Zéphine crouched next to Marie in the darkness, hugging her cloak to herself, and tried not to think of what might be going wrong. Then Marie said softly, “I know this place.”
“Hm?”
“I used to explore the passages. We’re not that far from the Great Dome.”
“That’s nice,” Zéphine muttered, adjusting her cloak. She kept remembering Idrask’s rough voice as he told her about the first Kyrlander king. There had to be some way to stop him. Maybe if she begged him for protection, he would come with them. If she were a princess in a chronicle she would want vengeance on him, but she was cold and afraid and despite his betrayal, he was the closest thing a friend she’d ever had. Marie didn’t trust him, but surely—
She shifted, then realized that Marie wasn’t next to her any more.
“Marie?” she whispered, standing, and then a little louder: “Marie!”
No one answered; she was alone in the darkened corridor. How long had Marie been gone? She could be anywhere now.
“Zéphine?” She jumped, but it was only Idrask. “It’s all ready—”
“Marie’s gone!”
“What?”
“She—we were sitting together and then she wasn’t here. She must have slipped away—I don’t know where—”
“Could she have gotten scared? Thought I would betray you?”
“No, Marie’s fearless—she’d try to save me, and challenge you to a duel—” Zéphine stopped, remembering Marie’s words: You were always so unhappy. I always wished I could help you.
“She’s gone to the Great Dome,” she whispered.
“What?”
“To summon the unicorns. Come on!” She turned and ran.
She’d been worried about running into guards, but the first time they came across one, Idrask simply snapped, “The younger princess is running away. Come with me!” The man followed without a word and they kept running.
All the way to the Great Dome, Zéphine hoped they wouldn’t find her. Maybe Marie had gotten lost or scared along the way; maybe she’d had some other plan. When they pounded up to the double doors, she paused, gasping, and dared hope that Marie had succeeded, that the unicorns were now nuzzling her palms and in another moment they would destroy the Kyrlander army. She hoped for anything other than Marie trying and failing.
Then Idrask flung open the great double golden doors.
Launrad stood near the center of the Dome—bodies and throne cleared away—clasping Marie to his chest. The gesture would have looked tender if not for the knife against her throat.
“Good evening,” he said. “I hope you were coming to warn me. It would be very disappointing if you thought this child was dangerous enough to support.”
“Yes, Uncle,” Idrask said bleakly.
Zéphine bit her lip. “Please,” she said. “She’s just a child—she doesn’t understand—”
“You’re right,” said Launrad. “She doesn’t.” He shifted his grip and laid the blade of his knife across her face. “Little girl, what shall we do with you?”
Zéphine tried to start forward, but Idrask grabbed her. Marie met her eyes across the room and smiled as a little line of red trickled down her cheek.
“Is it so disturbing? I’ve heard about your customs, the rite of the unicorn bride. She would have done worse to you, if you had failed in your duties.”
“Please,” said Zéphine.
“But I can’t have my betrothed marked in an unsightly fashion.” He abruptly released Marie and shoved her away; she fell to the ground. “Take her away, bandage her up, and make sure she isn’t so foolish again.”
One of the guards started forward, reaching out to grab Marie, but she jumped up and darted away with a movement that was strangely graceful. The guard lunged for her, but she twirled away again. Like a dance.
Zéphine’s heart thumped. It was a dance. The opening steps of the maiden dance, that she had been meant to dance this night—and Marie—
“No!” she shouted. “Marie, stop!”
“Can you not catch one little girl—” Launrad began irritably.
Marie spun, leapt, and landed straight into a cartwheel. And the unicorns came.
They walked out from the rim of the room, between the edges of the shadows. They were the same blistering white-gold as the sun at noon, but Zéphine could look at them unflinching. Their manes were tangled starlight, their horns glimmered with unnamable colors. The rest of the room faded, growing shadowy and indistinct, as if it were ashamed to have form in their presence. Her eyes blurred with tears; she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, could only stare and realize why Marie had always spoken with wonder in her eyes.
Launrad drew his sword. “Kill them now!” But none of the guards took a step, caught by wonder or fear. One guard stood directly in the path of a unicorn, but even he did not move—only stared, his mouth working as the unicorn walked smoothly towards him... and through him, without pausing, as if he were made of smoke. For one instant he swayed, blood seeping from all over his chest; then he collapsed. His blood spread in a pool.
The unicorn walked on, unstained.
That sight sent everyone but Marie scrambling, trying to dodge the unicorns as they made their slow, placid progress towards the center of the Dome. Launrad pulled a group of soldiers to one side in an orderly retreat. Zéphine and Idrask took refuge at the base of a pillar; unicorns passed them on either side, and though Zéphine knew what would happen, she started to reach out before Idrask pulled her hand back.
Light clotted around Marie and the unicorns. The angles of the room were the same, but gazing towards the center, Zéphine felt she was looking up an immeasurable distance, towards a place she could never hope to go.
Marie flung her hands wide. One note of unicorn song ripped out of her throat: a clear, bell-like sound that sent Zéphine slumping forward. She looked up, vision swimming, to see the unicorns circling Marie. It was the climax of the dance; Marie’s eyes were solemn and sure, and for one heartbeat she looked certain to succeed—
Then her gaze drifted to Zéphine. Her steps faltered.
The unicorns lowered their horns.
It was at least quick. Marie cried out once as three horns ran her through at once. Then she collapsed, and there was no sound but the soft, wet noise of the unicorns lapping up her blood.
Zéphine did not look away. She stared hungrily at every curve of the unicorns, at the blood sliding down their jaws, and she crawled forward so she could try to dance for them. So that before they killed her, they would look one moment in her eyes.
Idrask wrestled her to the floor. He muttered something garbled and human; it took her a few moments to realize he was saying, “She’s already dead, you can’t help her, you’ll just die, Zéphine, don’t leave me—”
And she sobbed as she realized that he thought she was trying to help her sister. Her sister who was now a unicorn bride.
The unicorns raised their heads. Even now, remembering it was her sister who lay bloodied and broken beneath them, Zéphine’s mind keened with the desire to follow them, dance for them, die for them. If they had ever looked at her, she would have been lost completely; but they did not notice anything human as they streamed out of the Great Dome, fading as they ran, until they disappeared between the shadows.
Slowly, Zéphine realized she was weeping, her body shaking with great, soundless sobs. Idrask still held her to the floor, his face buried in her hair, whispering something like I’m sorry and I’m here and I’m sorry.
Finally she got control of herself; after a few hiccups she whispered, “I’m all right.” Idrask still clutched her, so she said more strongly, “I’m all right. You can let go.”
They sat up together. Her head pounded, her teeth ached, but she was still alive and sane. Her gaze wavered towards where Marie lay dead, and she swallowed convulsively. She had always known that one of them would be the unicorn bride. She had always wanted to escape.
She had never, ever want
ed it like this.
“That,” said Launrad, “was very troublesome.”
He stood a few paces away from Marie, his arms crossed. He looked down at her body with an expression that suggested her death was a petty insult he nonetheless took personally.
She staggered to her feet. She stepped unsteadily towards Launrad, not sure what she was about to do or say. Idrask gripped her hand, to comfort or restrain, she couldn’t tell.
Launrad looked past her at Idrask. “It seems you were wrong. Their covenant is not completely broken. You will get your wife with child as fast as possible.”
Zéphine found her voice. “My daughter... will never dance for the unicorns.”
He smiled and clapped a hand against Idrask’s shoulder. “Let me know if you need help,” he whispered, and left them.
Zéphine knelt by Marie. Her face was pale and blank, as if life had never touched her; but at least there was no ghost of agony. She was now a unicorn bride, and maybe that was happiness for her.
She always loved them, thought Zéphine. Like she always loved me. Then she started to cry again.
* * *
This time, when they went back to her room, it was Zéphine who slumped against the door and slid down to the floor. Her eyes were hot and itchy. She was very tired.
She thought, I keep doing nothing and everyone is dying.
Idrask knelt before her; he laid one hand on the door by her head. “Zéphine. We’ll try again tomorrow. You should rest.”
She looked up at him. He’s the only one left, she thought. Her stomach clenched. I won’t let him die. I absolutely will not let him die.
“No,” she said.
“We can’t do anything more tonight—”
“No.” She stood. “I’m not running away while you kill yourself. I want to help you fight Launrad myself. I want us both to live.”
“After I’ve killed your whole family?”
“Marie decided. You’re sorry. I don’t care about the past, I just want to stop losing people.”
“Zéphine—” He looked away. Swallowed. “Thank you. But there is no way to stop Launrad without the Bull.”
“You go to the Bull and I swear I will dance for the unicorns.” The words snapped out of her; she was almost sure she meant them. “We can run together. Launrad’s main army hasn’t even landed yet. If we find the generals, we could win.”
“Against the Bull?”
“Against Launrad! He needed your brother’s blood to transport a troop of guards to this palace. He’d need something very precious to exchange if the whole country rose up against him. How many times do you suppose he can pay the Bull without giving up his own life?”
Idrask’s mouth twisted. “You’d be surprised.”
Her hands trembled. “I am a terrible princess. But at least I haven’t given up.” She poked him in the chest. “Dying won’t make you any more forgivable.”
Idrask snorted, turning away from her. “You’re that eager to keep yourself wed to a conqueror?”
“...you know, I’d forgotten that part.”
He barked out a laugh. “Well, I suppose if we win, we can arrange for everyone else to forget it too.”
She tilted her head and stepped towards him. “Do you love me?”
His shoulders tightened. “I won’t trouble you.”
“You,” she whispered, “are the stupidest man alive.” She couldn’t reach his lips, so instead she kissed the side of his jaw. “I’m not leaving and I’m not dying. I’m going to fight him with you. And what I said in the garden.... I still mean it.”
He turned to face her. “You can’t possibly—”
“I am princess of Retrouvailles. When Ysonde Blanchemains’s lover was captured, she became the first Reine-Licorne and slaughtered all the legions of the Imperatrix to get him back. If I want to love you then I certainly will.”
For another moment he stared; then he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. It was not like the last time, when he had kissed her with a fierce precision that she now knew was born of desperation. This time his touch was gentle, hesitant, as if he could hardly believe she was real.
Zéphine pulled him down onto the bed.
* * *
Much later, they lay curled together in the darkness.
“Tell me about Ysonde,” Idrask murmured.
“There’s not much more to the story,” said Zéphine. “It was so long ago—and in those days we were just an alliance of tribes—it’s not even sure that she was saving her lover. Most tales say that, but some say it was her father or her sister. One tale says it was her daughter, and a few say she was moved only by the sufferings of her people. But they all agree—she went to the Plaine d’Ossements, somehow she summoned the unicorns, and she danced before them. And the unicorns consented to serve her. In one night, they killed every soldier of the Imperatrix within the land. For thirty years, she ruled as Reine-Licorne—there were no kings in those days. Until her last dance, when the unicorns loved her so much that they killed her and ate her soul; so alone of all queens she rides with them forever as unicorn bride.”
Idrask’s arms tightened around her. “That’s how they love? They really are evil.”
“No.” She was surprised how vehement she was. “Unicorns aren’t evil. They can’t be, for they never choose. They simply are according to their nature.” It was one of the first precepts she had ever learned. “That’s why they are drawn to the pure in heart: they can recognize their complete singlemindedness.”
“Don’t ever be that pure.”
“That’s... not a thing you can promise or decide. You either want something that desperately or you don’t.” She sighed into the darkness. “I don’t think you ever need to worry.”
Idrask’s finger traced the line of her temple, and she caught his hand. “Don’t you ever summon the Bull.”
“...I can’t promise that either,” he said. “If you were—if it really was the only way—”
“But not before.” She laced her fingers with his and clenched them.
“Not before,” he agreed, and buried his face in the crook of her neck.
* * *
“This way,” whispered Idrask, and she followed him down the servants’ corridor.
It was almost the same plan as before: Idrask would give orders to the few guards he trusted to obey him and they would slip out of the palace with stolen horses. But this time it was Idrask who was supposed to leave at her side, not Marie, and they were leaving in the slow, warm afternoon hours instead of the middle of the night.
They were past the point where they had lost Marie—Zéphine’s throat tightened—and they were almost to the stables. Idrask led her through a door, out from the corridor into a ballroom. The chandelier glinted faintly in the afternoon sunlight that spilled across the gold-and-crimson floor. Everything looked quiet and normal; Zéphine sighed in relief.
“I really thought you had more sense,” said Launrad.
They spun to see him at the opposite end of the room—and there were the guards coming in the doors. Zéphine felt dizzy. They were trapped.
“Lost it, sorry,” Idrask said through his teeth, gripping her hand. As Launrad walked lazily towards them, Idrask backed towards the windows.
“I would have been content to let you give her children,” said Launrad. “But if I must do everything myself—”
Idrask whirled away, dropping Zéphine’s hand as he drew his sword to attack the guards between them and the window.
He was brutal and quick. In a few moments he had dropped two of the guards; he grabbed a sword off one of them and slammed it against the window, shattering the glass. Then the other guards were on him and he had to turn and fight them, a sword in each hand.
“Zéphine!” he yelled. “Out the window—”
And Launrad was there, and his sword only moved twice before it was buried in Idrask’s gut.
The whole world seemed to stop for a moment. Zéphine couldn’t brea
the. Then Launrad pulled his sword free and Idrask fell to his knees, his swords clattering to the ground beside him. Everything moved again. The guards drew back; Zéphine ran forward to grab his shoulders and steady him.
Idrask pressed his hand to his side with a gasp, then held it out, blood dripping onto the floor where the gold inlay formed a perfect circle. “Black bull of the north,” he snarled. “Come to my blood.”
“No!” snapped Zéphine, trying to pull his hand back—
As nothing happened.
“I lied,” Launrad said placidly. “I didn’t just kill your brother for the power to move troops. I also bargained his blood to ensure that for all my life, the Bull would never hear your calls, nor could anyone else invoke him against me.”
Idrask gasped again and slumped. His whole torso was soaked with blood now. Zéphine eased him down to the ground and pressed her cloak over the wound—he let out an awful grunt—but the blood kept seeping through.
“Stay with me,” she said. “Idrask? Listen to me. You said you would stay.”
His lips curved a little. “Sorry.”
He was dying.
In that moment, she knew what the Ysonde had felt, what had caused her to strike the terrible bargain with the unicorns. It didn’t matter which legend was true and whom she had been trying to save—lover, sister, father, or all her people. There had been someone whose life was worth anything to her.
Zéphine’s heart still wasn’t that pure and never would be.
But the Bull would grant you anything for a price.
She leaned down and kissed him. “Thank you.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you.” She smiled. “So I’m not afraid any more.”
His eyes widened and he started to gasp her name, but she pulled the knife out of his boot and turned away. She stepped forward, head high. Bloody, broken, and impure, she was still a princess of Retrouvailles.
Launrad eyed her. “You can’t possibly hope to fight me.”
“No,” said Zéphine, because he was right: he was a warrior and she was a princess who had never killed anyone. But she was also the wife of Idrask Leifsson, wedded and bedded and heir to his power.
Beneath Ceaseless Skies #73 Page 3
