by G. P McKenna
“I promise,” Ilya said and re-bowed his head, “thank you, Your Highness.”
“You’re welcome, Ilya,” Amicia said, replacing the mask before returning to his bangs.
“Who cares about the Umbra anyway,” Pogue said as he stood in front of Ilya with a smile, “we weren’t counting on them, and we don’t need them. Not when we’ve got the Poota and Mariquil, and a treaty with the Kaori too.”
“It’s all parchment, Pogue. It means nothing,” Amicia said with a sigh, “it’s been almost impossible to get the Mariquil to honour any of their pledges. The Poota have been more reliable, but since Lord Deniliquin’s alliance with the Blackbriars, their discontent had been growing. They now doubt our ability to succeed in battle. As for the Kaori, your treaty extends only to the Ilvarjo. I’ve been sending High Priestess Lowanna multiple correspondences daily since your return, yet nothing. It would appear she’s having second thoughts about challenging her husband’s regime.”
Huffing, Amicia pulled on Ilya’s bangs so violently that he jerked away from her touch. “Stop it,” Pogue grabbed her wrist, “Why do you keep doing that?”
Amicia looked at Pogue’s hand with a scowl before her face melted into a mask of sweetness. She released her Ilya’s hair, “I’m sorry, Ilya,” she said, “I was just remembering how beautiful your eyes once were.”
“His eyes still are beautiful,” Pogue said.
Amicia smiled weakly and glanced at me, “oh, Kilco. I’d forgotten you were here. Come,” she practically floated to her desk and opened a drawer, “I wanted to personally thank you on behalf of both myself and Lady Ilana for caring for Ilya. He’s very special to us both. I wasn’t sure of what to gift you, but Pogue mentioned that you’ve taken a liking to daggers. It turns out that I have just the thing,” she pulled out an engraved dagger with a hilt of translucent orange which glittered in the light, “it’s Kaori Sunstone. Very rare and very expensive, for it never breaks,” Amicia explained as she held it out to me, “it was my thirteen birthday gift from Lord Deniliquin himself. Suffice to say that I no longer desire to own it, so now it’s yours.”
I wasn’t sure that I wanted a gift from the sworn enemy, but the blade was so light, and the hilt warmed my hand. And I did love all things that glittered. Warmth and glee radiated from Amicia’s pretty face and I smiled at her, “thank you. It’s a thoughtful gift,” I placed the dagger into my pocket and adjusted the satchel, “but if there’s nothing else, I’m afraid I must get going.”
“Not like that you’re not.”
I blinked, “I’m sorry?”
Amicia looked me over pointedly, “neither you or Ilya are leaving my quarters looking like you’ve just had a tumble in the pigpen. I won’t have it,” her delicate nose scrunched, “you will both use my bathhouse and then join me for tea.”
I glanced at Ilya, but his eyes remained lowered. Typical. I shook my head, “that’s very kind, but I can’t tonight. Doctor Kira requires more healing tonic, and I’m already late.”
“That’s no problem. Heston will organize the tonic and I’ll write a letter to Doctor Kira, explaining where you are,” she clapped her hands together, “that’s sorted then,” it really wasn’t. Amicia gently stroked my arm, “you’re my friend and Lady Ilana will drill me on etiquette if she learns that I allowed you to leave like this. You’ll be doing me a favour. Don’t make me beg, it isn’t becoming of royalty.”
Seventeen
Pyrophobia
Fear of fire
The bathhouse was nothing more than a shack in the woods, but after months of showering beneath a bucket which sprayed water so cold that on chilly mornings it sometimes rained icicles, that bath was the height of luxury. Vapours steamed from the cracks in the door from the water’s warmth. Ascot truly had spared no expense at keeping their Princess in comfort. It was almost enough to forget that some poor bastard probably spent his day’s pulling a lever to keep that water well heated. Almost.
Ilya insisted on bathing first. No sooner had the door closed behind Amicia and Pogue had he pushed me down onto the wooden bench outside the bathhouse entrance, stating that since it was my fault he required a bath to begin with, I could wait. I hadn’t even objected out of principle when he’d unceremoniously removed his weapons and left me alone with nothing but the obnoxious crow behind me for company.
The velvet of Ilya’s blue sword was gritty beneath my fingers. What had fighting achieved? Nothing. It never did. And still I couldn’t bring myself to apologize. Not when Ilya would never take ownership of his part. Apologizing was too close to losing, and I never lost. Not with grace at any rate. The door behind me slammed shut. I didn’t look up.
“Ahem.”
Heston had been in the habit of doing that ever since Amicia had left him with instructions to tend to us and fetch us new clothing suitable for tea. He likely imagined himself the picture of class and poise as he strutted passed me towards the bathhouse door with a bundle of clothes under one arm and his nose in the air. I thought he looked like a pig in a wig.
“Ahem! Ha-hem! Ahem!”
He knocked once before shoving the clothing through a metal slot, “Master Lukasiak, I’ve delivered you temporary clothing. I feel compelled to remind you that the water will not remain heated indefinitely and Miss Escamilla requires the opportunity to bathe. You will find a cloth to dry yourself in with the clothing. Please refrain from using the cotton towels. They are for the Princess, not the likes of you.”
Whatever Ilya said in reply must’ve insulted three branches on Heston’s family tree, for in the next moment his face bunched and lit up a brilliant magenta. He turned and spat on the ground by the door without even the courtesy to look embarrassed when our eyes met. He simply sniffed and walked away. I made a mental note to wipe my butt on his precious towels. “Pathetic, isn’t he?” a husky voice asked. I almost bit clean through my tongue.
A beautiful girl sat to my right. I hadn’t even heard her approach. She rested her chin in a deathly pale palm, black hair dripping in ribbons to frame a smirking mouth of lips so red they seemed made of congealed blood. Her eyes, silver and cold like winter moonlight, were not quite amused as she looked me over, but certainly held something in that vein. No, she wasn’t beautiful, though the casual observer would be forgiven for confusing the innate memory of something long forgotten with beauty. Almost Human, but not quite. I shuffled to my left, putting more space between us. Her smirk grew into a grin. I bared my teeth in a mocking way and angled my body away from her. She giggled, “you haven’t the faintest clue who I am, do you?”
“No,” I said and crossed my arms, “and I’m not interested either. Sorry, but I’m not in the mood for new friends tonight.”
“Ah, but we are already friends. Pierous the Immortal will be so disappointed in you, Princess,” the name was vaguely familiar and I looked back to the girl, who giggled once more, “you don’t realize it yet, but we have been well acquaintances for weeks now, Kilco Escamilla.”
I rolled my eyes. She was clearly new. It was a big camp, but small in the grand scheme of things. Almost everybody knew my name. Still, she’d known Pierous and that was tantalizing enough to turn back to her and sigh, “fine, I’ll bite. Who are you, oh, mysterious one?”
“Fine choice of words.” She grabbed my hand, her fingers icy yet burning against my flesh. Every nerve screamed to flee, but my muscles seemed paralysed in her grip as a long finger tickled up my arm, then back down to flick my sleeve up. Even in the shadows of the Armoury, the bite mark shone red and irritated as her finger danced over it, leaving an agonizing itch in its wake. The girl raised her finger to those bloody lips and suckered it with a pop.
“You bit me?” I asked, finally able to pull my hand away when her grip loosened.
She smirked around her finger. “Guilty.”
“Unbelievable.” I huffed and ripped my sleeve back down, “what kind of creep sneaks around biting people? I should report you.”
“With a ba
g full of stolen goodies?” She tutted her tongue mockingly, “oh yes, I watched as you went from room to room, pocketing everything that wasn’t nailed down. I even listened in on your little conversation with that dusty relic down in the mages’ workshop. Every step you took, I was there, in your shadow.”
In my shadow? Something in my head clicked and I looked at her closely. Shadow. I touched the unusual sword by my side and swallowed, “you’re from the Umbra, aren’t you?”
The girl’s smirk fell into a scowl, “do I look like I’m from the Umbra?” I opened my mouth to point out that I had no clue, but what I did know was that she didn’t look right. She held up her hand before I could speak, “don’t answer that. You honestly don’t recognize me?”
“Am I supposed to?”
“I’d hoped you would,” she tapped a finger to her lips, all dregs of earlier amusement gone from her posture, “maybe it’s best you don’t. It won’t complicate things further. You do know of me though. I heard Ilya tell you-”
“You know Ilya too?”
She snorted, though it lacked humour, “oh I know Ilya. Very intimately.”
Who had Ilya told me about that he knew intimately? Erebus was a sword, and unless she was hiding a willy beneath that white nightgown, she wasn’t his brother. That left…”you’re the other one who loves him?”
“You look surprised.”
“Well, you’re missing a few inches.”
The girl threw her head back and laughed. Really laughed. It was the kind of laughter that if you heard it down an alley late at night, you’d turn right around rather than risk coming face to face with the one whose mouth it had escaped. And then it was quiet as if she’d never been laughing at all. She held out her hand and smiled. It was an unnerving smile, like one painted on a porcelain clown, “my name is Sedna. I think you and I can help one another to help Ilya.”
I watched that hand closely, afraid that it might bite, “Ilya doesn’t need any help.”
“Oh, but he does. He hasn’t realized it yet, but you have,” she dropped her hand and glanced at the bathhouse door, “you see it every time somebody spits at his feet. You will see it every time that Princess touches him, every time his whore mother looks at him. They don’t love him; not like we do. He deserves to be free,” she turned back to me, her features perfect yet somehow twisted, “bring him to the courtyard. I can tether his debt to you. He will go where you go, do as you ask. He will never leave you because an Ilvarjo always repays their debt.”
The light from the Armoury courtyard loomed above us, digesting the shadow like a star in the darkness. What did I even know about this girl? She claimed to be the one who loved Ilya, the one who he dreamed of kissing, the one who Pogue hated. Pogue hated. I looked to Sedna as if the answers I sought would be thrown over her face. She looked right back.
“I would never hurt him.”
“I wasn’t thinking that,” I said, and grimaced, “now I’m thinking that.”
Sedna grabbed my shoulders. I was powerless against her grip, “I would never hurt him. You have my word,” the word of a woman I knew diddly squat about was worth diddly squat. She looked into my eyes for a long moment before releasing her grip to turn back at the bathhouse door, “We’ve run out of time for games. Bring him to me or you’ll be alone, and he’ll be dead. Or good as when left to the mercy of the Princess and her Shield. They don’t care about him, they’ll let him die. You can stop it, but you must act now. Tonight. Bring him to me.”
I looked towards the bathhouse door, towards Ilya. I didn’t want him to leave, but I also didn’t want him tethered to me against his will. He hated me anyway. He wouldn’t follow me to the kitchen, let alone through the maze. Shaking my head, I looked back to Sedna, “how am I supposed to get him to-”
There was nobody there. I spun around. There was nobody anywhere. Did I- No. I slapped myself across the check. Sure, I was upset about Ilya leaving, but I wasn’t that upset…was I? I rubbed my face. Maybe it was time to talk to Doctor Kira.
“Why did you slap yourself?”
The melodic voice was comforting, familiar, but I was so tense it still made me jump from my seat. Typical. Growling, I sunk back down, “Deities, announce yourself.”
“Sorry,” Ilya said and sat beside me. Sat where Sedna had been moments earlier. If she’d been there at all, “why did you slap yourself?”
“I was frustrated. It doesn’t matter,” I said and looked him over. Ilya’s face remained covered in the same dirt-covered grey mask, appearing dreadfully out of place against the silk of the puffy emerald poet shirt and tight leather pants. I raised a brow. “Nice outfit.”
“Shut up, Kilco. Heston’s done this intentionally. I suppose he thinks himself smart,” Ilya crossed his legs, “I look ridiculous.”
“Please, those pants are no tighter than your usual ones,” but his tabard usually helped leave something to the imagination. I took a deep breath, “you’re being a fabric hypocrite.”
“That’s different. That’s a uniform. I haven’t any choice in wearing my exoskeleton, and besides, everybody else is wearing one too.” he said and reached for his weapons. I hummed. He did wear a uniform. Grey, leather, nondescript. It made him nothing but a blob amongst many, blending into the shadows like the rest of the Ilvarjo when he deserved to stand out, to have the sun on his face. I reached over and twisted my finger through his damp bangs. I would never keep him covered like that.
“Are you still angry with me?” I asked.
He pushed my hand away and continued buckling, “that depends on if you’re still angry.”
Hm. I glanced at the Armoury. My anger was inexhaustible without him, “if you’re not very mad, can we go for a walk?”
“I don’t think so.” Ilya snapped the final buckle on his dagger belt and sat up, “not because I’m angry, but there isn’t time. You still need to bathe before we head inside to meet with Her Highness and the Shield for tea.”
Screw tea. I never liked hot drinks that scolded my tongue anyway. I covered my eyes and groaned, “please Ilya. I don’t want our last memory of each other to be that I pushed you into the mud and ripped off your mask.”
“That won’t be our final memory. As I said, just because we won’t be living together-” his words died mid-sentence and I peeked from behind my hands. His posture was frozen, head tipped to the side as he stared out towards the entrance of the maze. I gulped and uncovered my eyes to follow his gaze, fully expecting to find Sedna standing there flashing her tits or something. That certainly would’ve explained the haunted look in Ilya’s eyes, but there was nothing there. Only deep darkness. Ilya swallowed heavily and turned to look into my eyes, then nodded, “you’re right,” he said after a silent minute, “let’s walk to the Armoury.”
Night breathed new life into the maze. The tall hedges that were so still and intimidating during the daylight hours pulsed beneath the cloak of privacy that darkness offered. None of the camp’s lights or sounds penetrated, the only glow came from the courtyard above, which danced with the foliage to make monsters of leaves. Always swaying, always moving, always warning with the wind, which howled through the passages and screamed in my ear to tell me something. Something I didn’t want to know. It was madness to be there. Had Ilya’s hand not been clenched in mine I surely would’ve run. Gloveless, the callused coolness of his raw skin calmed my nerves enough to speak without stammer as he asked for directions. Despite the lack of light, instinctively he saw the forks in the path that I couldn’t, yet I knew the way. Together we’d find it, apart we were lost. Two halves of a whole, yet still the wind blew.
“Can I ask you something?” I said in an attempt to silence its call. Ilya didn’t respond, and so I persisted, “do you remember when you had that conversation with Doctor Kira, you mentioned Pogue despising somebod-ouch.” Ilya had stopped walking so suddenly that my shoulder was almost ripped from its socket. I reached up to massage it as he loosened his grip on my hand.
“
Why were you thinking about that?” he asked.
Spurting out that Sedna had introduced herself and was waiting at the other end of the path didn’t seem like the correct answer, so I shrugged, “don’t know. Pogue is always so nice to everybody. I was just curious over what it took to make him despise somebody.”
Ilya’s grip on my hand retightened, and he stepped forward. We walked in silence for a while, and I figured he had no plans on continuing the conversation any further.
“Murder.”
My heart leapt into my throat, “what?”
“You asked what it would take to make for the Shield hate,” Ilya said, the pressure on my hand increasing, “that’s what it would take. Murder.”
Murder. The word replayed in my head over and over. Sedna had killed somebody, and I was walking straight to her. Murder. Murder. I swallowed heavily, “and who did she murder?”
Ilya stopped walking again, and though I couldn’t see more than his outline, I could feel his eyes on me as he turned. Another moment of silence passed between us before he sighed and kept walking, “They killed the Shield’s guardian.”
“Isn’t the Sword the Shield’s guardian?”
“Yes, but the Blessed Sword doesn’t exactly have the time to dedicate to child-rearing. He had help with that,” Ilya squeezed my hand so tightly that it began to hurt, “A fae named Bindy tended to the Shield’s daily needs. She did everything for him that our mothers did for us. She saved him the night Lady Lucina slaughtered the Armourers.”
