The Last Goddess

by C.E. Stalbaum

  ***

   

  Princess Tryss Malivar lowered her left hand towards the suit of armor on the opposite side of the chamber, and a second later a roaring plume of flame flashed from her fingertips. The metal plating glowed faintly as the fire danced briefly across its surface and then vanished. Once again, it hadn’t left even a single scorch mark.

  Tryss hissed in frustration. She could weave more destructive spells, but not many. She had unleashed nearly her full repertoire already—shifting the temperature from searing heat to bitter cold, magnetically ripping apart the plates of his armor, sundering the metal itself at its component level—and nothing had worked in the slightest. Now the Flensing threatened to stop her altogether. Pain throbbed up and down her limbs, and as she extended her arms she could see her veins threatening to burst beneath her skin. A thin sheen of sweat coated her brow, and even without looking in a mirror she knew she had certainly ruined this dress for the day.

  Biting down roughly on her lip, she reached out to the Fane once more. Normally she was subtle, measured, as if she were gingerly dipping her hand into a tub of scalding water—but not this time. She dove in head-first, and the intensity of the heat nearly overwhelmed her. Her entire body throbbed as the Flensing took another bite, but Tryss did her best to ignore it. With practiced ease she wove the raw Fane energy into a familiar spell, and electricity crackled up and down the length of her arm. She extended her fingertips, and a bolt of lightning arced between her hand and the suit of armor—

  And vanished. It should have been hot enough to melt a sheet of metal into slag or burn a naked man to a crisp. Instead the armor barely even shimmered as the energy dissipated harmlessly across its surface.

  “Faceless are not toys, my lady,” Lepton’s voice scolded from behind her.

  Tryss released her hold on the Fane but didn’t turn. “No, they’re abominations. Having one less in the world would be doing it a favor.”

  The elderly man sighed. “He is a loyal soldier of the Republic and your personal guardian. It would behoove you to show him the respect he deserves.”

  “He’s an automaton who does what he’s told,” she scoffed, waving her hand in annoyance. “And it would behoove you to address me properly.”

  “Of course, my lady,” he said plaintively. She could feel him flinch without even looking at him. “I was merely making a suggestion.”

  Tryss let out a long, slow breath and rubbed the sweat from her forehead. She winced when she saw the throbbing veins on the back of her hand. They would settle in time, but if she had pushed much harder, the damage could have been permanent.

  “I should be the one apologizing,” she murmured. “You know I appreciate your candor.”

  “Might I make another suggestion, then? Perhaps you should draw a bath and change before your betrothed returns from his hunt.”

  “I’m rather certain he’ll be too tired to care.”

  “From the hunt or from trying to convince his bride-to-be not to Flense herself to death?”

  Tryss couldn’t help but smile. Lepton was an impudent little man when he wanted to be, but she had always respected him for it. Well, not always, exactly, but at least since she had grown old enough to appreciate that he wasn’t just a nagging old man. Even here in Haven, a hundred miles from the Darenthi court in Sandratha, honesty was something to be appreciated. It was probably even rarer—at least at home, she only had to worry about the treachery of the court nobles and her own family. Here in Haven she had the diplomats and spies of a half dozen other nations to contend with. 

  “Aston doesn’t control me,” she said.

  “So you saw fit to remind yourself of that?”

  Her smile widened. That was the reason, of course, even if she hadn’t admitted it to herself until just that moment. Ever since her mother had arranged this ridiculous marriage, Tryss had been stretching her limits more and more every day. It was as if she needed to remind herself that she was still in control of one aspect of her life, no matter how meager it was. It wouldn’t have been an issue if she still had her Siphon, of course, but now the Flensing was hers to face alone—and for some reason, pushing herself so close to death made her feel so much more alive. Her mother thought it was foolish and so did Lepton, and they may have even been right.

  But Tryss knew it wasn’t her fault that she was trapped in the middle of one of her mother’s political stunts. Since taking power near the end of the last war, the Empress and her Edehan followers had promised to bring about an end to the Siphons. In principle, Tryss agreed with them—the very notion of leeching off another sentient being like a parasite was sickening. But she also never really appreciated the crippling limitations of the Flensing before having to face it each and every time she wove a spell.

  She could deal with the pain, though. Her fiancé, on the other hand…

  “Is it such a crime?” Tryss asked softly. “I need to know that I’m still me.”

  “Marriage doesn’t take that away from you, my lady,” Lepton told her. “It is a union to strengthen both partners, but that doesn’t mean you have to lose yourself.”

  “So you say,” she murmured. “Your wife was kind and strong. My future husband is a simpering kreel.”

  Lepton sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “If you give him a chance, perhaps he will come around.”

  “He’s a torbo from a wealthy family who hasn’t worked for anything in his life,” Tryss said haughtily.

  “And you are a Darenthi Princess born into power and prestige.”

  She glared at him. “Who has spent fourteen years in training and was just offered a Magistrix position at the Haven Academy. Aston has done nothing. You’ll forgive me if my expectations remain low.”

  “Perhaps that’s why all you see are his vices and not his virtues.”

  “Bah,” she grunted, waving a hand in frustration. “Draw me a bath, then. I wouldn’t want to disappoint him.”

  “It is already waiting, my lady,” he said.

  “Figures,” she muttered before starting up the stairs out of the practice chamber.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  Tryss glanced down to the Faceless soldier standing in the corner, looking for all the world like a perfectly cleaned statue despite the magical barrage she had unleashed upon it. She had called it Tiber since it was given to her as a child. She had no idea what its actual name had been before the transformation.

  “Follow me,” she commanded, fingering the control crystal in her necklace.

  “Yes, mistress,” it replied with a hollow, metallic voice, and then did as it was ordered.

  For a moment she felt a twinge of remorse for the thing. It wasn’t its—his—fault that he had been duped into undertaking the Faceless ritual to protect his country. Nearly a century’s worth of rulers had convinced thousands of men and women to do the same, separating their souls from the Fane and fusing them into their armor. As a military force, they had completely shifted the balance of power in Esharia over the last hundred years. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, they were the only reason the nation had survived this long. Besides, at least Tiber was obedient, which was more than she could say for Aston.

  “Bring me a tray of fruit when you have the chance,” she told Lepton. “Unless Aston returns first. Then wait twenty minutes.”

  “Of course, princess.”

  As it turned out, twenty minutes had been exceedingly generous. Tryss had just finished her bath when Aston returned, drunk, dirty and proud of his successes on the field. He gave her a quick summary, then, in his typical boorish fashion, grabbed her by the shoulders and brought their lips together. She didn’t protest until his hands made their way down to her waist and strained against her knickers.

  “No,” she said, pushing him away.

  “But you are so magnificent, my love,” he cooed like a drunken fool. “I’m not sure I can wait.”

  “You’ll manage,” she told him, steppi
ng over to her dresser and throwing on a loose robe.

  Aston watched her with a crass smile. He wasn’t an ugly man, at least, though he was short and already showing signs of balding in his mid-twenties. He only seemed to shave intermittently, and today obviously hadn’t been one of those times.

  “My friends are all quite envious,” he said.

  I’m sure they are, Tryss thought to herself. Most of his friends were even less cultured than he was. A side effect of Ebaran plutocracy, no doubt. Though perhaps it wasn’t such a poor tradeoff for the fools in the Darenthi court…

  Aston poured himself a drink and downed half the glass in a single gulp. “Father has been asking about us. He was still hoping you would be pregnant not long after the wedding.”

  “I guess he’ll have to be patient, too. I told you I don’t want children. Not for a long while.”

  His eyes flicked down and he twirled his glass. “I had just hoped you might change your mind. People are talking, you know.”

  “People always talk,” she reminded him, sitting at the edge of her bed and crossing her long legs. “Surely you’ve been around politics long enough to know that.”

  “It makes our marriage look even more political than it is,” he said. “But in this case, it’s also more…personal. They see that my fiancée, the great mage, would rather spend her days alone weaving than bear me a child.”

  She closed her eyes and rubbed at her forehead. By any reasonable standard he was an oaf, but he also happened to be the son of the Ebaran president. Her mother believed it was the perfect opportunity to mend relations with their southern neighbors and long-time enemies. Their marriage would be the apex of the Unity Day celebration two weeks from now, a grandiose little demonstration of the inevitable blending of cultures and bloodlines.

  Just thinking about it made her nauseous. In her darker moments, she almost wondered if it would be easier to slip poison into his evening brandy or order Tiber to throw him out a window.

  Gods, you almost sound like your brother, she scolded herself. As angry as she might have been, Tryss wasn’t a killer. All she really wanted was to be left alone to her studies. It didn’t seem like so much to ask, and if her brother had been more trustworthy, she might have even gotten her wish. Instead her mother knew the Republic’s future was bound up in her daughter, and that meant a life together with Aston.

  As a young girl, Tryss had read tales from the first days of the original Darenthi Empire before the days of the Senate, and they often spoke of early princes and princesses being forced to marry against their will for political favor. It had always struck her as a barbaric practice best left to the ancient world. And yet here she was in the modern day, possibly the most gifted mage in the Republic, damned to marry this dolt.

  “I worry about you on the field all day,” she said, changing the subject.

  “I have enough guards with me to conquer a small kingdom,” Aston soothed, finishing his glass and quickly pouring himself another. “And of course, I’ve been studying the Fane since I got here. I am a mage.”

  “As my instructors liked to remind me, the difference between a torbo and a mage is more than just weaving the Fane. True understanding takes many years of study and practice.”

  “The Knowledge to confound the foolish and the Flensing to defy the covetous,” Aston quoted mechanically. “So warded is the gateway to my temple, my blood, my Fane.”

  “Repetition is one thing. Comprehension is another.”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps we should just accept that we enjoy different things.”

  “Perhaps,” Tryss murmured. She enjoyed studying the Fane and learning to unlock the mysteries of the world. He, on the other hand, enjoyed shooting helpless animals with his bow and leaving them for the wolves, then drinking himself into a comatose stupor. No, they weren’t going to be sharing interests anytime soon. 

  “Dane has found a new tavern he wants us to try this evening, were you planning on a large dinner?”

  “I can have Lepton set something aside for you, if you like.”

  Aston shook his head. “No need to trouble him. I probably won’t be back until after midnight.”

  “I see.”

  He smiled wryly. “You’re more than welcome to join us, of course. Dane thinks Vorani herself might be performing this evening.”

  “That’s all right,” Tryss replied, not bothering to even force a smile. “I have plenty to keep me occupied here.”

  “One of these days,” he said, finishing his second glass. “I know the patrons would be thrilled to see their princess dancing amongst them.”

  He had no interest in having her accompany him, of course. It would take away his fun of leering at barmaids and whatever other trollops he could find. Tryss wondered idly how boring his life must have been in Ebara if the shock of suddenly joining the ruling caste was overwhelming him so. As the son of the country’s leader, he should have had basically anything he wanted at home. But then, she had learned to never underestimate Ebaran idiocy or indulgence. They could be as barbaric as Vakari and as fickle as Sunoans sometimes.

  One cold kiss and a meaningless embrace later, Aston was gone. For a brief moment Tryss considered hurling a ball of fire at his liquor cabinet just to see it burn, but fortunately the temptation was fleeting. Instead, she flopped backwards on the bed and let out an annoyed sigh.

  “I suppose you won’t want a large dinner this evening,” Lepton said from the doorway a few minutes later. He brought in a small tray of fruit and set it next to her bed.

  Tryss smiled. “That depends how hungry you are.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You’re having dinner with me, didn’t you hear?” She sat up and grabbed a talberry. “Rumor has it I was tart with you earlier and owe you an apology.”

  The elderly man chuckled. “I’ve been assisting you since you were in diapers, my lady. I’ve developed quite a thick skin.”

  “Even so, I insist. Get someone else to make it, too.”

  He nodded with a smile and plucked out one of the fruits for himself. “I trust your betrothed had a fine hunt.”

  “Yes, all the menacing squirrels were helpless before his might,” she replied dryly. “As he tells it, anyway.”

  “Perhaps I should wait until after our resplendent dinner to make a suggestion, lest my lady no longer wish my company.”

  She grinned. “Speak your mind.”

  “There are far worse men in the world,” Lepton told her. “His father is a clever man, and I doubt all of it passed by his only son. He will provide you with excellent children and never be a match for your wit.” The old man’s face softened. “And you know how much our people need this. Without the treaty, the Balorites will continue to push for another war. Eventually they will get it.”

  Tryss sighed, the sweet berry turning bitter on her tongue. She had only been seventeen when the last war ended, but at the time she had been more than willing to fight. A decade of education since had tempered that desire. Any objective study of the last century revealed a sickening pattern of aggression on the part of her people since the creation of the Faceless. For all the enemies they had defeated, ultimately they had only created more in the form of broken families and shattered lives. She didn’t believe for a second that her mother’s treaty would really work—the Ebarans had their own bloodthirsty political factions, and so did many of Darenthi’s other neighbors. But Tryss did at least understand the desire to prevent that type of mass suffering from happening again.

  Then there was Lepton. He had lost his wife and both daughters to the war. He understood the costs better than anyone, and he would celebrate the day the alliance was finally signed.

  But then, he didn’t have to spend his life with a fool in order to maintain it.

  “You think I’m selfish,” she reasoned.

  He reached out and put a hand on her cheek. “I think you’re the most brilliant woman I have ever known,” he said softly. “But I also u
nderstand you’ve led a life of privilege most can only dream of. I’m not sure it’s wrong to ask you to make a sacrifice for them this time.”

  Tryss squeezed his hand. Her own father had died when she was twelve, and Lepton had been a far better caretaker anyway. He might not have had royal blood in his veins, but he was a good man. And he was rarely wrong.

  Then she thought about Aston’s hands on her skin, and she couldn’t help but recoil. “Maybe you’re right. But for now, I’d…like to be alone before dinner. I have a lot to think about.”

  “As you wish, princess,” Lepton said with a bow. A few seconds later he was gone.

  Tryss glanced to her Faceless guardian on the far side of the room. “Sometimes I think you have it easy.”

  Tiber didn’t respond. He never did.

  She walked over to the liquor stand and quickly poured herself a glass of wine while looking at her reflection. Her long hair, dyed the traditional white of Darenthi nobility, fell loosely across her shoulders. It made her look much older than twenty-seven, and she knew it made even more people whisper about her lack of a husband and child.

  Well, for better or worse, that was about to change. And maybe the world was going to change right along with it.