared for it. “...what are you doing here.” The former Dawn warrior demanded, dropping the bag of seeds that she had been planting. This was the first time she’d laid eyes on the Master Alchemist since… since before she had become enthralled. Any past interactions they might have had were lost on her, and in truth, this may have been the first time they’d ever spoken, face to face.
“Oh--hello. Didn’t quite expect to see you here, either.” While tired, still reasonably weak, and having continued difficulty with her stiff leg, Nia had in fact earned permission to have her shackles removed (during the daytime, at least) so as to put her skills to use and commence her community service. Out of consideration for her slowly recovering health, Senyiah and the other healers had agreed that it was best for her to start at the palace: within reach of the Night Garden, and other healers, should the need arise. It just so happened that the Head Gardener recommended she begin with contributing to the community memorial outside the palace grounds. “Have we even officially met yet? I’m--”
“I know who you are. I know what you did, and what you didn’t do.” Sigrid’s hands closed into fists. Those fists trembled. “How long? How long did you let your witch use me like a tool, or some bargaining chip that she never actually intended to relinquish?”
“Hey, now… aren’t we all supposed to be immersed in the present? Nothing can be done about the past. The answers you want aren’t as simple as you think.” Nia’s smile faded, and she toyed with the hem of her tunic. Couldn’t the same be said for the answers she’d sought from Ari? It really isn’t so simple… “For what it’s worth--hell, I know it’s not worth anything to you. But I am sorry. I did advocate for your release, but…”
“But what? It was out of your hands? Did you really believe for one moment that she would let me go?” Sigrid demanded. Her cheeks flushed with anger, and out of concern for the Master Alchemist’s well-being, the guard who accompanied her stood between the two women. The Dawn warrior only snorted. “You knew she wouldn’t. But you had other priorities. Galeyn might forgive you… but do not think I will. Whether or not it matters to you.”
Nia put her hands up and took a step back. “Look, you’re entitled to however you wanna feel. There’s no point in me confirming or denying what you’ve already decided is true. But, whether or not it matters to you… I need to do right by these people. Although... I guess I won’t be doing it here. You deserve space.” The Ardane woman lowered her hands and nodded to the guard. “Take me back to my room. Surely there are other areas of this palace that require a Master Alchemist’s touch. My skills can be put to better use than tilling a garden.”
Without another word, she left the former Dawn Warrior alone to stew in her anger and hurt, but not for long. Shortly after, Haraldur, who’d taken note of the heated exchange from a distance, hurried over to see that his cousin was alright. “I’m fine, Haraldur. I don’t need your supervision.” It was the first thing she had said to her cousin in a while; Sigrid didn’t talk much anymore. Not unless she had something to say, which, of late, wasn’t all that often. But after bearing witness to a key player in her own imprisonment, her emotions ran to hide to retreat into herself, like she did so much of the time now. “I just have a hard time understanding how and why Naimah is dead, and she is not. How Rowen Kavanagh and Locque are dead, but she… Somehow, she deserves redemption? Despite being a key hand in all of this fucking bullshit!”
Sigrid kicked at the dirt under her boots. Her heart raced; her stomach hurt, along the barely healed incision, where Gaolithe had pierced her… but hadn’t killed her. Because Naimah--or rather, her spirit--had somehow guided her away from death. “...what am I still doing here, when I am responsible for the death of a D’Marian family? I’m wasting my time and everyone else’s. I already turned my back on Galeyn once. I left with the intention to be gone forever, and now… here I am, back where I started, only with less than I began with.”
Stepping aside, the former Dawn warrior abandoned the plot of land where blue roses were to be planted, and wiped her hands on her thighs. “...I was lost before I left this place. And now, now I’m just…” She lifted her hands and turned away, heading back for the palace in hopes of spending the remainder of the day left to her thoughts, alone in a room she once shared with a beautiful, kind woman. What was she? What did she have, but the shadows of beautiful memories, eviscerated and marred by almost a year of lost time? Sigrid Sorenson had devolved from being a Dawn Warrior, wielder of Gaolithe, to a mindless murderer… to nothing at all. Perhaps it was better, that way.
Repairs and redesign of what was once the palace’s observatory was coming along more slowly than the D’Marians, Galeynains, and in particular, the Canaverises had anticipated. What was left of the room had become structurally unstable in many ways, limiting what could immediately be done without putting dedicated workers in danger. This meant fewer hands on deck at one time, and a slower progression toward completion than what was initially planned. So as an act of goodwill (and because he felt as though he really hadn’t contributed enough to take down Locque during her reign of terror), Isidor had agreed to come and assess the more problematic areas with some of the earth mages with the intent to strengthen the weaker materials and that posed a danger to the masons. Some of the stone that had once provided a good deal of support was compromised with spidering cracks, if not entirely crumbled, completely setting off the balance of a few load-bearing walls, and required more than simple repair, but rather, alchemical reinforcement. In some areas, stone, marble, would not be enough to compensate for the damage if they really endeavoured to save a few of the walls, for the sake of preserving what little was left of the room’s original structure.
Very early one morning, before anyone set to work, he met with the head mason, a D’Marian who had been responsible for fortifying some of the most noteworthy villages in the settlement, including both the Rigas and Canaveris villas, and discussed the areas that needed the most attention. But it wasn’t long after that the person overseeing all of this fine workmanship also made an appearance. “Ah, Ari! Master Kristeva has kindly taken the time to assess some of the troublesome walls that too much hammering and chiseling might otherwise upset.” The head mason announced with a broad grin. “He thinks we might well be able to return to our originally predicted deadline for completion if we strengthen a few of the fractures and some of the weak materials are transmuted into something smaller.”
Isidor clutched his elbows, his face impassive in response to Ari’s characteristically warm welcome. He did, however, nod in greeting. “Lord Canaveris. We haven’t officially met. I do hope I am not stepping on any toes, here.” Lowering his hands, he ran one finger along a cracked wall, and the crease between his brows mimicked that of the imperfections in the stone. “I’ve been addressing other areas of the palace that require a special touch to make the jobs of those repairing it a little easier. Just a little alchemical intervention with the materials you’re working with should expedite your goals. Please,” he held up one hand when Ari proceeded to thank him for his help and expertise, “do not misunderstand: I am simply assessing what needs to be done. I have promises to others that I must uphold, so it won’t be me carrying out the modifications. But, rest assured, I’ve already assigned an expert to the task.”
Momentarily, as workers and mages began to trickle in, another noteworthy individual showed up in accompaniment with her guard. Nia, though looking a little worse for the wear with sleepless eyes, was free of her shackles, and dressed in trousers that tapered at her waist, with a short tunic tucked into them. Still a much smaller presence than she was known to have been… but superior to how she looked in the dungeons, a week ago. “...I was supposed to be working outside on the community memorial, but I’m not convinced that the blonde Dawn warrior won’t kill me.” She offered a sheepish smile in accompaniment to her explanation, and shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t worry--I’ll get the job done faster than an ordinary alchemist, and be out of your hair soon enough.”
“Don’t screw it up, Ardane.” Isidor handed her the notes he’d taken, the corners of his mouth turned downward as he looked over his spectacles at her. “I mean it. This is engineering: your oversight because you’re too tired to stand could lead to someone else’s injury. If it comes back to me that you’re not up for the job, I’m putting an ordinary alchemist on it, and you can go back to the community memorial and hope that Sigrid Sorenson isn’t armed.”
“Come on, Is--you and I both know that we Master Alchemists do our best work when we’re about to drop dead.” The corner of Nia’s mouth turned upward in a grin and she winked. “If it means getting the hell out of my room and out of those fucking shackles, you can bet I’ll do a good job.”
She spared a quick glance at Ari, looking about as uncomfortable to be in his presence as he was to be in hers, and headed for a corner wall that required the most immediate attention, Her guard did not follow, but remained closeby, lest she fall out of line.
“...that hand of yours. How long does it normally take these… side-effects of your curse to dissipate?” Isidor asked out of the blue, tearing Ari away from whatever nervous thoughts plagued his mind, finding himself in the presence of Nia Ardane again so soon. “I’d offer my assistance, but I’ve already been advised time and again that you decline. I completely understand that it isn’t my services in particular you seek… but word travels fast in a small kingdom. Your people worry for you; whether you find yourself a victim of pride, obstinacy, or apathy… it would be to everyone’s advantage that you stop being a victim to your own vices.”
The Kristeva alchemist made as though to leave, stepping toward the ruined doorway which was now entirely free of doors, but he paused and lowered his voice while still in hearing range of the Canaveris lord. “...when I withdrew entirely from the woman I loved, thinking she did not want to see me in any capacity any longer, she not only left: she disappeared completely. From this palace, this kingdom, this… plain of existence. It is none of my business, but I will still say it again:” He expelled a soft sigh and closed his eyes. Remembered that lovely, transient lily made of nothing but light that he’d found on his desk the morning after Locque was defeated. It had disappeared in a single breath of air, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d dreamed it. “Stop being a victim of your vices and preconceived notions. Or you’ll end up like me… and I don’t wish that upon anyone.”
With nothing left to say, Isidor Kristeva retreated from the spacious and ruined observatory. He didn’t particularly like Aristide Canaveris; he liked Anetania Ardane even less. But he was no fool, and he didn’t need clairvoyance to foresee nothing but misfortune spiraling out of control if those two individuals did not take advantage of this rare second chance that they were being given.
However much he yearned for a little reprieve, a quiet outing in the Night Garden, for instance, or a moment alone to recuperate—or sleep—Haraldur Sorde knew the luxury didn’t exist when he was balancing trifold, sometimes fourfold, duties at once. In some ways, his perpetual state of busy-work was in itself a blessing, preventing him from mulling too deeply on the various ways he bundled everyday conversation. From trying to open the door halfway for Nia, to flouncing through the most basic interactions with Sigrid, Haraldur felt like a failure at the most fundamental level of humanity, and a failure in general. Excepting the night he performed emergency aid on Sigrid’s grievous wound by utilizing tree sap from the Night Garden, he was at a loss on how to perform as a Gardener, and everyone had their hands full in the kingdom’s recovery process to teach him how to be of any use. Aside from lending his innate green thumb and handiness with a shovel, unskilled labor was, unfortunately, all he was ever good for, apart from soldiering, and he defaulted to it out of necessity.
Tilling the memorial garden had its additional benefits, not least of which was keeping an eye out on Sigrid from afar. She made it clear that any attempt at gentle speech or soft persuasions would fall on deaf ears, and he knew better than to propagate words he didn’t mean. As a former Forbanne soldier compelled to kill, he understood how deeply the innocent blood spilled on her hands had affected her conscience, and to undermine her feelings of guilt was both an inconclusive and damaging approach. Better to keep her hands—and thoughts—occupied by different means. She didn’t seem opposed to this method, either.
Typically, he minded himself throughout the day, periodically checking on Sigrid but never to the point of full-on intrusiveness. He wasn’t nearly so self-important to believe his presence mattered much to his cousin, or that it helped. More than likely, he was a minor hindrance, and he readjusted his place to reflect his barely-tolerated standing, by remaining hidden, or in the background.
On this particular day, he emerged from his vantage point in the shadows following a rather heated discussion between her and the rankling Master Alchemist for whom he bore little love, but not active hatred, or disdain. So when he approached Sigrid, and she expressed her unfiltered thoughts about Nia, including her cushy sentence of punishment, he also couldn’t deny her logic—seeing as it reflected his own.
“Were it up to me, I would have let her hang,” he said, crossing his arms and nodding his agreement. “But the case of Nia Ardane is a complicated one. She gained too many powerful allies, and they would have incited a war between D’Marians and Galeynians if her death sentence was not overturned. In the end, mercy outweighed justice. Justice would do nothing more than plunge us into another war. This kingdom can’t afford it. Not so soon after incurring so much rampant loss.”
Haraldur kept to the facts, countering Sigrid’s rising anger with no shifts in inflection or changes in his mask of an expression. However, when the Dawn warrior shifted the topic to herself, his soldier-hardened features softened.
“You’re here because, like the Ardane woman, there are people who are not done with you yet. They value your life more than your death and disappearance. If for no other reason, Sigrid, please respect Naimah’s noble efforts to free you from Locque’s compulsion, and from the evils of Gaolithe.” He half-turned to the weeping tree, its cherry-red leaves chittering in the breeze, as though in agreement. “She worked beyond the grave to make sure you’d rediscover your path in this life. It will take a while, Sigrid, but meaning can be found in even the smallest of places. Take this garden, for instance.” He crouched before the small plot of land where she seeded the blue rose plant, giving the soil an affectionate pat. “Whatever you end up planting in the ground will thrive and grow, but it’s your hands that have done the planting. Here, you’re seeding life and supporting growth. There’s no death in this garden. No swords. No killing blows. Only what you cultivate into being.” Hollow words. Hollow. All hollow. He was incapable of bolstering anyone’s spirit, save for that of his children, and they were too young to know any better. Didn’t he know this about himself, already?!
And so, sighing in defeat, he stepped aside and let Sigrid go. As he always did when he lacked answers, or support, or anything useful to contribute.
Let me stick to what I know, he thought, glumly, and resumed his Night Garden grunt-work.
Sigrid wasn’t alone to dwell on her morose thoughts for more than a few minutes when she encountered two wolves at the edge of the memorial garden, closest to the palace entrance. They were not in their wolf skin, but Bronwyn and Hadwin Kavanagh were prowling on the pathway together when their sojourns collided with the Dawn warrior.
“Bron, punch me. Hard.” Hadwin clung to his sister’s shoulder. Sanctuary and serum-free for three days, the rabble rousing faoladh wasn’t anywhere near approaching full strength and required, by orders from the Head Gardener, herself, that he be appointed a guardian on account of him running off one too many times without permission, thereby continuously disrupting and upsetting his healing progress. Responsibilities often volleyed between Briery, Teselin, or Bronwyn for the honors of holding and securing his leash. Whoever was available. Bronwyn drew the short straw, today. “Do my eyes deceive me or is that none other than Siggy gadding about? Well, it’s been an age!” Ignoring his leash enforcer, Hadwin bounded forward, blocking the Dawn Warrior on the road and beaming an obnoxious grin at her. “I had to take turns keeping an eye over your zonked out ass for days while I was bored out of my mind at the sanctuary. You were shit company, I’ll have you know. I demand retribution. Oh yes, Siggy, we’re gonna talk, right now. That’s how you can make it up to me.”
“Hadwin,” Bronwyn hissed, trying to tug at his imaginary leash and curb him to the side, but to no avail. Short of footing his ass into the brush, which wouldn’t take a lick of effort on anyone’s part, there were Gardeners afoot, and they wouldn’t take kindly to the roughhousing of a former patient or the disturbance of their well-manicured azalea bushes.
“Relax, Bron, this ain’t idle chatter. I’ve got a point to make,” he gave a noncommittal shrug, a gesture that contradicted the very concept of a ‘point.’ “The hell you doing here, planting flowers? The Galeynians aren’t even sore with you; you’re wasting your time pleasing the entirely wrong crowd. Now, if you want a damn challenge, go be useful at the D’Marian settlement. They wanted your fucking head a few days ago and word has it, they’re still not over it. You got a lot of appeasing to do, Sigrid Sorenson. Why not start there?”
Bronwyn decided to honor Hadwin’s request, albeit moments delayed, and punched him on the shoulder. Hard. “You ever watch your fucking mouth for one second?” She rumbled at her brother, who didn’t even react to the bruiseworthy blow she landed. “Sigrid Sorenson,” she cleared her throat and looked to the lost Dawn warrior. “I’m sorry. You obviously want to be left alone and—”
“—Oh come off it,” Hadwin scoffed. “Tell me honest, Siggy; do you wanna be treated like a fragile flower all the goddamn time? No? You wanna regain a modicum of the control you lost? Then listen up.” He pointed in the direction of the observatory; rather, the empty place in the sky where the observatory should be. “Go there and ask for the D’Marian leader. His name’s Aristide Canaveris. He’ll set you up at the settlement if you’re interested in facing the fires. The gent owes me a favor anyway. He won’t say no if you tell him I sent you. Hells,” he slapped Bronwyn on the back, “and since she’s so concerned, go on and take my sister with you! She’s got Papa Sorde’s blessing so chances are he’ll be more receptive to this plan if she’s got your back! Sound good? Yeah? Yeah.” With a brusque shove, he threw Bronwyn in Sigrid’s direction, enough to wobble her off balance and careen her towards the blonde warrior like a rogue spinning top. Amidst the chaos, Hadwin scampered off, making his grand escape.
While what Lazarus observed was true—the petrifaction had spread to his wrist, locking his hand into an uncomfortable hook-shape—Ari still refused to seek relief. Some may interpret his adamant rejection as convenient excuses, unrelenting pride, or fear, but his reasons, to him, were valid. What was the point of relieving the problem today, only for it to manifest elsewhere the following day? What if it affected his leg, next? Both legs? ...His heart? For now, the issue was localized; it spread to one location only. He wouldn’t bother good people to address his curse if the asking would become constant. After all, they were merely treating the symptoms; and if the symptoms were worsening, then everyone would start paying attention. News traveled fast in Galeyn and word would eventually reach the D’Marians, who, out of concern for their leader, would heap extra pressure on Nia to deliver her agreed-upon service to eradicate his curse and...he couldn’t do that to her.
Besides, if Isidor Kristeva—or Nia—resolved the issues affecting his stone-laden hand, then the earth mages under his employ would expect him to sculpt, and how would they receive his response? I do not wish to sculpt for an earth mage fully vested in his craft was akin to saying, I have no interest in living, and he didn’t want to set the wrong precedent for his people, or scare them needlessly. Already, he made short work of spooking Lazarus. A few reassuring words transformed into an impromptu confession and now, his trusted manservant was too abashed to show his face, despite the fact that he always lurked nearby.
He should have known better than to even remark upon the less-than-zero likelihood of his imminent death. People needed him to be strong-willed in spite of his handicaps, not morbid. Vulnerable. ...Cracking.
Presentation was important. Therefore, when Isidor Kristeva intervened the following morning, he smiled his most unruffled smile and bowed his most respectful greetings, heedless of his true feelings in obtaining the Master Alchemist’s unsolicited aid. Among earth mages, any construction projects involving stone, tunneling, and housing remained a source of pride, and outsourcing another opinion about the work, especially when it pertained to foundations and infrastructure, and from a Master Alchemist who had little business schooling them in their actual profession, gravely stung. No earth mage struggled to repair a crack or reinforce a wall, and it was insulting to even imply as much. Electing for diplomacy in place of affront, Ari opted for politesse and appreciation, but faltered in his exchange when he volunteered not himself, but Nia for the task, completely changing the dynamic, and dispelling his annoyances.
“Well,” he began, muffling his initial unease by buffing out a smile and aiming it at Nia, “who am to deny the services of a specialist? You are always welcome here, Miss Nia,” came his earnest reply. A slip of the tongue, almost, when the statement carried meaning far penetrating the surface of their current, mundane situation. Always. You are always welcome at my side. An awkward sideways glance at the wall dispelled their borderline intimate staring. “Though I cannot guarantee a clean, noiseless environment. You have my apologies. And my gratitude.”
As Nia shuffled away, Ari was about to formally dismiss himself and do the same, but Isidor was not quite finished conversing with him; strange, considering the reclusive Master Alchemist wasn’t keen on making small talk. This, however, wasn’t small talk.
“Several days,” Ari said tersely, but honestly. “Alas, my particular ailment is mercurial in nature. On occasion, it enjoys posing greater challenges. Think of this,” he nodded to the hidden hand strapped to his cane, “as a challenge. Should it become too burdensome to bear, you have my word that I shall seek the appropriate avenues for treatment.”
But the gloomy Kristeva Alchemist wasn’t yet done with him. In a bold maneuver many would consider inappropriate, Isidor began referencing his and Nia’s relationship, garnering a lowering of eyebrows and a twitch of something unpleasant forming at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you for your counsel, Master Kristeva. However, please refrain from discussion of personal matters that have little to do with our mutual project. I understand you speak from a place of concern and experience, but we are not familiar, nor are we gaily having some R&R over wine in the parlor. I thank you to steer clear of my affairs. ...I am not a victim.” That last bit emerged from his lips, unbidden, not carefully curated or selected like the majority of his words. His cane scraped the floor, in apparent agitation with him. “What I do is at the behest of my people, Master Kristeva. My apologies for your loss, but we are not comparable. Good day.”
What Ari should have done, after bidding the meddlesome Kristeva farewell, was consult the Head Mason on the modified plans that were evidently discussed on the sly (seeing as he had no part in them). Instead, he waved the man on, assuring that he’d catch up in a few minutes...and approached Nia in the far corner where she established herself. Why? He had nothing to tell her. Nothing pertinent, anyway. Did the other Master Alchemist’s words affect him that much?
“Miss Nia. Perhaps you would benefit from ah, a quick tour of the premises before you begin?” The smile he plastered on his face squiggled with uncertainty, but he maintained his pleasantries in earnest. “I understand that you have frequented the observatory. Perhaps you can offer your perspective on how we should best approach its reconstruction. I’ve a few ideas in mind; particularly, I wish to open this space to the public, and connect it to the memorial garden outside. A tunnelway between the two areas would be quite intriguing. We can carve the names of each individual who passed. doubling it as a mausoleum or catacomb of sorts; what do you think?”
But his musings on the subject were short-lived. Seconds after his friendly inquiry, a low, keening rumble sounded from the wall to Nia’s right, a subtle but very familiar noise to any earth mage who understood structural anomalies and compromised brickwork. Before he realized what he was doing, he’d rushed at her. “Watch out!” Flinging aside his cane, he enfolded both arms around her waist as the two propelled across the floor, just in time for the wall beside them to collapse on top of them. The bricks never made contact with their unfortunate targets, however, dissipating into a harmless rainfall of detritus and dust over their shoulders. As their bodies rammed against the polished marble, Ari, who’d cradled the back of Nia’s head to brace for impact, flinched when a loud, sickening crack reverberated across the vast, echo-prone chamber. His hand. His stone hand had...
Hiding away his horror, he removed his arms from Nia and offered his unaffected hand to help her to her feet. “Nia,” he said, his hair a wild tangle across his perspiring forehead, his breaths labored from the large output of magic he’d just used. “Are you hurt?”
She was pushing everyone away, Haraldur included--and she knew it. What was worse, Sigrid knew, and had known for a long time, that he didn’t deserve it. He had saved her life; had come to check on her countless times when she’d been unconscious, according to the Gardeners, and then even more frequently in hopes that she would open up to him when she finally awoke. He was trying to help… and, again and again, she was encouraging him not to try at all. Finally, he had backed off, and more often than not, respected her desire to be alone, but… that wasn’t what he wanted. And, deep down it wasn’t what she wanted, either. But Sigrid couldn’t have what she wanted, because Naimah was gone. There was no getting her back, or the lives of the family she had been compelled to kill, under Locque’s control.
What did you want from me, Naimah? What is there left to do here? I’d have been better off with you… wherever you are. You were supposed to be my future…
The former Dawn warrior actively avoided dwelling on the future, because she did not know where it would take her. But today, she wouldn’t have had the chance to dwell on it for long, anyway. She was not alone more than a few moments in the developing memorial garden when an obnoxiously familiar voice, and body to match, forced its way into her attention. “Are you really well enough to be on your feet so soon?” Sigrid asked flatly, raising an eyebrow. “Many apologies that my unconscious body wasn’t entertaining enough for you. I may owe a great debt to a lot of people right now, and I might never be able to repay it, but I am in no way indebted to you. What do you want, Hadwin?”
Much though she’d rather have tolerated her cousin’s company to listening to the faoladh yammer on and on, when the topic of the current struggles were none of his damn business, Sigrid couldn’t help but feel like… well, he did have a point. Here she was, tilling a garden in a friendly place with friendly people who treated her with nothing but concern and respect, but it was not the Galeynians whose forgiveness she needed. She had never killed a Galeynian; her affront was to the D’Marians. That family she had slaughtered… It hadn’t surpassed her attention that they had demanded retribution if Anetania Ardane was likewise to pay for her crimes. Hell, Ardane technically hadn’t even killed anyone! But the once Dawn warrior had. Frankly, she was surprised she hadn’t been summoned to her own trial. Really, what right had she to criticize the soft treatment of Anetania Ardane, when she had never even been a prisoner for her crimes--not then, and not now?
Sigrid’s face went slack upon this realization. She didn’t startle out of her thoughts until Hadwin suddenly thrust his sister forward, and completely on reflex, the once wielder of Gaolithe caught the eldest faoladh around the waist. How long had it been, since she’d last had her hands around a woman’s waist? She waited perhaps a beat too long before removing her arms and allowing Bronwyn to step back. “Your brother is an asshole.” She told the she-wolf, but her blue eyes and soft tone of voice did not mirror the accusation in her words. “But… he isn’t wrong. Perhaps I am not finding myself any less lost because these people don’t see me as needing to atone. But the D’Marians do--and they’ll be here for a while. So will I, since I haven’t really much of an alternate direction, anymore… I can’t avoid them forever, any more than I can avoid myself. Bronwyn,” It was the first time she had spoken the woman’s name. The last time they’d encountered one another had been at Naimah’s memorial rosebush, when the eldest Kavanagh had still been dead set on preserving her little sister’s life. They had not been on good terms, then; Sigrid had judged her harshly, out of anger and despair. Perhaps she owed it to this woman, too, to become something better than she was.
“Do you happen to know where I might find this Aristide Canaveris? I haven’t ventured far from the Night Garden since… well, in weeks. I don’t recall ever venturing to the observatory during that short period of time I stayed at the palace, and wouldn’t know where to look.” It was a half-truth: she knew of the observatory, but not where to find it, although she imagined it wouldn’t be hard to find, given it was in dire need of repairs and remodeling. But if she ventured there alone, she’d be flanked by people asking how she was, what she needed, how they could help… and she was sick of it. At least, if she was seen in the presence of another living being (and willingly so), people might be more apt to mind their own damned business.
Truth be told, volunteering her skills for repairs to her once favourite place in the palace had certainly not been Nia’s first choice, when it came to the beginning of her servitude in exchange for keeping her life. And not because she didn’t want to be there, or had stopped caring for the room where she had once entertained the ghostly apparitions of her sisters, and worked meticulously on repairing her harp, or even because Ari was there and she was reluctant to face awkward conversation. Rather, her reluctance came as a result of this not being the environment in which she wanted to be around the Canaveris lord. It was too busy, too many people--his people, in particular--and there was no opportunity for them to be real. For her to call him out on his bullshit for not letting her or Isidor tend to his hand. When faced with his people, Aristide Canaveris knew precisely how to present himself, and while it was not a farce… neither was it entirely him. Because part of being true to oneself was acknowledging vulnerabilities and letting others bear witness to them as well. As someone who had always been on the run, like a prey animal ever aware of predators lurking in every corner, Nia was also guilty of this--but, lately, to a lesser extent. He had seen her at her worst. Hell, this whole kingdom had, and in a way… it was a relief. She had nothing left to hide, and felt freer, for it. But the same could not be said for Ari.
The Ardane woman was not privy to the last words that the Canaveris lord and Isidor Kristeva exchanged, leaving her oblivious to the real reason the Kristeva alchemist had not hesitated to let her step in for a job that he could have done, himself. And, frankly, it wasn’t much of a job, even in referring to his detailed notes. Certainly, a Master Alchemist could make a difference in preserving and reinforcing the structural soundness of a building or a room in a building, but it did not surpass her awareness that such a task did feel a little redundant and unnecessary amongst earth mages. Isidor had mentioned something along the lines of it not being a matter of doing their job for them, but rather, making it safer for them to do their job at all, and thereby allowing them to work at a faster pace. Nonetheless, she couldn’t help but wonder if Ari would really see it that way, or instead, see the interference of a Master Alchemist as encroaching on his territory. The man was nothing but capable and proud of his skills, and by the looks of shock on his face when Isidor had explained what needed to be done and who would be doing it, he hadn’t been apprised of the matter, even if his masons had.
Nonetheless, if he wanted to kick her out and stubbornly insist that the entirety of the observatory should be left to him and his skilled workers, then he could go over there and tell her himself. Nia wanted to be busy; and even if this busywork was largely inconsequential, as the earth mages really could do the same thing that she was doing, albeit perhaps at a slower pace, she wasn’t about to point out the redundancy of her presence. It gave her something to do, an alternative to sitting alone and stewing in her thoughts. So, let her be redundant, until she was told to go elsewhere!
She wondered if that was precisely what Ari meant to do when the Canaveris lord approached her, following Isidor’s departure. “Thanks, but don’t bother. I’m probably not going to be here for long: just enough to make sure neither you nor your skilled and dedicated earth mages don’t end up under a pile of rubble, in case some of these walls buckle.” Nia responded with a shrug, pressing her palms to a large, spidering crack in one of the walls. She frowned; this did feel worrisome… How long had Ari and the D’Marians been working here, under such questionable conditions? Already, the ruined room was looking far better than before, but they really had gambled their safety, when there was still the potential that this room wasn’t through with falling apart quite yet.
“Anyway, it’s not like this was my room. Just a place I liked to come to clear my head. Whatever you want to do with it is entirely up to you. Though how the hell you’re gonna install a tunnel all the way from the Night Garden to the topmost floor of this palace is way beyond me. Still, if you can make it happen… we’ll, you’re the expert. I’m just here to keep myself busy until higher powers see fit to let me out of the palace.” She sighed and drew her hand away from the wall. “Hey, I don’t like the feel of some of this material. Its integrity is compromised. If this wall is gonna stay stable, we need--”
She didn’t have time to finish, and unfortunately, her observation came a mite too late. Just like Ari, she wasn’t oblivious to that worrisome rumble, but was too slow to react. Before she knew what was happening, the Canaveris lord threw himself at her as pieces of the wall she had just been talking about cracked, crumbled, and stone and marble fell like an avalanche precisely where the two of them had been standing. The tumble knocked the wind out of the Master Alchemist, but otherwise, she felt relatively unharmed, and more surprised than she was hurt. Ari, on the other hand…
Nia had heard that crack, the sound of his petrified hand hitting the marble floor to protect her head when they made impact with the ground. But she also felt it: that anomaly in the fiber of his being when the two of them tried to pick themselves up, and her hand came in contact with the one hand of his that remained organic. The Master Alchemist had become well acquainted enough with the very fabric of Ari’s being that it did not require a good deal of concentration to know when something wasn’t just wrong, but beyond wrong. The question was… how horrible a condition did he have to be in before he would finally let her help?
“...take me to the infirmary.” She blurted, and made a show of clutching her side and wincing in pain. “Something’s wrong… Ari, take me to the infirmary, now!”
She wasn’t about to let him pass the responsibility to someone else. As he helped her to her feet, Nia grabbed one of his bell sleeves in a tight fist, and would not let go. “The infirmary--we’re going to the infirmary,” she informed the guard, as if he, along with everyone else in the room, wasn’t already aware of what had just happened. “Come along if you must, but I’m not asking your permission.”
Just as she was well-practiced in acting like nothing was wrong when she was hurt, it appeared the Master Alchemist also had a knack for making it believable when she wasn’t hurt, but needed the world to believe otherwise. It helped that she couldn’t make long strides down the corridors and stairs with the condition of her leg, the muscles in her left calf still tight and aching from the injury that had long since healed. She clutched her side all the way to the infirmary, successfully convincing everyone around her that she was in pain, before she dropped the act entirely and turned to Ari with conviction. “No more messing around, Ari. Give me your hand.”
Without waiting for permission that she might not get, Nia seized the Canaveris lord’s petrified hand. It was just as she had feared: a crack ran from the top right of his wrist, diagonally down to the first knuckle of his middle finger. Too much pressure, and half of his hand might literally… snap off. No one, not even she, would be of help to him then.
“You fancy Alster’s steel arm, Ari? Because that’s as good as you’re gonna end up with if you don’t swallow your damn pride and let me help now! No more bullshit.” The Ardane woman dropped her facade of a helpless, injured being immediately, and turned to Daphni as soon as the confused Sybaian healer rounded the corner.
“Nia?” Her brows furrowed, perplexed to find the Master Alchemist present with the Canaveris lord. “What is--”
“Get me a small knife--something to draw blood. And get a healer who’s capable of dealing with an extremely injured hand.” Nia demanded, and pushed Ari’s sleeve up to his elbow, relieved to find the petrification hadn’t spread past his wrist. “This is really fucking bad, Ari. Even when I reverse this symptom of your curse, it’s not gonna fix the fact that you have literally broken your hand. I only hope that crack doesn’t run too deep, because let me tell you, torn muscle and cartilage is not fun to deal with… You’re gonna need something for pain.”
To her great relief, Daphni did not ask questions, and retrieved a small knife for Nia to draw blood from Ari’s unaffected hand. “We’re stopping this before it gets worse.”
Nia had become so used to treating Ari’s flare ups at this point that they hardly required any concentration at all. It was almost second nature to her, and ironically, her exhaustion and lack of food that day expedited the process, paving a cleaner path for her alchemy to take effect. But unlike other times, when her gradual buffing away of stone revealed smooth, warm skin underneath, as she reversed the curse’s effects on his hand, from his wrist downward, fresh blood began to seep from a very serious open wound as it approached and then passed the literal ‘break’ in his appendage. “Hang in there, Ari,” she said softly, very much aware that now that she was returning his hand to flesh, bone, and blood, his sense of touch--and pain--were rapidly returning. There was nowhere else she’d have performed this procedure, were they too far from healers and proper treatment. “Just about done. We’ll get this patched up; you’re gonna be fine.”
While Nia focused on finishing up, reverting his fingers back from tiny cylinders of stone to usable digits, Daphni had stepped in to press a cloth to his injured hand to staunch the sudden flow of blood from what looked to be a very grievous wound. “Elias will step in to help momentarily, Lord Canaveris.” She assured the injured D’Marian leader, as Nia removed her hand upon completion of her task. The Master Alchemist looked pale, and spent, but it was nothing compared to the pallor of Ari’s face.
“You should’ve let me help when I offered.” Nia sighed, drawing away from Ari to make room for the healers to do the real work, now that his hand was now made entirely of organic material. “This could have been avoided. If you didn’t want me to do it, you should’ve taken Isidor up on his agreement to help…” Exhausted, she pressed her back to the wall and slumped to the floor. “What were you trying to achieve? It was… it was stupid of you. Look at how many people you’ve worried… and for no good reason.”
Although Bronwyn was possessed of a strong, athletic core, and was quick on her feet, she didn’t expect Hadwin’s brusque push would carry so much strength or effectiveness. He hadn’t been at his physical peak in months! From where did he generate the adrenaline to unseat her balance?! She looked for him, but he darted off with a speed too blinding to track when her own eyes were spinning from the disruption of her center of gravity. While she had the confidence to right herself, she couldn’t prevent a head-on collision with the blonde warrior, who, instead of dodging out of the way, grabbed hold of her waist and steadied her in place. It didn’t escape her attention that the other woman’s arms lingered there a little too long.
“Ah...thank you,” she said, taking a small, albeit step backwards, respecting the privacy of personal space. “Hadwin is always an asshole. And I’m going to sniff you out, you little shit, so don’t get too cozy in your hidey-hole!” She yelled a little too loudly, garnering strange looks from the nearby Gardeners. Ears reddening, she shuffled her feet together, cowed by her inappropriate boldness. “But,” she let forth a regretful sigh, dispelling some of that righteous anger, “I’ve come to learn that he isn’t cruel. His methods are bunk, but his heart’s usually in the right place.” Usually. Then why did he make such a mess of Rowen’s...She closed her eyes, banishing the thought. They never had that conversation. Never even broached the subject. Breezy as Hadwin appeared, a manic edge sharpened around his eyes whenever someone mentioned Rowen by name. He only spoke of her in general terms, but if she attempted the same, he deftly changed the topic. “He’s nicer if he likes you,” she continued, electing for a lighthearted angle regarding her brother. “Note that I said nicer and not nice. But,” she twirled the curled ends of her bound, bronze hair, pulling at some of the tangles, “if you’re really sure about seeking out people who despise you, the D’Marian settlement is the place to go. At Nia’s hearing, many did demand you be put on trial, too, but the queen outright shut them down, and so did the D’Marian leader. I think they’re more aggrieved than angry with you, and just want a scapegoat now that the real culprits are dead.”
Culprits. She paused for a beat. So referring to Rowen in the vaguest of terms also garnered the same reaction in her as it did for Hadwin. While she would never deny or downplay the unforgivable harm her sister had caused, it still twisted at her gut to bear the terrible reminder. Hadwin might have escaped the brunt of Galeynian and D’Marian outrage, because he’d accrued a following as a loveable scoundrel long before her arrival, and he also shouldered the responsibility for Rowen’s demise, but Bronwyn...she caught their sideways glances of disapproval. They didn’t trust her. For all her harried attempts at diplomacy and volunteer work, rebuilding houses, hammering fences into their posts, and wrangling up runaway livestock, they viewed her as the faoladh who strayed once, who worked alongside Locque once, and who didn’t kill, but could have killed, if given the chance. They weren’t wrong. If given the chance, she would have bitten off the throats of that D’Marian family in Sigrid’s stead. If only their positions were reversed...
“Are you sure you’d want me to come along?” She dropped her hand, repositioning it in a mild grip around her arm. “It’s true, I’ve had a good rapport with your cousin, but that hasn’t changed the public’s opinion of me. You might not remember, but I was briefly under Locque’s compulsion, too. But I was deemed too useless to keep around, and I was sold as a bargaining chip for surrender.” She shrugged at the term ‘useless,” as if acknowledging it was common knowledge by now. It still hurt, but Hadwin wasn’t the only Kavanagh who could belittle his own emotions. “She didn’t have a strong hold on me, but it was enough. The people haven’t forgotten. But, if it’s just to guide you in the right direction,” she nodded and slipped ahead on the path, taking the lead, “I know where to go. Aristide Canaveris doesn’t seem like an unreasonable man. He wouldn’t feed you to the D’Marians for sport, so whatever he’ll have you do in the settlement won’t be for gruesome entertainment value.”
The aftermath of the demolished avalanche coated the two in a fine layer of dust. The hazards of the job required everyone to don a mask over the nose and mouth, to prevent the dusty air from filtering into one’s lungs and inducing persistent, agitating coughs. But neither Nia nor Ari wore a mask, and the latter, earth mage notwithstanding, was the first to splutter and cough his distaste from the environment, prompting everyone in the vicinity to gather—Lazarus included. If they heard the crack amid the tumble and eradication of bricks, no one mentioned it aloud, especially the golem, whose psychic connection to his master didn’t require words of confirmation.
“Lord Canaveris.” One of the D’Marian earth mages stepped forward, offering a hand out of courtesy, but by then, he had risen from the ground, with Nia clinging to him in apparent distress. “Are you—”
“—Carry on, everyone,” Ari said, exuding so much unruffled confidence, despite his disheveled appearance, that it swayed the other workers into relaxing their concerns. “But you must excuse us. Miss Nia requires a hand; as she fell under my watch, it is my duty to accompany her to the infirmary. I shan’t be long.” Before he dismissed himself, he caught Lazarus’s attention. The big golem followed pace without fail, but faltered when he received a telepathic message. Stay here, Laz. Investigate the wall. I have reason to believe someone has tampered with its integrity.
Dutifully, though his concern was palpable, Lazarus nodded his understanding and ceased pursuit, instead turning his attention to the destroyed wall.
“Where does it hurt, Nia? Is my pace too grueling?” Ari asked of his injured charge, leaning her body against the crook of his arm, in every action a gentleman, but beneath his layer of gentility, his heart raced from their shared proximity. But better to dwell on their rather intimate points of contact than on more worrying tidbits; namely, the crack that blossomed on his hand. It occurred to him that her uncanny ability to analyze his internal composition might have alerted her to the crack, and their venture to the infirmary was a farce on her end, but by the time he reached such a conclusion, they had already traversed through the doors and she was seating him on a cot, indeed dispensing of her ruse.
“So,” he breathed, “you are not injured?” But she didn’t dignify him with a straight response before yanking his affected hand by the wrist and plucking off his glove, revealing, to them both, the very real and terrifying condition of his hand. Etched into the stone flesh, a clean crack slit from mid-knuckle to the curve of his wrist like a ravine in miniature, its cliffsides plunging into darkness.
Upon seeing the damage for himself, all composure drained from his expression. His eyes grew wide, and haunted, as he finally remembered something important. Something vital. Something he never wanted to lose, much as he downplayed its necessity. “Nia,” an unavoidable tremor shot up his arm. He leaned closer, his good hand gripping her shoulder, fear and desperation rocking him to his core. “I cannot lose this hand. I am a sculptor. Even if I were to obtain a perfectly good replacement hand, I would have to readjust and recalibrate and its function might never be the same and…” He lowered his head into the divot of her neck, gritting his teeth to prevent an outpouring of emotion, lest he generate another flare-up, or enlarge the one he already nursed. “My hands are my livelihood. I need them, both. Equally. Please forgive my foolishness to this point. ...I...I humbly ask for your help. ...Please.”
As timing would have it, a healer walked in just as he was publicly prostrating himself before Nia, but it little mattered in his current state. Over the last several weeks, Ari had been reduced to the shallowest components of himself, operating on nothing more than pride and obstinacy, because it was all he had left to give. His people accepted his bare offerings because he excelled at facade and knew how to cut and shine a mediocre gem to display its many kaleidoscopic facets, blinding everyone with spectacle to bury the truth. Now that he shed those final two components, the flaws, the scratches, the chips, and distorted reflections became much more apparent to the viewer. To Nia. And no amount of polish or buffing would distort her eyes from seeing him, a scared child begging to be saved, as something different, let alone dignified, or respected. Before her...he was, again, a victim.
It was in that pathetic, groveling position he remained as she worked on depetrifying his hand. Closing his eyes, he made no sound or reaction, even when Nia drew a small incision over his arm. So accustomed was he to the routine, the pain was incidental, especially in comparison to his shame. When sensation returned to the affected area, he breathed through the acute searing and ripping sensations of flesh, managing a rhythmic in-and-out through the nose, albeit shakily. At Nia’s announcement of completion, he fluttered his eyes open, hesitant to look at the damaged skin, fearing the sight would cause him to panic and disrupt his measured breaths, induce another flare-up, until the same healer from before, one he had never met, but who certainly knew him by name and appearance, swept in and immediately blotted that hand from view with a cloth. Now that Nia had retreated, there was no one for him to grab for comfort, no one he felt comfortable holding, so the fingers of his good hand raked at the bedsheets, lost in their search for purchase among the wild, painful throbbing of his broken hand.
Throughout the ordeal, however, he never forgot his manners and scrounged together a smile as he asked the woman tending to his wound for her name. “Thank you, Miss Adela, for your hard work. I do not suppose I can make a request for magical healing, and not stitches? You have seen my hand prior to Miss Nia’s delicate reversal. It would be...problematic if it reverted back to stone before it healed in full.”
“It depends on the severity of your hand, but I will take your request into consideration.” Elias, the apparition in red that haunted the infirmary, approached the bed, hands ghost-white with the gloves he wore. “Good morning, Lord Canaveris. I understand you also pose concerns about your hand as it pertains to your sculpting. Well,” he lowered into a chair and gestured for Ari to extend his arm out, “let’s take a look.”
Ari, not accustomed to anyone else touching him aside from Nia, Lazarus, his mother, and his own dedicated physician, was a little shy to act, but he complied, lowering his eyes to avoid seeing the blood and potential severity of his injury. The fingers of his good hand stretched, seeking Nia, wanting her near, but he was too abashed to speak the request aloud, so he ceased movement...and waited for the news, good or bad.
After a few moments of silent examination elapsed, Ari almost startled when Elias, at last, shared his remarks. “You are indeed very lucky, Lord Canaveris. The cut is a clean one, and shallower than it appears. It crossed over several arteries, hence the blood, but severed nothing in its entirety. Nothing requires internal stitching, so I will be able to provide you magical healing on the proviso that you also treat the resulting scar with the Night Garden ointments and salves I prescribe to you, three times a day, and you engage in light rehabilitative exercises for two weeks, the details of which I’ll provide to you later. Only if your hand shows improved signs of mobility will I then consider easing restrictions on it and allow you the freedom to return to your sculpting. Is this understood?”
Lightened by the news, the worry lines across Ari’s brow smoothed as he voiced his full and unerring compliance with the rules. “My hands are oft afflicted, for days at a time. You will find I am quite familiar with hand and finger rehabilitation exercises, and the strength of my digits are, as a result, very resilient, and resistant to prolonged muscular freezes as a result of my...condition. I am certain my hand shall recover long before a fortnight has passed, but I will do as you say.”
“Is that so?” Elias cleaned the wound carefully, dabbing away the blood for clearer access to the injury. “Then I will check your progress in a weeks’ time, Lord Canaveris. I will say,” a low, white hum of energy irradiated from his open palm, “you do seem less headache-inducing than your contemporary, here,” he motioned to Nia with his head. “It is refreshing, to say the least.”
“Oh, not at all.” With his mood refreshed, not even the forceful restitching of his flesh via magic or the needling jolts of firehot pain could falter his speech. “Ask Miss Nia and you will hear a different story. To her; I am a notoriously frustrating patient.” His voice lowered, contrite. “She would not be wrong in her appraisal.”
After the gash on his hand disappeared, leaving a white line of scar tissue amid the brown, Ari elected to look at the result, experimentally waggling his fingers for the first time in weeks. They felt incredibly weak, creaky, and sore, but the fact that he could move them at all buoyed his spirit, because it meant the crack had been swiftly dealt with and wouldn’t ruin his hand beyond repair. Lucky, indeed. His gratitude couldn’t begin to cover how much relief he felt.
As Elias excused himself to fetch some of the Night Garden ointments and tinctures for Ari’s hand, he stopped Daphni to request some food and water, to which she happily complied, and headed out of the room to fetch him a plate.
“You must be famished, Nia.” Now alone in the room together, he peered over at the floor where she sat and patted an empty space on the cot for her to relocate. “I cannot, in good conscience, have you return to the observatory unless you are sated with food and drink. Stay with me until we please both healers on duty and are discharged with their blessings. Stay...and I will answer your question.”
“I...must be a disappointment to you,” he admitted, cradling his once injured hand against his chest. “Too good to be true—you are not wrong to believe so. I am too good to be true, because I am a lie. In truth, I am...frankly, I am terrified of exposing even the barest of weakness. To anyone. Since publicly unveiling my curse, people have begun to treat me differently. If they were made aware of how often I would require you, or Master Kristeva, to tend to my petrifactions, surely, they would lose their faith in me as a capable leader...so I ignored my condition to save face.” Already thoroughly knocked from his pedestal, the confession didn’t mortify him, perhaps because the latest incident had slipped off his mask, and to slide it back on like nothing ever happened would be disingenuous to Nia. So he kept it off.
“Nonetheless, I am thankful for your diversion, earlier, as well as your discretion. People may always worry, but not as much as...I’ve worried you, I take it? Ah, forgive my presumption.” He swept a hand through his rock-dusted hair, trying to arrange it into some semblance of cleanliness and order. “I am spouting nonsense. I…” unbidden, he took her hand when she drew near to his cot, “please understand. In my foolishness, I...thought I did not deserve healing. I thought I would be fine to carry this hand for as long as you deemed me unworthy. If it pleased you, I would gladly suffer for what I put you through, and more.” A faint, pitiful laugh escaped his lips. “How quickly I changed my mind when I discovered I might never sculpt another day in my life, when I was so ready to put my artistic ambitions aside, indefinitely. It is embarrassing to behold, my wavering convictions. So see me as I am, Nia. As a...as a joke.” His fingers slipped, and he released her hand. “I am a joke...and my heart is weak. It falls so easily into darkness.”
Darkness…
A flash of an idea struck him. “Tonight. Would you...would you bear my company tonight? Alone? I want to apologize properly for my idiocy. I promise you that if you withstand my boorish presence for just fifteen minutes, I will never ignore another flare-up. I shall even swallow my pride and ask Master Kristeva for his assistance if you are not available, despite my...growing distaste for him.” He wrinkled his nose at that. “If you agree to my proposal, then...meet me at the entrance to the Night Garden, after the eighth bell. I will wait for you.”
Not a moment too soon, Daphni arrived with a tray of bread, a bowl of vegetable soup, and a variety of Night Garden fruits. He immediately handed the tray to Nia. “Please eat your fill, Miss Nia,” he smiled gently. “Do not mind me. I’ve seen your eating habits and they do not faze me.” In fact...I find them rather endearing. But he smartly kept that last bit to himself. He had lost her love. To say such flirtatious things aloud was highly tone-deaf on his part...and hopeless.
From what she could tell of her limited read of his body and how it was functioning through her touch alone, Nia wanted to believe that that crack in his hand was, in fact, worse than it looked. Even if he had betrayed her, even if he’d gambled her life on the off chance that he could talk his way out of her arrest and death sentence, the Ardane woman couldn’t bring herself to wish ill on the Canaveris lord. However dangerous and ridiculous the actions he’d taken, and despite the fact that he had turned her in instead of helping her run, like she had been so desperate to do, a part of her knew that he had been telling the truth when he’d explained his heart had been in the right place. He really had thought that seeing her trial through was the best solution; he had thought that that was the answer for them to actually be together in the public eye. He had wanted that for her, and for them… and as much as she felt she could never forgive him for it, neither could she let him suffer, or forever lose the use of his hand. He was an artist--a sculptor. And she, of all people, knew the value of hands when they were such an integral part of your craft or trade.
“You’re not gonna lose your hand. It looks a lot worse than it is.” She explained as she worked, although she wasn’t entirely sure that she was right; that prognosis would be up to Daphni and Elias, the real healers, after that hand was returned to normal. “I wouldn’t bother doing what I’m doing if I thought it was a lost cause--but I still think you’re an imbecile for letting it happen. It didn’t have to happen at all, if you hadn’t been so stubborn.”
When she finished and relinquished the patient to Daphni and Elias, slumping her exhausted body against the wall, the Master Alchemist shut her eyes and listened in on the conversation as soon as the Clematis healer took over. Good--it was as she’d suspected. Not broken, just damaged, and from what Elias was saying, the likelihood of lasting damage was unlikely. Ari would be sore, but he would sculpt again. Why that gave her hope and a sense of relief, she didn’t really know. Maybe it had something to do with the realization that it made no sense for him to suffer just because he’d put her in a precarious position, turning her over to Galeynian authorities; more likely, much though she tried to deny it, was that she still had feelings for him.
When Ari beckoned her over, she forced her eyelids open, knowing better than to let herself drift off in public, especially when she was supposed to be putting in work to atone for her involvement with Locque. It required way more effort than it should have taken to push herself to her feet and away from the wall; when was the last time she had slept restfully enough for it to actually make a difference? Long before all of this madness. When Locque had still been in power… and she had still been on easy, amicable terms with Ari and his family (excluding Nadira, who had only recently seemed to change her tune after the Ardane alchemist had been arrested…)
Reluctant though she was to oblige Ari, Daphni, who had yet to leave the room, chimed in, “I’m inclined to agree with lord Canaveris, Nia. You have a duty to this kingdom and its people, now, and you cannot perform that duty if you can’t stand. I’d like you to stay until you’ve eaten something.”
“Hey--that’s not fair. I’ve been a good little prisoner, I follow the rules; I did eat today. Almost everything on my plate, before I set off to encounter that avalanche in the observatory.” Nia’s brows knit together as she argued. “The both of you should already know, I do better work if my stomach’s not full!”
“Be that as it may, you can’t do anything at all if you can hardly get to your feet. Eat something.” The Sybaian healer nodded to the tray of food. “Then we’ll consider having you return to assist lord Canaveris in the reconstruction of the observatory.”
She didn’t know what was more annoying: having her day be dictated by people who decided where and when she would be useful, or being watched like a child who hadn’t yet developed the skills to look out for herself and make sound decisions. But, compared to a death sentence… she really wasn’t in a position to complain. “Of course you will.” Nia muttered, and moved her sluggish body over to the cot where she had left Ari. While wholly disinterested in the food in front of her--a trait she had newly developed, contrary to what was characteristic of her beforehand, and her well-known love for food--she picked up a small piece of bread to nibble on to appease her current audience.
“Shocking as it may be, I’m not that hungry. Food just doesn’t taste good anymore.” She refrained from going into detail about how it upset her stomach more often than not, with the exception of some fruits and vegetables from the Night Garden, in moderation. People were already too invested in her health and recovery since her time spent in the dungeons, and it was getting to the point of being invasive and annoying. “I’m just tired. What I’d love is a night of completely dreamless interrupted sleep… but that’s not a luxury I have, anymore. Not since the crap they gave me from the Night Garden.”
Nia was, however, interested in the answers that Ari promised. She wanted to know so much--in particular, why he had chosen to be so stubborn as to refuse treatment for his hand when he was well within reach of two people capable of performing the procedure. “Being afraid of exposing your vulnerabilities doesn’t make you a lie. If that’s true, then I’m the biggest fucking lie on this plain of existence.” She told him, chewing slowly and thoughtfully. Just being around him tied her stomach into knots; she wasn’t sure if they were good or bad knots, though. “You didn’t have to do it, you know. Reveal your curse to this entire kingdom on my behalf. I would never have asked that of you… But, if people are treating you differently now because of what they have learned, then that speaks to them and their character. Not to you.”
What struck her as all the more startling was when the Canaveris lord went into more detail with regard to the real reason he had denied help for so long: because she deemed him unworthy. Really? That was it? He was so aware of how much his betrayal had hurt her that he felt he only deserved to hurt, as well? That was fucking ridiculous! And… also, touching, in its own, twisted way. “That’s a stupid way to think, Ari. It didn’t help me in any way to see your hand remain petrified for weeks. I don’t know what kind of person you really think I am, but I don’t take some sick pleasure in knowing that other people are suffering along with me.” I’m not Elespeth Rigas, she almost added acidically, but he wouldn’t have understood the context. “There’s a difference between being a disappointment and being unworthy. If I really, truly thought you were unworthy, I wouldn’t have lied about my health so that you’d drag your reluctant ass here for proper treatment. And I wouldn’t have agreed to help out with restoring the observatory. I just… I didn’t want to be wrong about you, okay? But I’m fucking projecting, here. I’m not disappointed in you; I’m disappointed in me for falling for the same damn shit. For putting myself in danger for… what? For love, I guess. But that’s where I’m left confused, because now…. Now, I just don’t know anymore.”
Her hands still trembled. She’d thought it must have been a side-effect of wearing those shackles, but she’d been free of them for the majority of two days, now. It was something else perpetuating these nagging symptoms. Something that had broken inside her, that night that Ari had turned her in, and that hadn’t had a chance to heal. “Here’s the thing, Ari.” Nia put down the piece of bread. There was no way she could eat right now: at best, she’d try for a five minute nap, long enough to go unconscious without dreaming, but there were too many knots in her stomach to tolerate food. “I didn’t want to be wrong about you… and I still don’t. I don’t want you to be a joke. I don’t want you to be too good to be true. I want you to be real, and I want… what we had to be real. I gave up at my trial because I had too many hopes about our future together. I was so fixated on it, I had been so sure of it, that when I couldn’t see it anymore… it felt like nothing else would compare. Not to resume being on the run, never finding a home, getting by day to day and fucking the occasional virgin for fun. I decided I didn’t want anything else if I didn’t have a fairytale ending. I’d have rather died than lived with uncertainty. And… what now? What do I really have to look forward to when Galeyn is finished with me? Where do I go? It will be no different than running, all over again. The difference is, I now have to work for the privilege of running away. That’s all.”
Nia’s confession left her feeling deflated. Here, she thought she’d feel light of a burden, getting it all off her chest and speaking her mind to the one person who needed to hear it… but, instead, she just felt empty. As if speaking the words made it all the more real, and it was no longer just some distant possibility once her debt to this kingdom was paid off. What lay ahead for her, after that? Galeyn would not be a home--it would be happy to be rid of her, at the very least. Where would she run to, next?
“...I never thought I would hear myself say this. But I… feel like I need to go back to Ilandria.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as she stared at her trembling hands. At the silver runes etched into her palms. “I have an advantage: I can look however I want to look. I can change my hair, my eyes… my whole face, if I wanted to really go to an extreme. It can be hard to hide the runes, but if I were to cut them, enough to leave some real nice scars, and then burn the scar tissue over it, I could muddy them up enough to make them indiscernible. Play off the burns and scars as accidents from having worked for a blacksmith or something… Ilandria may not want me any more than Galeyn does. But it’s still where I am from; where I still belong, in a way. I might not feel accepted. At least I won’t feel… lost.”
Ari’s request drew her out of her thoughts, and she looked up with confusion written all over her face. “The Night Garden? Whatever for? I don’t have any endearing thoughts about the place since the tonic I drank royally fucked up my ability to sleep, and then some. Not to mention… I don’t even know if I have the privilege of not being accompanied by one of these guys, or Haraldur Sorde’s men.” She motioned to the guard who had accompanied them all the way from the observatory--which, frankly, was kind of a waste of time. She wasn't’ supposed to be left alone, but surrounded by two healers as well as Ari, this wasn’t exactly ‘alone’.
Their conversation was briefly interrupted by a knock at the open door. Nia and Ari turned their heads to the unexpected sight of the infamous blonde former Dawn warrior, who had been Locque’s thrall for the past several seasons, accompanied by the eldest Kavanagh sibling, and now one of the only two faoladh in Galeyn. This immediately (and understandably) put the Master Alchemist on edge, and she jumped to her feet, backing behind Ari’s cot, away from the door. “Oh, come on,” she groaned, and threw her hands up. “I got out of your face when you wanted it, didn’t I? I get it, you can’t stand my face or the space it occupies, but I am trying to avoid you, Sorenson. You’re just making it really hard!”
“I’m not here for you.” Sigrid replied, without the same ire to which she had spoken to Anetania Ardane just hours before. In fact, her voice didn’t carry much inflection whatsoever. If anything, she seemed… nervous. She clenched and unclenched her fists, at a loss of what to do with her hands, as the faoladh woman stood aside, though not far away. “I’ve come here looking for you--Lord Canaveris. We just stopped by the observatory, and your masons and earth mages directed us here. I… apologize if now is not a good time, under the circumstances.”
He did not appear particularly injured, though, and neither did the Master Alchemist, despite that her being injured from the sudden collapse of a wall being was cited as the reason the two had come to the infirmary in the first place. Regardless, it wasn’t her place to ask, and now certainly wasn’t the time, when she required the Canaveris lord not to regard her with as much disdain as some of his D’Marian people.
“Lord Canaveris… I don’t believe we’ve met yet. I’m Sigrid Sorenson of--well… previously, of the Dawn Guard, but no longer. Although...I feel as though you’d know me better as Locque’s tool, from as far back as last autumn.” Sigrid dipped her head, and her braid--longer by several inches since she’d first left Galeyn--fell over her shoulder. “And it has not surpassed my understanding that I… regardless of being used as a tool for her warfare, my hands and sword are nonetheless responsible for a tragedy that occurred within the D’Marian settlement. And that some of your people have called for retribution, or at the very least, atonement. This…”
She hesitated, fixing her blue eyes on the floor. Why was this so hard? The last time she’d found herself at such a loss for words, she’d been becoming acquainted with Naimah (and it went without saying that Lord Canaveris was… far from her ‘type’). “This is difficult for me, because I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything that happened during that time. It is as if I went to sleep in the fall, hibernated all of winter and spring, and now… and now, summer is upon us, and I have lost time that I cannot get back. It is so difficult for me to wrap my head around what was beyond my consciousness. But just because I cannot remember does not mean its significance is lost to your people. And… I would like to atone for what I have done. If you will allow it.”
Forcing herself to look up from the tips of her boots, she stood straighter and taller, but still with the humility she felt down to her core. Sigrid had no pride left to poison her genuine plea for redemption. “Whatever your settlement requires, if there is a task or something that needs to be done for which you deem me fit… then please know, I am not only happy to be of service, but I want to be of service. No task is too menial for me. I don’t expect you to have an answer right now,” she added hastily, not wanting to put him on the spot, “but I hope… that you will at least consider my request. If your settlement will have nothing to do with me, then I also understand that, as well, and I will take care not to tread upon your territory. Just know that my only desire is to make right of my wrong. I cannot bring that family back, much as we would like to bring back any of the dead, but… just know that I, too, am affected. I have taken something precious from this world. I feel it is up to me to therefore put something back into it, in whatever form that will take.”
Taking a step back, she offered a shallow bow. “Please take the time to think about what I have said, and do not hesitate to call for me when you have come to a decision.”
So as not to take up any more time or space, Sigrid backed out of the infirmary, very narrowly bumping into Bronwyn, who--bless her--hadn’t left her alone. “I… thank you. For accompanying me.” She said to the faoladh, shaking the nervousness out of her hands as they resumed a pace down the corridors. “I don’t know why that was so hard for me to do. It is as your brother said: Lord Canaveris seems like a reasonable man, to say the least, and this must be the right thing to do, but…”
She trailed off, her azure eyes looking distantly down the hall, her brow creased with concern. It might have been the right thing, but… why? Why was she doing this at all? Did it really matter what she did for the D’Marians if they had still lost some of her own? “...I’m having a hard time understanding how it even matters. You mentioned you were deemed useless, or at least, feel that way?” Sigrid turned her gaze, then, to Bronwyn, and attempted a half smile. “Well… I know the feeling. You know, I used to be the chosen wielder of a great sword. Now, I’m just a murderer with amnesia, who no longer fits into her own home. Talk about useless.”
Having narrowly dodged a grim prognosis, Ari was trapped between feeling a lightness of being and a burdensome weight on his chest. Ultimately, the burdensome weight descended, crushing the feather before it had the chance to flutter off the ground. He let it happen. After all, how could he think to reprieve his guilt-laden soul when his existence was responsible for someone else’s undoing? Why be happy? Why express positivity, or relief, or optimism, when doing so continually cursed in the face of the woman he exploited in a callous gentleman’s game of chance? For, she wasn’t wrong. He gambled with her life, unwavering in the face of the outcome he engineered because he refused to accept a loss. Even if he had to cheat, he was playing to win. Would she have fared better, had he helped her run? No paths were certain, but if he staked his reputation on abetting in the escape of a runaway fugitive, then, if she were caught, or if he were discovered to be assisting her escape, then their present situation would have tilted downward at a severe disadvantage. A disastrous disadvantage, even, if it dirtied his reputation and dragged good citizen D’Marians into the mud by association. In terms of strategy, he was untroubled in the direction he chose because it held the greatest chance of victory for Nia and the D’Marians. In terms of human interest, however, his regrets were manifold. Though he fought so hard and advocated to preserve Nia’s life, he never stopped to think if whiling away her years as a prisoner was what she wanted. Perhaps she preferred a life on the run because it posed the freedom to run. A choice, made on her own, and not at the behest of others.
“I cannot force you to eat, Nia. And I cannot aid in your slumber,” he said, unable to iron out the dejectedness clinging to his voice—or the concern. Food no longer brought her pleasure. Were that the case, then the fireflies in the Night Garden...would they do nothing, either? “I am not here to enforce your sentence, despite evidence to the contrary. I fought to preserve your life, whether you find it a blessing or a curse. If you consider it the latter, then you are free to blast my name to heaven and hell; I shall pay the consequences of your retribution, however you see fit.” She, however, didn’t wish for him to pay for restitution on grievances incurred, and seemed insulted in his assumption that she would derive satisfaction in seeing him suffer countless agonies and misfortune. Chara Rigas, she was not—and yet, he couldn’t help but use her as a frame of reference. Alas, if not punishment, what else could he grant her? How else could he relieve the sting of his traitorous actions? Punishment, he decided, was more palpable, more manageable, than the disappointment. In him. In her. Hearing her imply that their love was a mistake...cracked him worse than what once marred his hand. He almost wished he hadn’t begged for relief—wished he still stubbornly held firm on his conviction to suffer the sensation of literally falling apart, and turning to dust. Becoming stone was preferable. Then, he wouldn’t need to feel the little cuts etching into his soft, fleshy exterior, slowly exsanguinating him until all veins ran dry.
“What we had...was real to me.” His words were like a brittle whisper, liable to disintegrate in a stiff breeze. Resigned to Nia’s lack of appetite, he set aside the tray of food, himself not interested in eating. “I withheld information from you, but I never led with a false heart. To start, it was not my intention to fall for you. The conflict of interest was too great and the risks, devastating. I was not so ignorant of Locque’s wrath, should I overstep, and become romantically involved with you.” In spite of himself, he quirked an ironic smile, but it shook off his lips like a leaf in winter, detaching from a bare, deadened tree. “Ludicrous as it sounds, the troublemaking faoladh bade me to follow through on my burgeoning feelings. Against my better judgement...I listened to him, and for a silly, illogical reason: to save you from that unstable woman. I...wanted to save you. We all suffered dangers, Nia. Even when we passively complied with Locque’s rule, everybody remained in horrible danger. My goal was to minimize the danger, the risk, to you. By any means necessary.” He waited until Daphni was out of the room before leaning into Nia’s ear and whispering, lower than a pin-drop so the guard across the room wouldn’t overhear. “In no outcome would I have allowed you to die—even if it ruined my standing among the Galeynians.” It was the closest he dared speak of the truth, and in the royal palace, of all places. That, had the circumstances turned dire, he was prepared to declare war on his benefactors. Not that admitting as much mattered; what was the point of inflating his importance? Of justifying his role in handing her over to Galeynian authorities? In the end, he was only looking for Nia to excuse his behavior instead of shouldering responsibility without fuss, without the expectation of forgiveness.
What now? Her question deflated him such that he inherited, through proximity alone, the heft of her unprecedented exhaustion. His muscles weakened from the phantom strain, posing difficulties in shifting them out of their glued, discarded position at his sides. “Is there no scenario in which you will regard Stella D’Mare as a home?” His eyes slid shut; he checked one arm to ascertain that its stiffness was not indicative of a flare-up, encroaching without warning. “Home is important. I cannot begrudge you your longing for the land of your birth. Though I pray you would not have to undergo such extremes for achieving the stability and belonging you so deserve and desire.”
Already disheartened by their conversation and the direction in which it took, he interpreted Nia’s response to his Night Garden rendezvous as a flat-out rejection and only nodded, a half-dead bob, removed of the hope it expressed mere moments before. “It was a silly proposal, Nia. I’m sorry to have wasted your time. But, should you change your mind,” it was his last attempt to reach her; his last attempt to try before cutting his losses and carrying out all future interactions between them with detached courtesy, “I may be able to relieve your guard—for fifteen minutes, at least.”
It was then that an unexpected guest entered the infirmary, a presence that spooked Nia out of the cot they shared and into a defensive crouch behind the headboard. However, Sigrid Sorenson had not arrived to deliver a blow of unfinished business; rather, she had come requesting his audience.
Rising from the cot, Ari stood between the blonde warrior and the Master Alchemist, in case a disturbance brewed between them. Turning to his guest, he swept into an introductory bow, more fluid in its execution now that his unburdened right hand did not seek to direct him towards the floor. “It is my honor to formally meet you, Sigrid Sorenson. I have heard tell of your heroic exploits, for while I have not the pleasure of initiating conversation, I have watched you in passing; from Stella D’Mare to Galeyn, and your glowing reputation precedes you. For Locque to make a mockery of your honor is a most grave and unforgivable offense.” By the hardening of his dark eyes, he was not merely spouting lip service. “Know that I do not fault you for the demise of the D’Marian family, nor am I requesting that you repent for an incident you yourself are not responsible for implementing. However, if you feel so impelled to lend aid to my people, that can be arranged. Your request is noted and accepted. Give me a day or two to consider your assignment. Of course, I will need to confer with Queen Lilica and Commander Sorde on this matter, as well as the D’Marian council, to ascertain their approval and, pending their approval, a smooth and conflict-free transition. I will place you under my protection for as long as you find residency within the borders of the settlement. We will speak of this in greater detail on the morrow. In the meantime,” he raised a questioning eyebrow, “could I trouble you for a favor, Sigrid Sorenson?”
After the former Dawn warrior dismissed herself, Ari returned his attention to Nia, who, no longer threatened, had crept out from behind the cot. “There. I put in a request with Commander Sorde. If it is his cousin asking, then he will lax your guard for tonight. I do not require confirmation on your part, but I shall wait for you, regardless.” Without another moment’s hesitation, he strode to the open doorway of the infirmary. “I must take my leave. I’ve lost some blood, but nothing serious. Tell the resident healers that I will return for my Night Garden grade ointments before the evening concludes. Please relax; rest your head. Sleep, if it is manageable. Do not return unless the bare minimum of criteria is met in accordance with the healers. Until then,” nodding his farewell, he swished out the doors on long robes, polite yet expressionless. He had already expressed his fill, today; any more, and his vessel would overflow. There was nothing more to say; he bore everything left in his soul on that cot and now…
Tonight would stand as his final gesture, and if it failed, or if she failed to show...then he would respect her decision, and let her go.
Upon his reemergence at the observatory tower worksite, Lazarus, eager to meet him, handed back his dropped cane, his shoulders relaxing at the sight of his stone-free and crack-free right hand.
Ari wasted no time delving into business matters. “The wall?”
Lazarus nodded, his grim expression becoming even grimmer. “I apprehended the culprit. Though he is a D’Marian, and an earth mage, he is married to a Galeynian woman who lost her mother during Locque’s assault. They staunchly opposed Ardane’s commuted sentence, but accepted the ruling...until Ardane’s sudden appearance at the observatory site inspired him to take impromptu action. He claims he wanted only to scare her out of the observatory because he couldn’t stand the sight of her face. He never meant to harm his lord, so states his open confession.”
“Oh?” Ari’s normally benevolent features flattened, his eyes smoldering like two coal fires. “I would like to speak with this man in private. With one resentful personage afoot, there are more to follow. More copycats will surface, emboldened by his efforts. To prevent this upsurge, we must demonstrate that his behavior is intolerable, and will receive its due punishment. But we mustn’t make a spectacle of it. Publicity and exposure will rally others behind his cause. Let us deal with this matter...discreetly.”
While Sigrid spoke with the Canaveris lord, Bronwyn stood near the outer fringes of the infirmary, halfway through the door, awkwardly out of place and wondering if she should leave. Since separating from Clan Kavanagh, she was always second-guessing her presence among people she didn’t know well, and situations she wasn’t exactly privy to; the dead opposite of her meddling brother, in many respects. This wasn’t her business; it remained strictly between Sigrid and the D’Marian leader. And yet...though she twitched and fidgeted, she never left her position near the door on the off chance that maybe...Sigrid needed her. Why the faoladh cared at all was a mystery; the woman terrified and terrorized her from the moment she stepped through the borders of Galeyn for the first time, setting the scene for the parade of disasters to come. But hadn’t Sigrid dealt with her unfair share of hardship, enough to waive Bronwyn’s first and second impressions of her—especially when it was Rowen who drove her into such maddening, raging grief?
Yes. She realized she had long forgiven the blonde warrior for the unwelcome reception. Aside from Hadwin volunteering her for the job, she had agreed to accompany Sigrid of her own accord and found her reasons were due to genuine want and not mere obligation. She wanted to help the hurting woman, and the reasons, she couldn’t rightly parse. Pity? Solidarity?
Because she understands what it’s like to lose. To lose so terribly, and to be lost. Bronwyn noted it in Sigrid’s mannerisms. How she stumbled on her wording and almost kowtowed to the D’Marian lord just to feel her body pointing in a direction one could locate on a compass. As someone whose own compass spun wildly out of control for years...she could relate.
“I’m glad to be of some assistance,” Bronwyn, surprised at Sigrid’s expression of gratitude, no longer felt as awkward or idiotic for hanging behind and waiting for her return. As they walked, she easily followed the warrior’s long-legged pace, herself comprised of a pair of legs and not much else. “If you prescribe to my brother’s nihilism any, then nothing matters at all. That’s what makes the world so freeing to him. Because why should the rules apply if we’re all going to die, anyway? But me...I don’t know. It matters because...I refuse to see only madness. Or darkness. Maybe that has something to do with my Sight, but also, I need to make sense of this world, even if I’m grasping at nothing. Maybe you’re the same way?” They wandered the corridors, not quite choosing a destination, and Bronwyn didn’t want to assume where, but headed towards Sigrid’s chambers, confident, at least, in her sense of direction.
“I think you’re feeling disgraced and directionless, which is different from feeling useless,” she blurted, unthinkingly. “If I died tomorrow, I don’t know, maybe my brother would care, and a few other people, marginally, but I wouldn’t make much of an impact. Now that is a useless person. Forgotten. Disregarded. You, though...you have such a strong community of friends and family: it’s impossible for me to see you as useless when this entire kingdom fell into a lather when you were under Locque’s thrall. People really do love and value you; I’m not just saying that, either.” She pointed to her amber eyes. “You never needed that sword to be important or beloved. You’re still important and beloved. Perhaps not so beloved within the D’Marian community, but important? Definitely. Otherwise, they wouldn’t care about what happens to you. Useless people...they don’t make imprints. Good or bad.” She stared at her feet; they slid across the marble floor, tracking nothing behind her; not even the slightest streak of soil or dirt. “As for murderers--I know murderers. Believe me,” she massaged her wrist, self-conscious at the mere mention of her late sister. “Murder requires intent. Cognizance. Premeditation. You, Sigrid Sorenson, by virtue of meeting none of the criteria, are not a murderer.”
