Death's Abyss

by S D Simper

  Let this business be done with. Her heart ached, but not for longing.

  Before the great palace, Tallora saw two guards at their post. As she approached, she thought of her lie. “Good evening, sirs,” she said politely, forcing charm into her smile. “I am Lady Stelune of . . . the Theocracy of Sol Kareena. I come seeking your general—”

  “Aren’t you that mermaid girl?”

  Dammit. He did look familiar, now that she stared. “You must be mistaken.”

  The guard looked to his friend. “Doesn’t she look like that mermaid who tried to break into the castle?”

  The second guard frowned as he studied Tallora. “Are you?”

  “If I say yes, will you let me in?”

  “Aye, if you can tell me your name.”

  Tallora frowned, suspicious at this unexpected turn. “Tallora of Stelune, a resident of the Tortalgan Sea.”

  “You can pass.”

  Taken aback, Tallora stood her ground, skeptical as she said, “I can?”

  “False mermaids are still prohibited.” He looked down to her bare feet, her scattered scales easily visible. “But you match the proper description.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, though she kept glancing back until she stepped indoors, wary of this odd reception.

  The castle slept at night. Tallora wandered winding, empty halls. Surely there were patrols, servants rushing to prepare the next day’s meals, but she walked alone, her path lit by sconces on the ornate walls. Her feet, numb from the cold, tapped softly against the stone. The lift was useless to her. Instead, she found the stairs.

  Soon, carpeted steps cushioned her feet, plush and cozy. It seemed her thighs held the strength of her tail; though they burned, she never faltered. Instead, she recited her speech in her head, wondering idly if Dauriel would simply throw her out.

  I don’t care what we are. I don’t care what you’ve done.

  Bitterness rose within her. Dauriel’s betrayal stung like grains of sand in her lungs.

  This isn’t about me. This is about the world.

  Tallora’s world, yes. But soon the rest. Soon Solvira with it.

  If you don’t act, your people will be destroyed—just like mine.

  She stopped partway up, curiosity pulling at her mind. A window revealed an outdoor enclosure within the palace, and Tallora knew it like a stain upon a white sheet.

  She left the staircase and wandered the familiar hall. The menagerie awaited.

  Already, she saw her quarry, visible from the door as she stepped upon the outdoor stone. She passed cages of beasts, though a few were gone, including the odd insect who had clicked to hide her steps, all those months ago.

  Before her was the enormous tank, the water serene—its inhabitants fast asleep behind the screen of kelp. Tallora glanced back, then pressed her hand against the water, disrupting the peaceful scene. “Kal?” she said, and thank every god—one of the figures stirred. “Kal!”

  She nearly sobbed for relief—approaching within the water was her beloved friend, his mop of navy hair long enough to cover his ears. “Tallora?” he said, a smile spreading across his face. “Tallora, what are you doing here?”

  “So much has happened, Kal.” She pushed her arm through the magic wall, water enveloping her as she clasped Kal’s hand in greeting. “Harbinger sent me. A horrible tragedy has befallen Stelune, and Solvira may be our only hope.”

  Worry marred the beautiful boy’s face. “What do you mean?”

  “They freed the leviathan.” She hesitated to speak of it all—there was no time. “I can explain the details later. Your mother and sisters are safe, but Yu’Khrall destroyed Stelune. Almost everyone is dead.”

  It wounded her, to watch Kal’s eyes as his heart broke in two. “Stelune is . . ?”

  “It’s gone. Harbinger and I went to find Yaleris, but . . .” Her eyes filled with tears at the memory, the kind dragon and his horrible scream. “He’s dead. Yu’Khrall murdered him and stole his orb. Now Yu’Khrall seeks our pledges so that he might become a god. I’m here to beg Solvira’s aid. We’re already defeated.”

  Kal glanced back to the second sleeping figure, his own lip trembling. “I’ll tell my father when he awakens. It’s better he hears it from me than you.”

  Tallora nodded as she squeezed Kal’s hand and released. “Are they treating you well?”

  “It’s boring, but we’re fed and protected.”

  Regret welled in her stomach, but she swallowed her tears, finally daring to speak her heart. “Kal, I’m so sorry. I swear to you, I thought she was—”

  “I know, I know,” he replied, his smile undeservedly kind. “We were both tricked.”

  “Dauriel let me go after what happened at the summit. I made it clear I wouldn’t be seeing her again—” Her voice failed, but she forced herself to press on. She clenched her fists. “Have you seen her?”

  “Not since the summit.”

  Tallora nodded, her soul heavy at the task ahead. “What of the war?”

  “I don’t know anything,” Kal replied, regret on his tongue, “except that their troops marched forward the day of the summit.”

  “Morathma came to the ocean,” Tallora whispered, heart seizing at the memory. “He’s making a bargain with Yu’Khrall. We were right—they have no interest in helping us. As soon as we fell, they forgot us.” Tallora looked back to the door. “I should go. But I swear I’ll visit again unless they throw me out.” She forced a smile, but Kal’s faded.

  “Good luck,” he said, his shattered hope returning to his eyes.

  Tallora left him, resisting the urge to weep.

  Here in the palace, it was so easy to forget that home was broken. Exhaustion weighed down her steps. She returned to the stairs, climbing upward until familiarity slowed her.

  She knew this hall. The journey to the corridor housing Dauriel’s suite felt like a thousand miles, but perhaps the empress wouldn’t be there at all. Perhaps she busied herself in a study, or the library. Perhaps she trained with the general late into the night.

  Yet Tallora hoped. Was she a fool to want to join Dauriel in bed? Not for sex; for comfort, for normalcy, for stability amidst the storm of her life. Her heart ached for reasons far deeper than their severance, but she had to be strong—even if the longing for a hug threatened to bring her to tears.

  An ornate door stood before Tallora. She knocked, then recalled it merely led to a hallway. She twisted the knob, surprised to find it unlocked, and wondered at the blatant oversight in security.

  Something odd met her ears. Something her stomach knew to sicken for before her mind could comprehend it. She took the two steps needed to traverse the small hall, the bathroom beside her, the bedroom door slightly ajar, and peeked inside.

  She saw Dauriel, saw her face twisted in soft ecstasy as she knelt behind a naked woman—whose riotous pleasure had surely been what Tallora had heard. But they weren’t alone. Before them, two tangled women were caught in their own lovemaking, in perfect view of the empress for her salacious tastes. The vision etched itself into Tallora’s mind as she stood, frozen before the appalling scene, until Dauriel’s eyes snapped open and met her own.

  All pleasure faded from her countenance, replaced by horror unbound. “Tallora?”

  Dauriel removed herself from the woman, struggled to step out of whatever odd device she wore at her hips, but Tallora wished to see none of it. Shock numbed her—from the cold, from her quest, from the riotous scene. She left, steps hurried as she returned to the hallway.

  “Tallora!”

  The desperation was reminiscent of a time long past, back when Tallora had loved Dauriel with all her heart. But she continued on her way, appall fueling her.

  Soon, hurried footsteps approached. “Tallora, wait!”

  Tallora stopped, and Dauriel appeared, a maroon robe wrapped around her naked body, a faint sheen of sweat at her brow. Her hair had grown in their time apart, longer in its masculine style, unmaintained, and Tallora
swore she smelled alcohol on her breath. Shame colored Dauriel’s visage, those silver eyes visibly struggling to meet her own.

  They stared a moment. Tallora smiled curtly. “Seems you’ve returned to your old habits.”

  Dauriel said nothing. There was no magnificence in her stance, no pride.

  “But don’t worry. I’m not mad. I really can’t be, given I have no sway on your life.”

  Dauriel blinked a moment too long, her eyes downcast as she said, “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m half frozen to death and would like to sleep.” Tallora’s grin held by mere strings, certain her ire was apparent. “You seem busy, anyway. Wouldn’t want to disturb you. But I’d like to request an audience with your council tomorrow.”

  “Come with me,” Dauriel said softly. With stiffness in her steps, her stance straightened, the false airs of her station returning. Her shame hid behind a curtain of steel, and Tallora wondered at that.

  She wondered a great many things, but they were quiet compared to her anger.

  Dauriel led her to a bedroom Tallora remembered from long ago, the one designated as hers during her captivity, when Dauriel had slept on the floor beside her. Clean and sparse, it seemed maintained, but before Tallora could march inside and slam the door, Dauriel’s words gave her pause. “I’m sorry.”

  Tallora’s smile returned, only slightly less bitter than before. “Apology not necessary. I told you I’m not mad, remember?”

  Dauriel’s false pride visibly withered. She met Tallora’s gaze, her hair nearly covering those silver eyes. “You didn’t need to see that.”

  “No, I didn’t. Though her tits were very nice. Better than mine, you think?” Dauriel looked like she’d been punched—a sight Tallora had seen—and her anger surged, crueler words escaping her tongue. “There are bigger problems in the world than your pride. Some of us have been through hell while you’ve rotted away in your nest of whores, and if you had an ounce of fucking empathy, you’d realize that my world doesn’t revolve around you!”

  She slammed the door. Pity looked horrendous on Dauriel, and Tallora couldn’t stand to look at her.

  Furious tears rose and seeped from her eyes. Tallora stalked toward the bed, resisting the urge to scream as her fists beat upon the mattress.

  That arrogant bitch! Her audacity to apologize wounded Tallora most of all, and once enough time had passed she grabbed the pillow and screamed into it, letting the sound muffle her fury.

  She shouldn’t care. She didn’t care! But Dauriel did as Dauriel would, all the pleasures of the world at her disposal while the rest of them burned.

  “Fine,” Tallora whispered, her angry tears still streaming freely. “Fill your callused heart with whores, you bastard.”

  She lay in bed, but her heart thumped too rapidly to sleep. She tossed and turned, her mind racing, replaying the image of Dauriel doing . . . whatever the hell she was doing with that girl. Tallora wasn’t the jealous sort, but gods it had hurt—

  It had hurt. Tallora was hurting.

  She swallowed her tears, letting the bitter truth wash over her. Damn Dauriel. Damn her and her callused heart, for Tallora so dearly wanted it. Wanted it still.

  Sleep would evade her a while longer, she knew. Tallora sat up, her clothing sticky from the lake’s water, but though robes surely waited in the cupboards, she would accept no kindness—not yet.

  She left the room. Kal had uplifted her during her last heartbreak. She resolved to find him and speak of joy. What little there was left, at least.

  Her silent steps were but a whisper in the hallway. As she approached the staircase, she heard a muffled voice.

  And then a quiet sob.

  The door beside her led to a study. When Tallora peeked beyond the doorframe, she recognized General Khastra seated upon a couch, her hand placed upon the back of a weeping figure, faced away from the door.

  Dauriel wore her same robe. In her broken stance, she cried into her hands. Tallora looked to Khastra, watched as the general met her eye but said nothing—Tallora quickly shook her head and slowly backed away.

  Tallora returned to her room. She shut the door. Her own tears had long ago dried, yet she felt empty, as though she’d cried an ocean’s worth.

  Damn Dauriel. Damn her for letting her life fall apart.

  Tallora awoke to daylight blinding her through the cracked curtains and a knock at the door.

  She roused herself from bed, exhaustion tugging at her eyelids from days of travel, and answered the door.

  A maidservant stood there, a folded pile of clothing in her hands. “These are for you,” she said, offering Tallora the bundle. “You’ve been invited to attend breakfast in half an hour, though you also have the option to eat in your bedroom, should you wish it.”

  Tallora recognized this clothing, the patterns and soft fabrics evoking old memories. “I’ll be there. Thank you.”

  “Will you need help dressing, my lady?”

  Humbling herself, Tallora nodded. The maidservant stood quietly as Tallora placed the offered clothing onto the bed and she knew it all—these were her dresses, gifted by Dauriel. She’d worn them in her final weeks in Solvira, leading to the coronation—on top was the coronation gown itself, white and gold.

  Curious above all, though, was the dress she’d worn on her last visit with Kal. It had been cleaned and pressed, like the rest, yet the scent held lingering traces of something she knew—it smelled of Dauriel and her bed.

  It was precisely the sort of sentimental thing she would do, to hug Tallora’s dress as she tried to sleep.

  She chose the coronation gown, having adored it those many months ago, and allowed the servant to help tie her into the cumbersome pieces. Content with how her hair had dried, she brushed it alone in the washroom, admiring the luxurious waves. Dauriel loved it, once sprinkling compliments like kisses.

  Tallora placed the brush down, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Whatever grime coated her soul, she looked beautiful. Dauriel would think so too, and she wished she could revel in that, but discomfort brewed to remember the lewd vision of the night before. No, she shouldn’t care; she couldn’t care; they weren’t together and so Tallora reserved no opinion on who Dauriel fucked.

  Tallora swallowed a sudden rise in grief. A month ago, she had held the whole world—a marriage proposal, a future, a home, a momma who loved her . . .

  Now she’d lost everything.

  Soon enough, she left her room, annoying at how the dress swooshed around her legs. She held her head high as she traversed the majestic hallways, contemplating the life she could have lived within its walls, the future she’d swum away from. The castle was a beautiful cage, and Tallora knew she’d die if she chained herself to its walls.

  She descended the stairs. When she reached the dining hall, she lingered before the door, taking a steadying breath before twisting the knob.

  She could face Dauriel.

  Within, there was no Dauriel, but there was her father and Khastra, Magister Adrael and the rest of the council. Seated beside Prince Ilaeri was a little boy Tallora had only seen a handful of times, but Eniah Solviraes was unmistakable with his silver eyes and charming smile. No older than six, he waved as she entered. “Hello, Mermaid!”

  Tallora opened her mouth to reply, but Ilaeri leaned into his son’s ear and whispered something. The little boy straightened his posture and looked back to Tallora. “Hello, Tallora!” he said instead, and Tallora actually managed to smile.

  “Hello, Eniah,” she said, taking the empty seat across from him—and next to Khastra, thankfully.

  “Hello, Mermaid,” the demonic general said, far taller than Tallora, even seated. She gave no indication that she’d seen her the night before, though those glowing eyes were difficult to decipher. “I trust you slept well.”

  “As well as I could. I was too tired to sleep properly. I travelled for some time to come here.”

  Ilaeri smiled politely as he ruffled his son’
s hair. “Priestess Toria has spoken of unrest beneath the seas. Rumors of a monster. Is that why you’ve come?”

  Servants filtered in, each carrying trays of food. Tallora’s mouth watered at the delicious smells. “Yes,” she said, shamelessly piling her plate once the food was set. She spared a glance for the priestess in question—the lovely woman sat at the other end of the table, kindness in her eyes as she met Tallora’s gaze.

  “Let her eat first,” Khastra said, waving off the prince. “She is half-starved.”

  Grateful to the general, Tallora ate, content to listen to their banter. They spoke of the war, of their recent victory in the city of Ablom, and Tallora sickened to hear it. Instead, she savored the tiny, bready cakes on her plate and topped them with fruit as Dauriel had once taught, her stomach crying out for joy at each bite.

  The door opened. Dauriel stepped inside, a magnificent cape sweeping behind her. Though her eyes held dark circles, she wore an embroidered black ensemble, and Tallora silently cursed her and her attractive self and that gods-damned cape. The last time they’d sat here, Dauriel had touched her beneath the table, and Tallora’s body was keen to remember that.

  Dauriel sat in the throne at the end of the table, unfortunately adjacent to Tallora. But she wouldn’t meet her eye, instead beckoning to a servant. “Wine.”

  She smelled faintly of alcohol, and Tallora wondered if it were lingering from the previous night. Judging by her temperament, perhaps she hadn’t stopped drinking at all.

  Dauriel didn’t touch the food, nor say hello. When her wine arrived, a mild sneer twisted her lip as she brought the goblet to her mouth.

  The conversation resumed, with Ilaeri and Adrael debating the merits of trying to rehabilitate the displaced Morathan slaves while Khastra merely watched with some perturb. Dauriel kept to herself, and when her wine glass emptied, a servant came to refill it. No one acknowledged that Tallora’s friend was held captive just a floor away.

  When her stomach had filled, the delicious scents of breakfast no longer quite so enticing, Tallora politely cleared her throat. “Excuse me.” Everyone’s attention turned to her—including Dauriel’s. “I’d like to discuss why I’m here, please.” Tallora slowly stood up, too anxious to sit and give her speech. She gripped the top of her chair, daring to face Solvira’s council. “Whatever you’ve heard, it’s a thousand times worse. A leviathan has come and destroyed Stelune.” No one reacted save for Khastra, whose subtle twitching frown suggested she understood. “Countless people are dead. My home was a city of thousands, and nearly all were eaten by the monster—Yu’Khrall, Son of Onias.”