***
Tryss glared at the stack of books and rolls of parchment stuffed inside the fireplace. She stood with her hand extended towards them, trying to make the final leap that would seal her fate once and for all.
“I can do this,” she whispered, but the spells didn’t form in her mind, and the Fane didn’t course through her body. Instead she just stood there as she had been for the last several minutes, trapped between two futures she didn’t want to face.
She sighed and lowered her hand. At first, she’d convinced herself that she was only hesitating for fear of retaliation from Senator Veltar. When he found out that she’d destroyed his precious research, he would undoubtedly be livid. But of course, he would also be impotent; he couldn’t harm her even if he wanted to. She wasn’t planning on physically returning to him to let him know that she had rejected his offer, and he didn’t have any actual evidence of anything to damage her public image, either. And since he wouldn’t openly admit to having this secret Balorite research in the first place, she was essentially immune to any repercussions.
Which meant that the only reason she had for not burning these documents was her own cowardice.
“I really, really wish you could talk to me,” she whispered, glancing back to Tiber as he stood stoically in the room’s corner. “I mean a real conversation, not just ‘yes, princess.’”
The Faceless stood there, the violet glow from inside his visor as steady and ominous as ever.
“I could talk to Lepton, but he’ll judge me even if he doesn’t mean to,” she said. “It’s hard to imagine someone could feel so alone in a city with this many damn people.”
Tryss turned back to the books. She had spent the last two days convincing herself that this was the only option. The power she had unlocked was evil. She had never much cared for politically loaded, black-and-white terms like good and evil, but in this case it was the only description that fit. A single mage wielding this power could inflict tremendous suffering; an empire of Defilers could destroy Esharia, maybe even the Fane itself. She still couldn’t believe the Balorites had known about this for centuries and hadn’t unleashed it. There had to be more going on here than she realized; someone must have been stopping them somehow. She just wondered who it could be. Certainly the Edehans weren’t that organized…
But it didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to wound the Fane, even if the alternative was a life with an Ebaran oaf. She was going to marry him, and they were going to have children. She would attend parties and mingle with people she hated, and she would even try to make herself look pretty while doing it. Then in ten or twenty years, she would become Empress.
Her studies would suffer for it, of course. She would be too busy with children and politics to concentrate on her magic. But the only alternative was even worse. She could live with unhappiness; she couldn’t live with the guilt of destroying her country.
Tryss raised her hand and the magic easily coursed through her. A spark of fire darted from her fingers and set the books aflame. Only belatedly did she realize she hadn’t felt even a twinge of the Flensing—she had just Defiled without even thinking about it. The technique had already become second nature to her.
“Goddess forgive me,” she said softly. She turned to the withered stem of the plant on the wall and bit down hard on her lip. At least the knowledge was gone now—assuming Veltar didn’t have another hidden copy.
She lost her eyes in the flames. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there before a knock sounded at the door. Probably Lepton coming to see if she wished afternoon tea…
“What is it?”
“We need to talk, Tryss,” Aston’s muffed voice came back. “It’s important.”
She rubbed at her eyes and let out a long, slow breath. Perhaps the gods were offering her a chance to fix all her problems in one fell swoop. She had already planned on speaking with him tonight and trying to make amends. At least this would expedite matters.
“One moment,” she said, turning and walking over to the door. She slid open the latches and cracked it open, and the instant she did so a thick wave of liquor-breath washed over her.
“Thank you,” he mumbled as he leaned against the stairwell.
Tryss sighed and closed her eyes. “Aston, you’re drunk. Maybe you should lie down and we can talk later.”
He waved a hand and pushed past her. “No, we need to deal with this now.” He glanced curiously towards the fire. “Winter is still months away.”
“Just…doing some cleaning,” she said, gesturing a hand and quenching the flames. The documents had long since been turned to ash anyway. “Why don’t you sit down, at least.”
“No.” He placed a hand on her study table for balance. “I talked with father. I told him we weren’t speaking with each other.”
She sat down on the couch and crossed her legs. “I doubt he was happy about that.”
Aston grunted. “He told me I was a spoiled brat, and that if I understood how important this treaty was for our people, I’d do anything you wanted me to.” He brought himself up to his full height. “So I’m here to apologize for the things I said. And if you want me to just leave you alone, then that’s fine.”
She lowered her eyes and brushed a lock of white hair from her eyes. “I wasn’t exactly charming, either. We’re just…very different people. But you know what? Most married people are. Maybe that isn’t so terrible.”
He looked her up and down as if shocked by her words. “That’s what I thought, too.”
“See? Maybe we do have something in common.”
He smiled. “I know your studies are very important to you, and that’s all right. I also know you don’t much like being out, and that’s all right to.” He licked his lips and stepped forward in front of her. “Whatever you want me to do is fine. I’ll make you as happy as I can, and we’ll do what’s best for both our peoples.”
Tryss smiled back. His words were slurred, and it was entirely possible he wouldn’t remember a bit of this after he finally passed out, but the sentiment was there, at least. Maybe they really could make this work. She was never going to love him—of that she had no doubt. But she could tolerate him, and perhaps that was enough.
“Agreed,” she said, grabbing onto his hand and squeezing it gently. “Now you really should lie down and take a nap.”
“Maybe,” he murmured, sitting down next to her. He looked into her eyes for a long moment, then leaned forward to kiss her.
Her muscles tensed just as they always did when he drew close, but this time Tryss did her best to fight the impulse and relax. She also tried not to gag at the whiskey on his breath, and that turned out to be even more challenging. Eventually his hand traced along the outside of her thigh and slipped beneath her robes.
Someday, she knew, she would have to give him what he wanted. It probably wouldn’t last long, and she could learn to endure it. She’d only been intimate with one other man in her life, and he hadn’t done much more than grunt a few times before collapsing. As long as she didn’t think about the bar wenches Aston bedded when she wasn’t around, then maybe this wouldn’t be so bad…
But it didn’t have to be today. Not when he was so drunk…and not when she was so sober.
Tryss gently pushed him away. “Come on, you can rest in my bed downstairs if you want.”
“I don’t want to rest,” he told her, his hand creeping all the way up to her knickers. “I want to be with you.”
“Not now,” she managed, grabbing onto his wandering hand. “Please.”
Aston grunted. “You’ve never even been with a man, have you?”
“I…” she stuttered. “Just stop, please.”
“It’s a good thing,” he told her, smiling crookedly. “A very good thing.”
He leaned in again, and this time he pressed against her hard enough to knock her back on the couch. She put both of her hands against his chest and tried to push him off, but he was too
heavy. She tried to bring her knees up to kick him off, but he had already shoved them apart.
“You’re my wife,” he growled. “Why can’t you just act like it?”
“Get off of me!” she screamed.
“If you would just relax, you might even enjoy it. I told my father I would do my duty, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
Tryss caught a glimpse of Tiber as Aston used his free hand to pry off her knickers. The Faceless guardian would protect her against any force in the world…except for her future husband. He would stand there and do nothing even as Aston forced himself upon her. Which meant it was up to her.
She wriggled a hand free and touched his neck. The Fane flared to life at her call, and she channeled a jolt of electricity through his skin. Aston shrieked and spasmed, and when he lost control of his muscles she grabbed onto him and hurled him away. He smashed into her bookstand and knocked it over before falling flat to the ground. He wasn’t moving.
Tryss swallowed heavily, her hands shaking. Of all the idiotic things he could do, she couldn’t believe her fiancé had actually tried to rape her right here on her own bed…
She could hear him breathing laboriously. She hadn’t hit him with nearly enough power to seriously harm him, but he was drunk. Looking down upon him, she realized she was once again staring at her own future—and Edeh forgive her, it was one she wasn’t willing to face.
No matter the cost.
“Take him down to my bed,” she whispered, glancing to Tiber. “Maybe he won’t remember any of this when he comes to.”
“Yes, mistress.”
The Faceless lifted the man from the ground and carried him down the stairs. Tryss sat there staring at the fireplace, her eyes once again lost in the flickering embers.
The Last Goddess Page 47
