Blood and Betrayal

by S. K. Sayari

S. K. Sayari

  Death often came too soon for those who did not deserve it.

  Desmond lowered himself to one knee at his sister’s bedside. Queen Daymira’s head lolled to the side—her cheeks pallid and sunken, the whites of her eyes riddled with red, her lips cracked. Matted auburn hair, dull and stringy, clung to her forehead, and the musty stench of death wafted from her body as her breath rattled in her chest. Desmond gritted his teeth, pushing away the tightness in his chest. He would save his sister, no matter the price. She had been his stalwart companion, his friend, his confidant, for so many years. She deserved to be healthy and happy.

  Taking comfort in the thin scroll within his grasp, Desmond ran his thumb along the crackly parchment. “Daya, I received a message. It must be her. She’s coming…she has to be coming. To save you.”

  Only a guttural groan left his sister’s lips. She raised a shaking hand, lowered it, then raised it once more. With his free hand, Desmond took it—it was as if she had dipped her hand into a river of ice. His lips quivered. Would the Doe Priestess be strong enough to save someone on the cusp of death? He squeezed his sister’s hand tightly. He couldn’t afford to have doubts now.

  Desmond had tried everything. Herbal medicine, healing magics, and even animal sacrifices. Said to be kindred to the Lady of the Spirits, the Doe Priestess was rumoured to ward away evil with her very presence, bless those she found worthy, and give life itself to those she wished. She had been but a legend to Desmond until he had ordered his servants to scour the continent for her. And scoured they had, lest they wished to return empty-handed to his wrath.

  The Lady of the Spirits…if he only had her powers, he could save his sister himself. But while the Doe Priestess had proven to be real, the Lady of the Spirits had never truly been seen by man.

  “Look, Sister. Look. Let’s open the scroll together.” Desmond let go of Daya’s hand, and it fell limp onto the crisp, lilac sheets she lay in. He quickly broke the golden wax seal on the scroll, unfurling the paper. “‘I shall arrive on the first morn of Shoras-month to see to the Queen of Marsommer.’ That’s what the Doe Priestess wrote, Sister. She’ll be here tomorrow. She’s a priestess, so she has to heal you. She has to.…”

  Desmond locked gazes with his sister, but it was as if she had no presence in her body—she looked past him with milky irises, far away into the distance. The sight made his heart squeeze with sadness. Rising, he bent over and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek.

  “All will be well, Daya. I shall do anything—everything—to keep you alive.”

  Anything?

  The voice whispered within Desmond’s ears, and he jumped. What was this sorcery? He looked from side to side, but saw no other person, no other creature within the chambers. He licked his lips, nodding.

  “Y-yes. Anything.” He frowned then, not knowing why he was speaking to a voice most likely in his head. It sounded…strange, sending prickles of worry throughout him.

  Is that so? said the voice with a chuckle. You know what you are?

  “W-what?”

  A liar.

  Rasha walked along the path of one of the many courtyards of Castle Marsommer, letting her fingers graze the petals and leaves of the wildflowers that grew on the trellises. They twisted and writhed around the wood, finding ways to bloom even in the crowded environment they grew in. Cerulean, indigo, periwinkle, and cerise…the colours all so vibrant. So full of life.

  It was detestable.

  Humans clung to life more strongly than a hawk did to its prey. Letting go was the hardest part for them. It had been apparent in the way the castle nobles had invited her in, all hoping to receive her blessings. As if blessings could ward away death. No, Rasha did not offer blessings to battle death—she courted it.

  The humans looked to her as kin of the Lady of the Spirits. Rasha scoffed. They were right, in a sense. But they were also wrong. The Lady of the Spirits didn’t exist. Even the name they had given her—the Doe Priestess—was false. Rasha was no priestess.

  But the little humans didn’t need to know that.

  She longed for her home, where the barren trees twisted and writhed, where the mire bubbled, and where soot coated the earth like a blanket. But home was far away from the world of man. She sighed. She had no choice but to enter the land of the living for even the darkest of creatures needed to feed.

  Feeding was easy in the mortal realm; no one suspected a so-called healer. And ‘healing’ was easy when she had accumulated so many souls over the years. But it was the thrill of the game that Rasha loved most. Give them hope, then steal it all away. Rasha licked her lips. Her game with the Prince of Marsommer was just beginning.

  The clicking of boots on stone shook her out of her thoughts. She turned, raising an eyebrow as she did so. A servant stood a distance away, eyes lowered to the ground, cheeks alight with pink. Rasha slipped on a sweet smile and stepped toward the servant.

  “Yes?”

  “Lady Priestess. Will you come see the prince now?”

  “Of course,” Rasha said. “Lead the way.”

  She stroked the petal of a snow-white lily as she left, and it shrivelled, crumbling to ash.

  The Doe Priestess, a dark-haired woman wearing a gilded crown mimicking the antlers of a deer, walked into the chambers with a smile on her lips. She curtsied, and Desmond wondered how her neck didn’t break under the weight of her crown.

  “I am Rasha,” said the Doe Priestess. “How can I serve you, Prince of Marsommer?”

  “You must attend to my sister. Please, come here.”

  Rasha nodded and stepped toward the bed. She hovered her hand over Queen Daymira’s head, her brow wrinkling and her lips curling into a dainty scowl.

  “I cannot help one whose soul is lost.”

  “What do you mean?” Desmond barked. “I demand you heal her! I don’t care if she’s dying, or dead—you are the Doe Priestess, and you will heal her!”

  “Do you truly think you can cheat death?” Rasha whispered. “You can stave off the symptoms, but you cannot avoid it.”

  Desmond jerked with fear that the priestess would be unable to help. “I will do anything. Anything!”

  “Very well, then. Perhaps there is a way to save your sister.…”

  “W-what? What is it?”

  Rasha’s lips curled into a smile, eerie and sinister, and Desmond shivered. “A soul for a soul.”

  “What?” Desmond tilted his head to the side. A soul…for a soul? Was this woman speaking of a sacrifice? He had already tried sacrifices. Unless she meant…

  “A soul for—”

  “I heard you, damn it all!” said Desmond, his voice quivering. He shook his head, pushing away the truth of her words, wanting to stay ignorant.

  “Your sister’s soul is leaving her body. If you want it to stay, you must offer up compensation to the Lady of the Dead.”

  “The…Lady of the Dead?” Desmond shivered once more. He had always known that the Lady of the Spirits watched over men, but he had never heard of this title.

  “Have you never heard of her?” crooned the Doe Priestess. “She reigns over the Realm of the Dead.”

  Desmond narrowed his eyes. The Lady of the Spirits, the Lady of the Dead, the Doe Priestess…too many women who bore more power over his predicament than he liked. “And who are you to her?”

  Rasha laughed, throwing her head back, but offered no answer. Desmond clenched his fists, frustration bubbling in his chest. How dare this priestess laugh during such a dark time!

  “I asked—”

  “She will choose a soul to take in return, should you wish to proceed,” Rasha interrupted. “You have no say in the matter. If you do not comply, the Lady of the Dead will return the favour to you fivefold.”

  “Lives are aplenty in Marsommer,” growled Desmond. He would sacrifice anything, anyone—

  “And what if she asks for yours?” whispered the Doe Priestess.

  Desmond hesitated. Would he sacrifice his own life for D
aya’s? Part of him wished he didn’t know the true, secret answer to that question. He licked his lips and nodded, answering in the way he thought he should. “Then I shall…give it.”

  He would gladly give his life for his sister’s, he assured himself. Anything to save the sweet soul that suffered. Anything.…

  You know the truth, Desmond of Marsommer. You know how heavy her life weighs in comparison to your own.

  The Doe Priestess’s lips curled into a smile, soft yet malevolent.

  “I-I must think on the matter.” Desmond stiffly nodded, eager to have the priestess out of his sister’s chambers. “You may leave now.”

  Rasha lowered her head and backed out of the room, curtsying before she closed the door. Desmond turned to his sister, chewing at his lip.

  Daya would die a thousand times before she took another’s life to help herself. Yet…what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. He placed his hand on Daya’s forehead and she closed her eyes, falling into a restless slumber.

  The priestess’s words rung in his ears: A soul for a soul. He would sacrifice anyone to save Daya. But when he thought of losing his own soul, his heart beat haphazardly with fear. He didn’t want to die, not for anyone, no matter how precious they were to him.

  He would pay the price of guilt, but nothing more.

  The prince tapped his fingers on his thighs as he watched Rasha. She stood in front of him, a smirk upturning her lips. Humans tended to amuse her, and this one was no different.

  “You will bring me the flaxen-haired maid who labours in the kitchens from dawn to dusk. She will sate the Lady of the Dead’s appetite for your sister’s soul.”

  “How do you know all of this? Is this Dead Lady speaking to you?”

  Rasha raised her chin, holding back her laughter. What a fool! “What will it be?”

  The prince’s jaw twitched. He rose and marched out of the chamber. Rasha smirked, turning her attention to the Queen of Marsommer. She raised her hand to the queen’s forehead, pushing away stray locks of hair, and inhaled deeply.

  “Your soul smells so sweet, dear Queen. All pure souls are absolutely delicious. You’ll be mine, one day.…”

  At the thudding of footsteps, Rasha stepped away from the woman’s bed, lacing her fingers together. She wouldn’t want to set the prince’s mind to unease when her meal was so close.

  The prince slammed open the chamber doors, storming in with a sobbing, flaxen-haired woman. He dragged her by her hair to Rasha’s side, throwing her to the ground.

  “Do as you swore.”

  “I swore nothing,” murmured Rasha, bending down. She caressed the maid’s cheek, offering her a honeyed smile. “What is your name, my sweet?”

  “L-Lora,” whispered the maid, her body trembling more fiercely than a rabbit being hunted by a wolf.

  “Well, dear Lora,” said Rasha, “I want you to close your eyes and think of your happiest memories. Will you do that for me?”

  Lora nodded, closing her eyes, her breathing ragged. She twitched as Rasha leaned forward and kissed her forehead. When Rasha broke the kiss, Lora’s eyes fluttered and she sagged to the ground, her expression peaceful. Her skin turned grey, crumbling to fine ash.

  Rasha held her breath, rising and stepping toward the queen’s bed. The prince started as Rasha bent down, pressing her lips to the woman’s clammy forehead. She breathed out, and the queen convulsed.

  “Daya!” shouted the prince, shoving Rasha to the side.

  Rasha grimaced in annoyance, smoothing her skirts as the prince took his sister into his arms, cradling her.

  “Daya, say something….”

  “D-Des…” the queen whispered, her eyes slowly opening. They were soft and full of light, her cheeks flooding with colour, her lips reddening.

  The prince sobbed, lowering the queen to the bed, where she looked at Rasha, her eyes muddled with confusion. He turned to Rasha, bowing low. “Thank you, Lady Priestess.”

  “Priestess?” asked the queen.

  “She simply healed you with her magic,” said the prince in a smooth voice. Rasha raised an eyebrow but conceded, bowing her head.

  “Dear Queen, do enjoy your health.”

  The queen’s lips curled down with confusion, her forehead wrinkling. Rasha suppressed a giggle and turned, sweeping out of the chamber. Nobles and servants alike bowed down to her—as they should—as she left Castle Marsommer.

  Desmond squeezed Daymira’s hand as the two walked arm in arm through the gardens. The soothing lullaby of the castle bard rang through the trees, settling over the flowers like a sweet blanket. Daymira raised her face to the sky and Desmond did the same, basking in the soft heat of the summer sun.

  “I cannot ever thank you enough for saving me, my dear brother.”

  “Of course, Daya. I swore an oath, after all, back when we were children.”

  “What oath was that?”

  “I swore that you would be safe. And I swear now that no one will ever take your life from you. We are going to live long, happy lives. Together.”

  Liar, liar, burn in fire.…

  Desmond winced at the voice. It had persisted for weeks, constantly nagging at him. He wished he could destroy it, but he didn’t know where it came from.

  Daymira laughed. “I hope so, Des. I am simply grateful to be here, living life with you.”

  Desmond coughed, a fit wracking his body, then smiled at Daymira. A twinge pierced his chest, and he clutched his shirt, smiling through the pain. The coughing had started a few days ago, but he was sure it would pass in the coming days. “All will be well.”

  With a roar, Desmond threw the herbal medicine to the ground. Everything tasted like ash, everything smelled like vomit, and nothing healed him. Bitterness coated his tongue and pierced his heart. He took no pleasure in the light of the sun, in the smell of the flowers, in the company of his sister. The very sight of her sent spikes of irritation through him. She was healthy, but what about him?

  “Daya, what was this vile concoction? Are you trying to poison me?”

  Daymira shook her head, her frown deep as hurt crossed her features. “Brother, nonsense! I am simply trying to help you. Can you not see that?”

  Desmond hacked into his hand, his chest twisting, his bones aching. “I don’t have much time. Summon the Doe Priestess!”

  “Y-yes, Brother.… I shall do so with haste.” Daymira’s voice broke as she lowered her head, sweeping out of the room.

  Desmond’s heart twisted, but he pushed the guilt aside. He had no time for feelings. He had to save himself before he suffered a gruesome death at the hands of his illness.

  Virtue lasts only so long, dearest Desmond of Marsommer, said the voice.

  “Silence!” shouted Desmond. He placed his head in his hands, sobs racking his body. “Why me? Why has this happened to me?”

  He sniffled, wiping at his nose. Whenever he thought of the end of his life, he quivered and whimpered. He didn’t want to die, not like this. Had this happened because he had saved his sister? Bile rose in his throat, threatening to choke him. Was this the price for cheating death?

  If so, then he refused to pay it.

  Desmond coughed in his bed, his hand coming away from his mouth crimson. He whimpered, wiping away the blood on his sheets. “Sister, when is the priestess coming? I must know!”

  “She should be here by now,” whispered Daymira, her brow knotted with worry. Desmond sighed, the exhalation turning into another cough.

  At a knock on the door, his heart skipped in his chest. The Doe Priestess entered, a smile playing at her rouge lips.

  “You,” breathed Desmond, his breaths ragged and tasting rancid in his mouth. “Heal me.”

  The Doe Priestess walked over to Desmond, a wicked light in her eyes. “I cannot. If you wish to be saved, you must offer me a life for yours.”

  “What?” asked Daymira. “What do you mean, a life must be offered? Des, what is this woman talking about?”

  “Silence, Da
ya!” Desmond wiped at his forehead, his hand trembling, and turned his attention back to the Doe Priestess. “Tell me. Who is it?”

  The Doe Priestess licked her lips. “The Lady of the Dead calls for one she yearns for—one who has escaped her grasp. She calls for the Queen of Marsommer!”

  Queen Daymira wrung her hands. “What is this madness?”

  “You must make your choice. Either you die, or your beloved sister does, my prince.” The Doe Priestess curtsied, her eyes brimming with excitement and malice. Desmond cringed at her visible enjoyment of his predicament.

  All shall be revealed.…

  “Daya, I saved you. I saved your life. Now…for me.… Save me now.”

  Daymira opened her mouth, her lips trembling like blossoms in the wind. “I…”

  “Daya! I’m going to die if you don’t help me!”

  “I don’t want to die either!” Daymira shook her head, clutching her head. “I can’t die, I just got my life back! Don’t ask this of me, Brother, please.…”

  Desmond clenched his fist, working his jaw. He had saved his sister, only for her to betray him. A bitter taste settled on the roof of his mouth.

  “Then I shall die,” he said.

  The Doe Priestess blinked and raised an eyebrow. “How noble of—”

  “But not today,” the Prince of Marsommer interrupted.

  If Daymira’s death was the key to his survival, then so be it—he would sacrifice her. Her life belonged to him; it had ever since he had saved her. He didn’t deserve to die here and now. The queen furrowed her brow, her lips parting in surprise.

  “Today, my sister will die.”

  The Doe Priestess threw back her head and cackled. She raised her hands once more, her nails elongating, her hair turning white as fresh snow, the whites of her eyes blackening. Queen Daymira screamed, clutching her skirts as she rose, aiming for the door—but Desmond stopped her, gripping her arm, his fingers digging into her skin.

  “Get back here,” he snarled. “I won’t die. Not today. Not ever!”