Remnants of Atonement (True paths Book 1)

by G. P McKenna

  “It’s only lying if he asks,” I hissed, pushing against his chest, “do you understand how traumatized he is right now? Do you want to make this harder? Pogue, are you trying to hurt him?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Do you love me?”

  “What?” Pogue sprung back like a coiled spring.

  “Do you want to marry me?” I asked and rolled my eyes when he looked to the floor, his entire face gone deathly pale, “it’s fine that you don’t because believe it or not, I don’t want to marry you. But if we’re not in love, where’s the benefit in mentioning it when it’ll only cause heartache to those we do love? The only benefit would be to ease our own guilt, and that’s selfish. I’m not going to let you hurt Ilya just so you can sleep better at night, understand?”

  Pogue pawed the grass with his boot, “I didn’t say I don’t love you.”

  I slapped his cheek. Two healers working on a burned man nearby paused and looked up at the sound, but quickly resumed their work as I bared my teeth at them before leaning in close to Pogue to growl, “Stop it. You think you’re being kind by saying that, but you’re not. I know full well that you don’t love me, and I’m fine with that, but others in the camp who wouldn’t be. They dream of your love. When you walk around saying those things you instil false hope into them. It’s not nice. In fact, it’s cruel, and it’s made worse as you only do it because it makes you feel good about yourself. Stop being so damn selfish all the time,” Pogue looked up at me, his puppy dog eyes wet with tears, and my anger fled, “just don’t say anything to Ilya, okay?”

  “Yeah,” he mumbled, “okay.”

  A heavy weight lifted from my chest, and for the first time in three days I could breathe through my nose. Looking down, I cringed at the sight of his knee. Somebody -likely Pogue himself- had pulled the needle out. A mistake, really. Blood had crusted over the wound, uncleaned and unbandaged, trapping whatever germs in there for good. Stupid only does what non-stupid allows, “come to the infirmary later so I can clean that for you.”

  Pogue awkwardly tugged on his pants, “Nah, it’s okay.”

  “No. Go talk to Ilya, then come see me. Be nice and quiet, then everything will be okay.”

  It would be because it had to be.

  Thirty

  Kiknophobia

  Fear of swans

  The thundering snores seemed insensitive in a place that housed only the dead. Bodies were laid out in neat lines upon the floor of the central room, each covered in a red-stained sheet. It made sense with the infirmary being the only place in camp with a working cooling system, but even to my eyes the scene of a place that was designed to save life so devoid of it was unnerving. All but the most critical of patients had been moved elsewhere, but the presence of those still there, so close to death themselves, did nothing to ease the feeling. That snoring didn’t help, my nerves too far gone to cope with it for the remainder of the night. It had to stop.

  Taking care not to tread on the recently deceased, I marched down the hallway in search of the nasally foghorn, only to be started when a very much alive head popped out from a side room. A deep frown crossed Melly’s features as her dark eyes met mine. I froze in place, considered the logistics of running away, but she wordlessly motioned for me to follow before disappearing back inside. Sighing through gritted teeth, I stepped inside.

  “Where did you disappear to?” Melly asked. It was too dark to see anything, but the snoring was strong enough that my eardrums felt to be vibrating. Her voice came from my left, and I reached around until my hand found a shoulder. That was enough to ground me, even if Melly’s words dripped with judgement, “we’ve been worried sick about you.”

  “Sorry abou-” my words were cut off abruptly as a hand covered my mouth.

  “Quiet or you’ll wake him,” Melly hissed before letting go, and though I was seemingly born without the gene to take directions, I was too exhausted to argue so let my shoulders slump as the familiar clicks of the oil lamp flicked rhythmically until finally the room filled with light.

  Of course, Pierous was the one who was snoring. The sound was even more impressive considering he was face down on the unmade cot, oblivious to the world around him. Melly gingerly reached out to touch his neck but snapped her hand back against her chest in the final moment. She gave me a forced smile, “Commander Ramsey delivered him here after the Mariquil refused to accommodate him at the riverfront where all the minor injuries had been taken. The good Commander insisted he isn’t left alone, but nobody else will sit with him, so here I am.”

  I bit my lip and looked down at Pierous’ sprawled form. Though I hated the Warlock on principle, I couldn’t help feeling slightly offended on his behalf, “he saved the entire camp and they’ve put him in the house of the dead to sleep it off?”

  “We’ll be sleeping here too,” Melly said.

  “You will,” I crossed my arms and dug my nails into my palms, “where I’m sleeping tonight depends entirely on how pissed Doctor Kira is when she returns.” Melly’s forced smile shifted into a more tiredly authentic one as she looked at me, opening her mouth as if to speak, but snapped it shut as Pierous rolled over with a throaty snore. Had it been anybody else, anyone at all, I would’ve laughed, but Melly was too pure for me to laugh at, and so I touched her arm with a rare sincere smile of my own, “I can watch him. Besides, Doctor Kira would probably prefer your assistance over mine right now.”

  Melly watched Pierous for a moment as the Warlock’s head lolled side-to-side before patting my shoulder with a nod, “she isn’t mad at you. Why would she be? It’s routine for you to disappear for several hours at a time. She was just afraid when we didn’t know where you were during the fighting, then disappointed when you sent an Ilvarjo to do your bidding,” she opened the bedside drawer and withdrew a medical pack, “but you’re welcome to watch over him.”

  “Actually-”

  “No take backs,” Melly said. She pulled the flap open before looking back with an uncharacteristic smirk, “besides, even if Doctor Kira wasn’t angry that you disappeared, I’m certain she’s found something else by now.”

  With that said, she left, leaving me gawking at her back. Huh. Not so pure after all. I grabbed some bandages and antiseptic from the unclosed drawer and sat on the side of the bed to clean the bite on my leg. The immortal’s black hair hung loosely, lifting upwards with each thunderous exhale to reveal a face that appeared somehow both younger and older at rest. So different from the face he’d had when we first met, he appeared less average and almost, though it pained me to admit it, like a slimmer, more rugged version of my father. Ugh, that only reminded me of that clone Attica who had my ugly mug. Who was she to Pierous? A member of a failed coven or somebody more intimately related?

  One thing was for sure: there would be no answers while he slept, so I tied the bandage off and went to pull a book off the good doc’s bookshelf. An Enzymes Journey. Still more fun than watching an ancient geezer sleep. I slumped down at my mother’s desk to read, but nervous energy pulsed through my veins, screaming at me to do something before I exploded.

  At first I’d tried to pace, but the many bodies restricted my movements and the medics who delivered new ones every few minutes stared at me with judgemental disapproval, and after the seventh tutting I’d stormed into the room I had shared with Ilya.

  Top to bottom I scrubbed that room clean, figuring that if the boys decided to return that night everything would be ready for them. Yet my hands still shook with nervous agitation as I pulled fresh sheets onto Ilya’s cot. His clothing. That’s what was missing. If Ilya did return, he’d almost certainly want to change, and if he didn’t return, if I had his uniform…

  And so, with one final check on Pierous, the infirmary was left to the dead once more.

  “But Doctor Kira sent me to collect every empty tonic vial.”

  The Poota guard covered a yawn with her beefy hand before straightening up, towering over me like a mountain before an ant,
“I heard ya the first fifteen times, but that don’t change the fact we under lockdown. Come back in the morning.”

  “But-” The guard dipped her head once more, leaning against the canvas while humming so loudly that I couldn’t hear the next words out of my mouth. Unbelievable. The Royal guard were unbelievable. Not even the threat of Doctor Kira’s retribution was enough to convince them to let me inside the Command tent. It had barely gotten me into the corral. Naturally I’d snuck around back to the hole I’d sliced, only to find four-four!- guards watching over it. Ridiculous. Typically I would’ve just moved onto the next guard to argue with, but I’d tried four already with the same result, and the nervous energy wasn’t easing, my eyes getting twitchy. I needed to do something, so I ground my teeth. Melly had said something about the Mariquil infirmary by the river. Surely, they needed assistance…

  “Deities calling, come here.” I looked over my shoulder to find Commander Ramsey marching straight towards me. With his mouth set in a stern line, he grabbed my arm rough enough to bruise, “she’s to come with me,” Ramsey barked at the guards while pulling me along behind him to the entrance of the tent. I suddenly had no desire to be there. The twitchy energy dropped into the pit of my stomach to be digested into anxiety while Ramsey led me to my fate. I watched the leafy canopy disappear behind us, my freedom fleeing with it.

  “Excuse me, Commander, where are we going?” I squeaked as he dragged me along.

  “You’re going to speak to Her Grace.”

  Of course I was.

  “Am I in trouble?” I asked, already knowing the answer. I should’ve been anticipating it really. We’d broken dozens of Ascotian laws bringing Ilya back and there would be a fall man. Pogue was the Shield, Pierous was a war criminal, and Ilya was already owned by the crown. That left only me.

  “Have you done something wrong?” Ramsey asked.

  Where to begin? “Ilya Lukasiak.”

  Ramsey paused and turned to me, plucking the edge of the bandage around his forehead before clearing his throat, “yes, that’s certainly a grievous offence. Not only against Ascot, but against the Deities themselves. However, as it stands Lady Ilana is vital to our success, and she reacted poorly when…” he shook his head and walked on, loosening his grip on my arm just so, “I’ll leave any punishment for that up to both her and Her Grace. That won’t be until morning at the earliest, but if you assist me tonight, I’ll put in a good word for you.”

  “Assist you with what?”

  Ramsey responded by quickening his pace and swerving down halls until we stood before a door with two guards standing on either side. They parted silently as we approached, allowing Ramsey to knock twice before opening it and shoving me inside the most luxurious suite I had ever seen. The carpet was green and plush, the furniture golden and ornate, but that all paled in comparison to the swan that dominated the centre. Its ivory neck was carved in profile so a bejewelled emerald eye could steal flirtatious glances at solid wings that curved delicately over an oval mattress to hold back a shimmering canopy of golden silk. The bed was extravagant, pompous, and as I stroked the gold-threaded bedspread never had I desired anything more.

  “Magnificent, isn’t she?”

  It took a moment to locate the owner of the slurred voice, but when I did, I almost laughed. Deities, my tutors at Miss Emily-Jean Aberdeen’s school for properly bred young ladies would have required smelling salts at the sight of Ascot’s dishevelled Princess lolling about in her underclothes atop a nest of plush pillows. Her beautiful brown hair was in almost as much disarray as the abandoned Ivory armour littering the floor, but at least whatever had gotten her drunk was being sipped from a crystal decanter.

  Small graces.

  Amicia patted the pillow next to her, and I sat, drawing my knees up as she pointed at the swan bed with a hum, “magnificent, yet disgusting. When Swannanoa was infiltrated, many of my advisors believed it was best to save Ascot’s treasures rather than prepare the citizens for evacuation. As if the treasures falling into Lord Deniliquin’s hands would be all that was required to bring the Kingdom to its knees,” she snorted and tapped the decanter, “Everything here is replaceable. Useless. Everything, except that.”

  She swung her finger to the east wall and the tapestry which decorated it. Old and well-worn, but still exquisite in its depiction of a golden-crowned man standing in front of a rising sun and a group of glowing white followers. Familiar depictions of the Deities looked down upon them from the crimson sky as the man, and his followers were bowed to in turn by a crowd of faceless figures shrouded in grey.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said with sincerity.

  “Indeed, but its beauty is deceiving,” Amicia took a deep draw from her decanter, “every drop of red is the blood of an Ilvarjo.” That was a lot of red. Amicia looked at me, her eyes narrowing slightly before she giggled, “the tapestry depicts the day the convent was entered into by our forefathers. You see, the Ilvarjo are not native to Ascot. They had been exiled from their homeland, though where exactly that was none of us can remember anymore. They wandered aimlessly through the desert until the Kaori took issue with their presence. They hunted them to near-desolation. That’s when we learned of them, of their unique talents. We offered them a home and a duty, and in exchange they pledged themselves to Ascot for as long as that tapestry remains intact,” she took another sip and smacked her lips, “that is the one thing that keeps my Ilvarjo bound to me, and one day I’ll burn it. One day, when I’m good and ready,” she stared at the tapestry a moment longer before shaking her head, “but you don’t care about any of that, do you? You’ve come to keep me company, and I’ve been the rudest of hosts to not even offer you a sample of my liquid desert. Here.”

  Amicia held the decanter out to me and I eyed the brown liquid inside with suspicion. Even from where I sat the smell of strong liquor burnt my nose, “what is it?”

  “Pog.”

  Stronger than moonshine, pog would shoot its drinker well beyond the moon and far into the stars. Even the good doc with her cast-iron liver avoided the poison like a plague of fleshpoxs. That Amicia was drinking it like water and was still somewhat coherent was the most miraculous feat of the night. Flaming fire, waves crashing, too close, too- “I don’t drink.”

  “Now’s as good a time as any to begin.”

  “No, thank you, Your High-OUCH.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Amicia shrieked, her pointed nails still embedded into the soft flesh of my cheek, “I am Amicia. I don’t deserve a title after my actions tonight. I had prior warning of the attack, yet I failed to act. My spies had warned of suspicious behaviour, and so I called a meeting, but everybody else claimed they knew best. The walls are impenetrable, they insisted. Our troops vastly outnumber theirs, they promised. So against my better judgement, I relented, and looked at what happened. My father would never have relented; he would’ve saved both his people and his friend,” she released my cheek to take the decanter and slam it against the floor. Damn. Ramsey didn’t need my help, he needed restraints. Amicia looked at me with the ugliest of scowls, “why does he trust you?”

  An unexpected question, but I couldn’t pretend not to know exactly who she meant. I shrugged, and replied honestly, “I don’t know.”

  “It’s my fault,” Amicia said as she leaned over to pick up a thick shard of crystal, “I spoiled him. Isolated him by forcing away anybody who dared get too close, even those I perhaps didn’t have any right, but I had no choice. Ilya and Ilana are more than just my Ilvarjo, they’re my family. I love them, and they love me, but they don’t trust me. Not really. Ilya was only four when he came to live at the palace, and even then, he didn’t trust me. Tell me, what kind of monster cannot convince a baby to trust them?”

  “How old were you?” I asked.

  “Eight,” she leaned back with a bitter smile, “they claim that children can see right into a person’s soul. Ilvarjo children especially. Perhaps even back then Ilya could see me for who I truly w
as, and that’s why he didn’t like me. Then he spent an entire month without speaking, and I was able to convince myself that maybe the problem was him, but no. He speaks to Pogue, and now he speaks to you too. It’s my fault, had I not suffocated him he’d have proper friends and would never have needed you.”

  Deities, that was…something. I cleared my throat, trying to come up with a response that wouldn’t see me strung up by my toes, “Ilya likes you.”

  “No, Ilya respects me, and he respects me because he knows no difference. He likes you,” Amicia sat up and grinned widely at me, “but he really likes Pogue.”

  My heart leapt into my throat, and against my will I croaked, “you know about that?”

  Amicia scoffed and rolled to the floor, stretching her arms over her head to expose her ribs, “everybody who has ever been alone in a room with them knows that. They’re not as discreet as they’d like to believe they are.”

  Well shit. Amicia crawled over to a golden chest by the foot of the swan bed and began pulling garments out as I worked that information over in my head before settling on one burning question, “I thought Ascot didn’t support such unions?”

  “We don’t, but every heroic tale requires a tragedy. Something that playwrights and bards can immortalize for generations to come,” she pulled herself out of the chest, grinning like a madwoman as she held up the grey uniform triumphantly before throwing me each piece individually, “besides, it won’t last. They both have responsibilities to the crown. Pogue will return to the Armoury once the war is over, and as Lady Ilana’s only legitimate child, Ilya is obligated to produce me an heir for the Dukedom of Goonawarra Valley. These are the sacrifices we must make as nobility, but if Ilya gives Pogue comfort now, that’s marvellous. If it focused him on his task, I wouldn’t care if Pogue fell in love with Lord Deniliquin himself,” sighing, Amicia fell face first onto the swan bed before flipping around, “but these are ugly realities, unnecessary to speak about. Come, cheer me up by telling me all about the Morrigan and the Warlock. I want to know everything.”