by S D Simper
It was a joy to do so—after some coaxing, Dauriel finally submerged herself into the waves, and Tallora carried her far from the shore. She beckoned Dauriel to hold her breath and dove deep with her, showing her the fish, the coral, and all the beauty beneath.
Only in little spurts. Dauriel had to breathe, but Tallora explained it all when they returned to the surface.
“Can you talk to fish?” Dauriel asked, after a particularly brave little flounder had let her pet its scales.
Tallora laughed. “That’s like if I asked you if you could speak to your horse.”
Dauriel attempted to splash her, but Tallora released her first—the waterlogged empress was forced to keep afloat instead.
There was plenty to do above the waves as well. Tallora used her legs to admire the plants along the cliff’s base, enamored with the rainbow of flowers dotting the scene. “Do you know their names?” Tallora asked as she bent over to admire them.
“I don’t.” Then, creeping hands slid down Tallora’s bare ass; she squeaked when Dauriel pinched. “My favorite flower is right here.”
Tallora smacked her shoulder as Dauriel fell into a fit of giggles. “If you’re going to try that, lay down a towel first.”
Dauriel, of course, happily complied.
It was a day of genuine bliss, spent exploring and playing and fucking above and below the waves. Here, Tallora had her Dauriel—the one she loved, Dauriel alone. Her laughter was a precious thing, her joy so rare. Away from politics and the great, looming palace, Dauriel was free.
At sunset, Tallora, with her tail idly floating in the water, sat upon the beach, Dauriel at her side, the water gently lapping against them. The tide came in; the water reached much farther now. As the sunset flickered through an arch of rock formations, it cast a picturesque view.
Tallora leaned her head against Dauriel’s shoulder. Her empress spoke tragic words. “We could disappear,” she said wistfully, the light breeze tousling her dark locks. “I could throw my stone into the ocean, and we could run.”
Their time had nearly ended. Tallora felt it like a knife in her stomach. “Is that what you want?”
Dauriel stared into the fading sunset, the whispered words, “Duty over heart,” leaving her lips. The burning sky clung to the day, but night would fall all the same. It always did.
When Tallora looked up, Dauriel had begun crying, silent tears streaming down her face. Tallora kissed her cheek, then placed herself in Dauriel’s lap, clinging to her empress.
But Dauriel did not return the gesture, her hand idly touching Tallora’s tail instead, the sunset reflecting the fuchsia hues. Her stare remained a thousand miles away.
The sun faded. The last vestiges of light became a memory. And Dauriel’s words, when she finally spoke, were as soft as the whispering waves. “All my life, I sought to escape. I searched for my glorious death. I finally found it, but . . .” Her lip trembled; she shut her eyes, seizing control of her emotions. “. . . I also . . . finally . . . found a reason to live.”
Tallora kissed her tears, the taste of salt strong on her face. “For so long,” she said, recalling her sentiment at her goddess’ temple, “I thought we had upset fate in order to meet. I don’t believe that’s true anymore. Perhaps this was always your fate, to channel Neoma and save the world. And perhaps it was always mine, to hold your hand until that final plunge.”
“Fate is cruel, then, to give me joy just to take it away.”
“If this is the end . . .” Now, Tallora’s tears welled, the first falling quickly. “Then it’s as we always feared—that we’re doomed to spend the afterlife together, given our respective goddesses.”
Dauriel laughed, though her tears still freely fell. “If only it were a fate worse than death, to spend my life with you—instead it shall be eternity.”
It brought a shattered, broken sort of hope, the pieces of which Tallora vowed to hold to all her life.
They returned, for they were not meant for paradise.
They bathed, scrubbing salt from orifices they’d rather not admit to. Though exhausted from swimming and the sun’s light, Tallora lifted a pair of shears and said, “Sit down. Let me do this for you, please.”
Dauriel relented, her smile endlessly soft as Tallora snipped away the small bits of growth, a gentle rain of black and burgundy falling to the floor. All the while, she placed tender caresses upon Dauriel’s face and in her hair, adoring this final semblance of peace.
And when she was done, they embraced, holding each other in the silent washroom, soon filled with quiet tears.
Tallora awoke in the morning to a tender kiss on her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open—she realized the sun had yet to rise and that Dauriel was dressed. “Sorry to wake you. But I had to say goodbye—”
Her words were cut off by Tallora’s embrace. She pulled Dauriel back into bed, still too asleep to cry but awake enough to know this was the end. “Let me see you off, please.”
“Get dressed quickly, then.”
Tallora did so, throwing aside her nightgown and pulling on one of her crumpled dresses. Dauriel assisted, and something choked in Tallora’s throat—for this would be the final time she ever did. She smoothed her hair in a mirror, sparing Dauriel a glance when she caught her empress watching. “Yes?”
Dauriel shook her head. “Nothing. Just committing you to memory.”
Despite the somber mood, Tallora ‘dropped’ her hairbrush onto the ground, certain to lift her skirts as she bent over. With her ass in the air, she looked to Dauriel. “Silly me. But did you see enough to remember it?”
When Dauriel laughed, she stood straight, grinning when her empress swept her into her arms. “Gods, I’ll miss your wit on the sea.”
“You could take me with you.”
But Dauriel shook her head, dashing that idle hope. “To what end? You’ll only be in danger.”
Tallora didn’t argue, because she knew it was true. Any reason for her to join was merely to keep Dauriel company and be there at her end.
The somber reminder stole her joy. She wrapped her arms around Dauriel and held tight, breathing in her familiar scent, savoring the safe embrace.
All was quiet. The world beyond meant nothing.
When Dauriel finally pulled away, their fingers intertwined. The empress led her out. In silence, they walked through the quiet halls. Tallora held her as they rode the lift down, her head pressed against her leather doublet.
They went to the council chambers. A small collection of people turned at their entrance—the Solviran Council and Lady DeDieula. Ilaeri spoke first. “Empress Dauriel, this is for you.” He offered a small wooden box, engraved in filigree patterns. When Dauriel opened it, Tallora was surprised to see a glass orb, with a swirling pattern of blue and yellow gas within.
Realization struck her. This was Rulira’s orb; the perfect counterpart to Yaleris’—the one Yu’Khrall claimed.
Dauriel removed her glove, flexing her fingers before grasping the ancient artifact. Immediately, it glowed with life, subtle sparks of lightning flickering from the orb. But more daunting was the subtle silver light surrounding the empress, the slow breath she exhaled to dissipate it.
Then, she tossed it lightly into the air, nonchalantly catching it—as one did with priceless artifacts of depthless power.
“Can Neoma wield the orb?” Tallora asked, and Dauriel nodded.
“More likely, though, she’ll absorb its power and redirect it as Silver Fire.”
“If all is settled,” Ilaeri interrupted, “you’re the last to arrive. I can summon us a portal.”
Dauriel gave an affirmation. As Ilaeri worked, Tallora watched Khastra and the strange woman known as the Herald of Ilune. They did not touch, but the adoring glances from deDieula as Khastra surveyed the room were almost sweet. Tallora wondered at that, at the apparent love affair between them, but then her stomach lurched. She nearly fell into Dauriel’s embrace.
A portal appeared at the center of the ro
om, a literal rip in space.
Was this it? When Dauriel stepped forward, Tallora tugged her back. “Is this the end?”
Dauriel didn’t answer; Khastra did. “No,” the general said, lingering at the portal’s entrance. “I will not be joining this mission either, so you may return with me.” She offered deDieula a hand—the two stepped through together.
Tallora and Dauriel shared a glance, then stepped through.
The feeling of flying through space would never be normal. When Tallora’s feet touched solid ground, she nearly cried for relief. She stood upon a wooden dock, and as she glanced about the port city, she realized she knew it—this was where she had been taken when she’d been kidnapped all those months ago.
Before them stood a fleet of grand ships, some already setting sail toward the rising sun. Beside Tallora, Khastra and deDieula gently clasped hands, pure adoration in their eyes. “Be careful,” Khastra said, her words as soft as her smile.
Lady deDieula beamed beneath the general’s gaze. “Are you worried?”
“Yes. But my worry is not greater than my faith in you.” She bent down to place a lingering kiss upon deDieula’s brow, perhaps as affectionate as she would be in public, then released her hands. Lady deDieula’s smile remained as they parted. With graceful steps, she approached the ship, then blew a final kiss.
Tallora and Dauriel shared a glance, and oh—how she wished they had time, even to gossip about something as silly as this. Instead, finality settled upon her; Dauriel tucked the orb away into her cloak. She looked between them, lip trembling when Khastra knelt and took her into her strong arms, shorter than the empress for perhaps the first time in their lives. The general’s glowing eyes expelled tears as they held the other, and Dauriel’s fell to match. “Thank you,” came Dauriel’s whisper, “for everything.”
“I love you, Dauriel,” Khastra said, and when she pulled away, she gripped Dauriel’s shoulders in her large hands. “I am so proud of who you have become.”
When Khastra tried to release her, Dauriel leapt into her arms a final moment, weeping in her embrace. The general lingered, parting only when Dauriel initiated.
When Tallora stole her, Dauriel held tight. “Whether it be in this life or the next,” Tallora whispered, her own tears falling fast, “you will see me again.”
They didn’t kiss—they had done enough of it in private, and Tallora knew it would only bring more heartbreak. Instead, their hands lingered as they parted, and Dauriel visibly struggled to not break down and sob anew. “I love you.”
“I love you, my empress,” Tallora replied, and Dauriel left, sparing glances back as she walked up the plank.
Tallora slowly crumbled, soft sobs escaping her throat as cries sang to set sail. A presence appeared beside her—Khastra placed a hand on her shoulder, silent and strong as she watched the ship, her own tears still falling.
A familiar silhouette appeared upon the back of the ship—Dauriel gazed down, remaining even when the boat left the dock.
Khastra squeezed her shoulder. “We should go back.”
Tallora obeyed, the final image of Dauriel silhouetted by the sunrise, giving her the illusion of angelic wings.
* * *
Tallora lingered by Khastra as the portal dissipated, daring to ask, “What now?”
There was softness in the half-demon’s gaze, a certain empathy Tallora clung to. “You stay busy. You drink. You pray, if you think it will bring comfort.”
Khastra left her, the mood somber and heavy.
Tallora wandered. With quiet steps, she moved lightly through halls of a palace she now claimed. Solvira was hers, and that reality had yet to fully take meaning. She had married someone the world feared would be a tyrant, but Tallora still believed she could be more.
Yet now that same tyrant sailed toward her chosen death. Tallora felt numb.
Exhaustion struck her in time, her early waking hour colliding with the sun and spray of the previous day. She returned to her shared bedroom, wondering if it were odd for Solviran monarchs to actually share a space with their spouse. They had broken form, marrying for love and not money or political gain. But Dauriel would do as she had always done and spit in the faces of any who tried to control her.
Tallora shed her clothing, wishing for a nightgown instead. But as she went to Dauriel’s closet, there sat a small, foreign box. Before it lay a scrap of parchment bearing beautiful words—Tallora Solviraes, all my love.
Within was a pearl wedding ring.
Tallora lived in a haze of dread.
She curled up in bed, falling in and out of sleep, unable to stand even when her bones ached from lack of motion. But so long as she remained in comfort, her face pressed into the final traces of Dauriel’s scent, the world needn’t turn. Even when her stomach panged from hunger and light faded from the window, she clung to Dauriel’s pillow, though soon enough it was soaked with tears.
When loneliness threatened to overwhelm her, she studied her wedding ring. It was not an undersea tradition; only the very rich decorated their fingers, a sign they had better things to do than work, but she’d stolen one of the many dainty necklace chains in Dauriel’s room and strung the ring through. Knowing Dauriel, it would last beneath the ocean, much like the shears from months ago.
At some painful hour of night or morning—she couldn’t say—she left the room to forage for food. A few kitchen servants bustled about at the late hour, preparing for breakfast. They stopped at her entrance, quickly bowing.
“I’d like some food, please,” she said softly, and she was quickly, if coldly accommodated. Not for malice, she decided as she sat alone in the private dining hall. But she was their superior now, even if the word was bitter.
What a lonely existence. Surrounded by people, yet unable to connect. Tallora had once had countless friends.
Most were dead now. She felt it like a festering wound.
Her fog continued into the next day, after a fitful few hours of sleep. She laid in bed, wondering if she’d ever find the will to move again, when a knock sounded on the outer door.
She couldn’t stand. “Come in,” she managed instead.
She didn’t recognize the servant who peeked her head in. “Your majesty, there’s a visitor for you.”
Tallora sat up, rubbing her swollen eyes. “Who?”
“She says her name is Leah.”
Tallora bid her to enter. Upon seeing her friend, she nearly burst into fresh tears; she resisted long enough to hug her in the doorframe. “I stopped by to see Mithal on my way here,” Leah said, holding her tight, “and she told me where your wife went. If I’d known, I would have brought wine.”
Tallora laughed, though it nearly led to her sobbing anew. “You’re a treasure. Where’s Mocum?”
“Oh, he’s um . . .” Leah’s smile faltered, but it held, though painted on. “He’s staying with friends. All is well. But won’t you come with me?” Leah pulled away, though she kept her hands on Tallora’s upper arms, squeezing reassuringly. “Mithal would love to see you.”
“Is everything all right?”
A genuine smile replaced her false one, but Tallora couldn’t help but recall that Leah had spent years of her life faking smiles to please men. “Yes, he’s fine. I’m nervous leaving him alone for the night.”
“For the night?”
“You think I would abandon you when you need me the most? I’m staying.” She took Tallora’s hand, who followed, touched at the thought. Perhaps she still had a few friends left in the world.
Warm greetings met her at the doorway. Mithal embraced her. “Congratulations on your wedding, Tallora,” the elven woman whispered, and relief filled Tallora’s heart to hear it. “I was surprised, but there’s never been another person in the world who could ground Dauriel quite like you.”
“Thank you.” When Tallora pulled away, she noticed the sorrow in Mithal’s eye.
“Forgive me, but I pride myself in knowing all the happenings of this castle
,” Mithal continued, “and have reason to believe your happiness may soon be cut short.”
Tallora nodded, but she could say no more.
“Wine it shall be, then.”
Bless her. Tallora greeted other women she recognized, though hadn’t quite known. One stood away from the rest, and Tallora’s gut churned to realize she’d seen her before—a week ago, moaning as Dauriel had thrusted inside her. Judging by her blush at Tallora’s approach, the woman—unbearably beautiful with her long, blonde hair, nearly white, and vibrant eyes—recognized her as well.
Tallora hurt, but she couldn’t stand to hold any grudges. Not for a woman who’d only been doing her job. She shyly offered a hand. “Hello.”
The woman accepted, her handshake a bit limp. “Your majesty,” she said with a curtsy, but Tallora shook her head before she could say more.
“I’m Tallora,” she said, drawing her hand back, “and I’d like to know your name too.”
“Phira.”
“Phira, I can’t imagine a more uncomfortable beginning for us,” Tallora said, offering what she hoped was a reassuring smile, “but I’m happy to set that aside and . . . be friends?”
Phira smile held palpable relief. “I’d also like to forget that.”
Tallora invited her to join their little circle, and Phira graciously accepted.
Warmth surrounded her. With Leah at her side, Tallora didn’t feel alone at all. These women had once helped her through the most frightening era of her life. Now, through her heartbreak, perhaps she would be supported again.
But by Staella’s Grace—it still hurt. Tallora drank the offered wine, weeping to a supportive chorus. What use was there in hiding it when it could no longer be stopped? “Even though I knew it was coming,” she said, giving no cares to the tears falling into the wineglass, “I wasn’t prepared for the dread of waiting.”
Leah knelt behind her, braiding her hair into intricate designs, the motions soothing. All listened as she spoke of her wedding night, their elopement before Staella’s gaze. She kept Dauriel’s suicidal nature to herself—even her drunken tongue could withhold that much—but spoke of what she could. “When she dies, I’ll go back home,” Tallora continued. “They need all the help they can, beneath the sea.”
