by S D Simper
“I’d release them both. As a gesture of goodwill and, well, as cruel as it is, your people aren’t a threat anymore.” Tallora couldn’t argue with that, but before she could speak, Dauriel continued. “But they would listen to their king and prince. Assuming Yu’Khrall has not taken them captive, they might be able to orchestrate an escape.”
“Why though? Why all of this? This goes beyond trying to erase your mother’s memory.”
Tallora watched the plethora of emotions pass Dauriel’s face, saw conflict and contemplation and then . . . a semblance of peace. “Because there is no humanity in pure power. I can be ruthless without being cruel.”
Tallora kissed her, because by Staella’s Grace—she’d never been more beautiful. Dauriel’s lips parted for her tongue, and they kissed in the chill afternoon, warmed by their hearts and the sun.
Suddenly, Tallora pulled back, recalling something concerning. “Also, Dauriel, Lady deDieula—” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “—I think she and Khastra are together.”
Dauriel frowned, brow furrowed as she glanced back to the castle where the aforementioned woman was staying. “Strange.”
“I don’t like her at all.”
“I wasn’t going to brag, but I did politely tell her to go fuck herself after you left.”
Tallora bit her lip to hide her smile. “What?”
“She insulted my wife.” Dauriel placed a soft kiss into Tallora’s hair. “I don’t have to appease self-important advisors to goddesses. There’s no one more important to me than you, and you have wisdom to offer.”
Lips brushed against Tallora’s cheek, stealing her focus. A fierce blush flared across her face, enamor filling her heart. “Dauriel—”
“I believe you said something about fucking the day away as wife and wife.” Dauriel continued planting kisses along Tallora’s cheek, her smile gentler than her words. “Food first. Can’t have my sweet wife starving to death.”
Tallora giggled at the word ‘wife.’ Never had she heard a more joyful sound.
When Dauriel removed her hands, Tallora stole one, still acutely aware of how they shook. She stroked a gentle line across her palm. “Are you unwell?
Cringing, Dauriel seemed to understand. “It’s my penance for drinking—rather, for stopping. Nothing to worry about.”
Tallora chose to believe her and kissed her lightly on her knuckles.
“I’ll send a messenger to inform Kal and King Merl of the new development,” Dauriel said. “My father can have a portal made to send them home.”
“Might I go talk to them instead?” The slight wavering of the empress’ smile spoke volumes. “Dauriel—”
Dauriel’s gaze left her, focused on her mouth and chin instead. Something shifted in her demeanor, and Tallora sensed a bitter mood. “Of course you can.”
Tallora brought a hand up to cup Dauriel’s cheek, coaxing her empress to look at her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Dauriel—”
“I don’t like him, but it’s irrational,” Dauriel replied, her language oddly stilted for the oft eloquent woman, “and he’s your friend. You should go.”
“Dauriel, my dragon empress, you can’t hoard me away—”
“I know,” Dauriel said sharply, but her immediate cringe conveyed her regret. “I’m sorry—”
Tallora took Dauriel’s hand, stealing her words as she stroked gentle lines upon it. “I need you to breathe,” she said, and she mimed the motion with Dauriel, certainly noticing how smoke escaped with her wife’s breath. “Why don’t you like him?”
In the daunting silence, Dauriel clung to Tallora’s hand tight enough she feared she might lose feeling. “Because the fucked up truth is your life would be so much easier if you’d chosen him instead of me.”
Tallora frowned, shocked at the words. “That’s not—He was never—”
“I know!” Dauriel released her hand, tense all over as she brought her whole stance inward. “I know, I know, but these are the kind of thoughts that scream in my head, and I wish—I wish so badly—I could shut them off.”
“Dauriel, I married you—”
“Yes, and you can still annul it if you regret it—”
“I won’t, and I don’t, and I need you to please stop talking because you’re spiraling.” Tallora swore she watched a drowning woman, yet she could do nothing as Dauriel looked about to burst from tension. “Please, don’t throw away your happiness because you feel like you don’t deserve it.”
Footsteps stole her words; they were no longer alone. Beside Tallora, Dauriel quickly forced her composure, though her eyes glistened. Ilaeri and Adrael approached from the castle.
When Tallora held her waist, Dauriel responded by pulling her close, protective as she said, “Father? Magister?”
“Empress Dauriel,” Adrael said, “your father and I wish to discuss the details of your marriage. It is not exactly a small thing when a Solviraes takes a spouse, especially when they aren’t of the bloodline.”
“Or country,” Ilaeri offered, though he sounded rather bored.
“Or species. And that isn’t taking into account the political ramifications of you choosing a former prisoner as your bride. The amount of paperwork shall be—”
“Am I being questioned or interrogated?” Dauriel spat, releasing Tallora, who clung tight to the cloak around her shoulders. “The deed is done. Make it right. Give her a false lineage if you must to simplify your precarious jobs, but Tallora and I were married beneath Staella’s gaze which, while unconventional, is still legal according to the charters of my kingdom, so cease your passive aggressive bullshit and do your fucking jobs.”
Adrael looked appropriately offended, but Ilaeri simply held up his hands in defense. “No judgement from me. Though I was curious to know Tallora’s parents’ names so they might be included in the announcement.”
Dauriel’s fighting stance didn’t shift. Tallora stepped forward lightly, eyes fixed on Ilaeri. “Tallor and Myalla—my father and mother, respectively. They’ve both passed away.”
“Empress, the council would like to speak to you in private,” Ilaeri continued. He gave a polite nod to Tallora. “With due respect to you, Empress Consort.”
“Will Lady deDieula be present?” Dauriel asked, thinly veiled vitriol on her tongue.
Ilaeri shook his head. “Ilune’s Herald announced her intention to return to Celestière until the day the ships are launched. She says she will speak to you then, instead.”
Dauriel’s scowl betrayed her dark mood, but Tallora spoke, braver with the affirmation of her place. “Your meeting can wait. We’ve made plans of our own. She’ll call for you when she’s ready.”
“No,” Dauriel whispered, defeat in her stance as her fury slowly seeped away, “I should go. Then this is done, and we can be free.” For a heartbreaking moment, her glistening eyes showed pain. “But afterward, can we talk? Please?”
Tallora nodded and placed a chaste kiss upon her lips. “I’ll be waiting.”
They broke apart when Dauriel stepped back, silent as she followed her father and Adrael out. Left alone, Tallora drew the cloak tighter around her shoulders, stomach sinking.
She wished to speak to someone, whether it be Kal or even Khastra, though she was likely busy with her ‘guest.’ Lady Mithal was a friend, but Tallora didn’t feel she could confide in her about this. And while Priestess Toria had offered support in the past, she would likely be in the meeting with Dauriel. Instead, Tallora returned to the castle, lonely beyond compare.
She didn’t go to the menagerie. Instead, Tallora went to Dauriel’s bedroom—now theirs together, she figured—cloak still wrapped around her body, the faint smell of its mistress comforting in her sullied mood. Exhausted from a night of little sleep, she laid down in bed and curled into the familiar scents and plush embrace.
Life moved on. She had married the love of her life, and now she faced reality—that this same woman slowly unraveled at
her seams and would die in only a few days’ time. The reality of it struck her like a knife to the stomach, and tears welled in her eyes. But who could she speak to? Kal was a friend, but it was strange to speak to him of this.
But there was someone; someone who always listened and loved. Praying she remembered the path, Tallora dressed in warmer clothing, tragically leaving Dauriel’s cloak behind, instead donning the same wedding veil she’d worn the night prior. She took her gifted vestment of Staella, letting it display around her neck.
After a brief stop at the kitchens, she left the palace with no interruption, though she lingered before the council chamber, pastry in hand, wondering if Dauriel would explode and slay them all. Outside, the city moved along, oblivious to the dangers of the world, perhaps more concerned about the royal shadow they lived beneath. Solvira was fair, in theory, but its rulers were not known for kindness.
She went about unnoticed. The people knew her not as their Empress Consort, only as a girl in a particularly glittery and too-thin cloak. But she pushed her way through, the path not long, and soon she reached the Temple of Staella—the very same she had been married in.
The door was unlocked. She opened it, finding a few supplicants seated in pews, eyes closed in silent prayer. Peace settled upon her, the weight of the world lifted as she stepped through the door. Staella was the softness in this kingdom, the heart and the humanity. By the altar stood the high priestess of the temple, the same who had wed she and Dauriel, and with her, in hushed conversation, was High Priestess Toria, her presence unsurprising, given her role.
Though likely busy, she offered Tallora a quick and quiet smile. She returned it, and though Toria might’ve been an ear to listen, there was only one who could truly understand. Tallora stepped quietly down the aisle, taking a seat as the rest did, alone in her own pew.
She shut her eyes and bowed her head. Clear words floated through her mind, crystal in their clarity: Goddess Staella, I’m so afraid.
And within her, a strange sensation swelled, unnatural, though comforting. Beside her was weight, though she saw nothing when she peeked.
But not for me. For Dauriel, my wife. I cannot fathom her burdens. I don’t understand her pain, but I’ve seen it. She may have only a few precious days left—what can I do?
The answer came with absolute clarity, as though it were her own thought. Perhaps it was. Love her.
A weight settled upon her shoulder, gentle and warm. But when Tallora peeked once more, still she saw nothing.
Tears welled in Tallora’s eyes, her own impending loss ever looming. Her head fell into her hands. She’s going to die. She thinks it’s the only path.
She heard nothing. The presence waited.
If there’s any way, any possible way to save her . . . how?
Nothing. But the presence lingered.
Perhaps it was the wrong question. Can I save her?
No, her mind said, and she mouthed the words unbidden. But you can love her.
They’d been ships meant to pass in the night, yet they’d collided like a tropical storm. Tallora wondered, for the first time, that perhaps they’d been meant to meet after all. That Dauriel’s great purpose was to save the world . . . and Tallora’s was to as well, but in a different sort of way. To walk with her to the end of the line and hold her before she took that final plunge.
Dauriel would die. Tallora felt no peace, but she felt . . . acceptance.
Her tears fell faster. The warmth on her shoulder enveloped her, bringing comfort as she sobbed.
Something soft touched her upper arm. “Tallora?”
Startled from her tears, Tallora nearly sobbed anew at the familiar face before her. “Leah?”
She was, her dark hair and features unmistakable, eyes stenciled by distinctive black powder. Leah looked as shocked as she, but at the sight of Tallora’s tear-streaked face, she sat and wrapped her arms tight around her. Tallora fell into the embrace, weeping into her dear friend’s shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
Tallora nearly smiled; the question held more weight than an ocean’s worth of water. “I don’t know where to begin with that.” Wiping her eyes of tears, she sat up, grateful when Leah’s arm remained around her shoulders. “It’s been a long month.”
“Last we spoke, you were only supposed to be here for a day.”
Tallora nodded. “Have you heard the rumors of the calamity beneath the sea?”
“A few whispers, but I didn’t give them any mind.” Leah studied her broken stance. “Will you tell me? I want to hear.”
Tallora relayed what mattered—of Yu’Khrall, of Stelune, of her mother’s death, Harbinger’s sacrifice—all in hushed whispers within Staella’s temple. “And so I came here, to beg Solvira for aid. They’ve agreed to give it.”
“I don’t know that I can imagine a monster coming to genocide my people,” Leah replied, lip trembling from sorrow, “but I do know how it feels to lose my country and my home. If I can be of any help, please let me. Do you need a place to stay?”
Tallora shook her head. She contemplated the truth, though it remained a secret to the public, and whispered, “This must be kept quiet for now, but I took the Solviraes name. I married Empress Dauriel.”
Leah’s eyes looked at least as large as Harbinger’s, and Tallora nearly laughed to see it. “Was that the price of aid?”
“No! No, that has nothing to do with it. Her council didn’t seem particularly happy, actually. We . . . eloped, in a sense. Married last night, here in this temple.” She smiled, though it held sorrow. “I love her so much. Bu she’s struggling. And . . . And I may lose her.” Leah’s wide eyes didn’t understand, but she listened all the same. “I can’t say much because it hasn’t come to pass, but I may be a widow before the week’s end, and Leah . . .” Her head fell into her hands, fresh tears welling. “I’ve never felt so helpless. Dauriel won’t fight it. She won’t consider any other options because” She released a quiet sob. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t burden you with this—”
“No, no,” Leah soothed, kindness in her gaze. “Please let me help, if I can.”
“She’s hurting, and it’s not as simple as just holding her when she cries,” Tallora continued, wiping tears from her face. “She’s explosive, and I don’t have to be the one in the line of fire to be scared of it.” She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to calm. “I love her so much, Leah. Seeing her little moments of joy makes it worth it, but now she’s found her great escape, and she’ll take it. It’s the heroic thing to do, but . . . but . . .” She couldn’t go on; she held in a sob.
“Oh, Tallora . . .” Leah’s arms wrapped around her, holding her close.
“I came to the temple because I didn’t know who else to talk to,” Tallora whispered. “Little did I know I’d find a more tangible someone.” Her smile became sincere when she looked to Leah, who matched it.
“It was so strange,” Leah said softly. “I had dropped Mocum off with his tutor and hoped to catch up on housekeeping but something told me to come here. Just a prompting. I’m glad I followed it.”
“Do you worship Staella now?”
Leah nodded. “I’d struggled for years to reconcile my religion with the one of Solvira—I told you that, once. Meeting you made me think more about Staella and her teachings. I spent a few months studying her and her legacy and decided she was someone I could devote my life to.” She shrugged, though her eyes sparkled with joy. “It felt like a smaller step, if that makes sense. I don’t know if Neoma is a goddess I can worship, but Staella is revered wherever you go.”
“I’ve loved her all my life,” Tallora affirmed.
Leah took her hand and squeezed it tight. “I wish I knew what to tell you. But I’m glad you told me. You need support too.”
She gave a half scoff, guilt expanding in her stomach. “I feel selfish. Dauriel’s the one who’s hurting.”
Leah shook her head. “It’s difficult to take care of someone when you’re all alone.”
Tallora nodded, fighting the hope filling her. Dauriel might be dead within a week. It would not matter at all. “Enough about me. How are you?”
“I’m well,” Leah said kindly. “Not much, except watching Mocum grow. My job is enjoyable, but not particularly exciting.” A frown stole her good mood, slowly settling onto her brow. Her voice lowered. “Where did you get that vestment?”
Tallora held her gifted string of beads and carved stars. “It was a gift from the high priestess on the council. The one I had beneath the sea was lost.”
Leah’s scowl remained. “Is she from Moratham?”
“No,” Tallora said, concerned at the segue. “She’s from Vaile.”
With some reluctance, Leah’s expression softened. “I suppose that explains it. Vaile holds many Morathan immigrants.”
“What are you implying?”
“When I lived in Moratham, I knew of Staella. I had visited Virsalem once as a child and seen a small temple to her glory. I think I told you once there’s a very different worship of Staella in the desert and they pray for the day she escapes Neoma’s tyrannical grasp.”
Tallora nodded, her worry only increasing.
“I remember seeing that same style of vestment among the Priestesses of Staella in the capital. It symbolizes the union of Morathma and Staella, and the conjoining of their kingdoms—the earth and the stars.”
Tallora felt suddenly cold. She tucked the long necklace into the bodice of her gown, secured within the corset. “But it was a gift. She gave it in good faith.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Leah said, hands held defensively as she noticeably backtracked. “If she’s from Vaile, perhaps that’s simply what she grew up with. Nothing wrong with that. It’s still Staella’s symbol. It’s a lovely gift, when you think on it.”
Tallora nodded, still feeling strange at the thought. “I’ll talk to her about it. As kind as the gesture was, I don’t want to flaunt this if it makes people think . . .Well . . .”
“No, I understand,” Leah replied. “But I don’t know if anyone else would give it any mind, unless they were raised in Moratham like me.”
