by B Lynch
“It’s certainly more fun,” Janni joked quietly to Mae. They snickered, and Hanne broke off to glare at them, before returning her withering gaze to Caliandra. The Princess remained undaunted.
“No, it is unladylike,” Caliandra replied. “And yet, I doubt it likely to cause any harm whatsoever.”
“Then perhaps what makes it unbecoming is not in the spying, but rather, in getting caught,” Hanne retorted, head held high, “For I will happily go to the Queen, and see you held accountable.” Eliya regarded her friend with a measure of surprise and confusion. Caliandra, however, was not puzzled in the least by the attack.
“And they would rap me on the knuckles and be done with it, for Eliya and I have lost our only brother, and Yom knows that people in mourning are capable of strange behavior,” Caliandra said firmly.
“Are they, now?”
“They are,” Caliandra said.
“Perhaps,” Hanne said, “If your brother was lost after the king passed, you would be subject to the same laws of civility that govern the rest of us,” Hanne said. “And you would not be so bold about your ‘strange behavior’.”
Shocked, Eliya reacted instantly to Hanne’s harsh words. “Hanne!” she said. “How can you say that?”
“I’m wrong for saying it, but she’s not wrong for doing it?” Hanne retorted. “Are you so quick to betray our friendship?”
“I think my sister’s in the right,” Caliandra said, cutting in, “After all, your words dance very close to the edge of cruelty.”
“Cruel, am I?” Hanne paused. “I didn’t expect you to remember, but I too, lost a brother – three summers ago. Eliya remembers it, but I doubt any of you would. Did I engage in mischief, or spying? No,” she said. “I wept quietly in my room for weeks, and maintained full mourning, as was appropriate. As was expected of me. And you, Princess, who expects kindness? You offered me no such thing. Only your usual chill regard,” she said, with venom, “Your brother has died, Princess. Conduct yourself with dignity. Unless you choose to act like a lady, in which case, I might remind you – these senseless children are hardly the best models.” Hanne eyed Janni and Mae with disdain.
“Perhaps,” Caliandra said, “But I’d still take their company to yours. Witch.” With that, she offered a brief smile and a curtsy. Hanne’s mouth twisted, searching for a retort, but she had nothing. She glared for a second, and then stormed away. Eliya remained, regarding her friend with a spiteful look.
“Do you still think her a friend now, sister?” Caliandra asked.
Eliya shook her head in disbelief. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just… I never expected that of her.”
Mae’s head turned as she heard a pair of distant, rapid footsteps, and the jangling of a bell. “Do you hear that?” she asked. Caliandra craned to look, as did Janni and Eliya; the sound was coming from down the hall, and around the corner. Soon, the figures revealed themselves; a guard and a priest, the latter carrying a jangling bell, headed towards the King’s room.
“Yom almighty,” Eliya gasped. “Father.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Queen took cautious steps down the cool stone staircase. She swore she could feel it through her slippers – Kells assured her it wasn’t the case, but she knew she could feel it. The dungeon was a place of torture and death, and not welcoming to noblewomen. And yet she was there. She felt compelled – part out of curiosity; but also equal parts spite, anguish, and murderous intent. All the same, when she heard his request, she agreed to entertain it; she hadn’t expected a full confession. She had wanted to see him suffer, with exquisite agony. That, she promised herself, will come soon enough. Had he been any other prisoner, she would’ve allowed the torture and execution to remain the provenance of men. But it was Royth, and her son lay interred in the mausoleum. For that reason alone, no parent living or dead could fault her.
As Sophine reached the solid stone floor, she heard something approximating a howl. It seemed inhuman – and yet, at once, the most human sound she’d ever heard. It put her more ill at ease, and she paused. Kells stopped behind her. “Do you wish to leave, my Queen?” he asked.
She thought for several seconds, wondering if she did indeed want to be present – if she was the very kind of person she hoped she would be, for her son’s sake. If she had so little humanity to enjoy watching Royth suffer.
“No,” she said in terse reply, “I will be fine.” She summoned the courage for more footsteps, and pressed on.
The dungeon itself was large and dark, only lit by torches and slivers of fading daylight; Royth was strapped to a torture device that drew her attention.
“We call it ‘the rack’, my Queen,” Kells said, with certain disdain. “It pulls a man’s limbs from their natural places.”
She pursed her lips, and furrowed her brow. “Surely, with a machine so terrible, it would earn a more terrifying name.”
“You’ve never seen it at work, then,” Kells said, “It’s the simple names you learn to fear.” Royth was pulling against his restraints, shouting and pleading with the torturer, who stood ready at the wheel.
“Please,” he said. “Don’t. No more. Please, don’t. Have mercy.”
“Don’t bother,” Kells replied. “Now that the Queen herself has taken an interest in your suffering,” he added.
Royth met Sophine’s eyes. Where she expected to see the soul of a killer, she found only remorse. “Please,” he said to her. “I said I would confess. You do not need to torture me.”
“Why?” She asked. “Why did you send my son to his death?”
“It was the only way. I had to save us.”
“Save whom?” she asked, furious. “You’ve saved nothing. You’ve only brought us pain and loss.”
“I saved the kingdom,” he said. “From what I saw. Valric would have killed all of us if he were king.” Kells gave a nod to the torturer, and the man pushed the wheel tighter. Royth’s cries echoed off the walls, and Sophine could not force herself to watch; she turned away until the torturer loosened the wheel, and Royth’s body had resumed a more normal form. The formerly stalwart Royth she knew had begun to cry and beg like a small child – for forgiveness, for mercy, for release from pain.
“Please – I saved us. He would’ve killed us. Please,” he said.
“Were you hired by someone to see to Valric’s demise?” Kells asked.
“No. Never,” he said, answering quickly. “I acted alone. I sent him after a false cure. He needed to die, so we all could live.”
Sophine turned her eye to him again, and noticed something odd. Branded upon Royth’s skin, and formerly obscured by his shirt, was the faintest outline of a bird. “What is that?” she asked Kells, pointing to the brand, “The bird, on his chest.” The guard captain stepped towards Royth to examine it closer.
He moved Royth’s shirt apart, exposing the deep brown skin beneath, where, indeed, a bird’s outline was found. But instead of puzzlement in Kells’ eyes, Sophine saw recognition.
“How long have you been loyal to the Nest?” Kells asked his prisoner – no longer a friend, or a brother in arms. Royth made no reply. Kells asked again, “How long have you been with the Nest?”
“What difference does it make?” Royth replied, on the brink of tears. “I’m just another body in the end.”
“What did they gain from the Prince’s death?” Kells pressed.
“They gained nothing. Stop asking me the wrong questions! Haven’t you asked yourself when?” Royth replied, looking at Sophine.
“When?” Sophine said. “Explain yourself.”
“Yes. When have I been wrong?” Royth asked, turned to the Queen. “When? Was I wrong about the viper in his crib? The bladesman? What of the winter six years past, or the poisoned goblet at your wedding – or your miscarriage that every healer and physician said would bear to term?”
The Queen stiffened up. “I had not forgotten,” she said, icy.
“Two decades of unquestioning loyalty a
nd accuracy – and only now, you think me wrong? No. Valric would have destroyed us. I do not ask for thanks,” Royth said, “Only mercy.” The Queen could not bear to look at him anymore. It was not the dishonest begging of a man to avoid pain; it was the true words of someone who believed they had done a great wrong, in search of a greater right. Worse still, part of her thought she might believe him. Sophine did the only thing she could do; she ran.
She ran because she was barely able to stand in the dungeon to begin with, and each passing moment with Royth tortured and begging and pleading tore at her very soul. She was not made of the stone she walked upon; she did not have Rionn’s cruelty. Royth was not some nameless bladesman – that much, she could have forced herself to endure. But Royth was their window to what could be. And he had never wrong been wrong. Not once. It brought her great agony, because if he was never wrong… then maybe, she was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Kells followed Sophine out of the dungeon, and matched her hurried pace. I was right to have been worried about bringing her there; she did not have the stomach for it. “I’m sorry it disturbed you, my Queen,” he said, apologizing. “Perhaps it is for the best that you are not present.”
“No,” she said, “You don’t understand - I had to. I wanted to see his face, and I thought I could be strong, but…” her words trailed off, unsure. Kells asserted his own.
“You are strong,” Kells said. “If I had lost either of my children, my world would be torn asunder. And if it were by Royth’s hand, it would be a special cruelty.”
Sophine nodded, distracted; her face was twisted with worry. “But what if he was right?” she asked. A flash of puzzlement crossed Kells’ face. How could she even think that?
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“What if Valric had to die?” she said, looking at him for some measure of comfort, a reassuring doubt - anything. But she found nothing. Kells was speechless.
“That’s impossible,” he finally said, but she saw the deceit in his eyes. In that moment in the camp, he knew why Valric deserved the blade he himself had slipped between his Prince’s ribs; he knew why the Prince could not live another day. But that was only in a moment; it was not the future Royth had seen. Kells knew he’d never hear the truth of that future, but he could not deny it. The boy had to die.
“No - you know,” Sophine said, furious. “You know. Don’t lie to me, Kells. You’ve thought it, too.” Kells had no response, which only infuriated her. She shook her head, and turned away – only to collide with a running, anxious servant. She all but screamed at the panicked man. “Is the damn castle on fire now?” she scowled.
“It’s the King,” he said. The Queen’s bitterness fell away in an instant, and Kells could see the fading hope in her face.
“Take me to him,” she said. Kells followed closely behind; Royth would be going nowhere.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sophine found her husband in his chambers, surrounded by healers, the priest, Marrol, and her daughters at hand. Rionn’s violent coughs ruined his snow-white sheets with crimson fits. As Sophine entered, the mass parted, letting her make way to his side. Eliya and Caliandra wore sad, fearful looks as the priest read King Rionn his last rites. “Beloved ancestors and heavenly spirits wait for you in the Golden Ring. Do not fear, for they welcome you with open arms. The light you see is the promise of their warm embrace,” the priest said, in a calm monotone. It served a stark contrast to the king’s mad muttering.
“Shining crown, above the land - long steps in between the ends - red banner,” Rionn said, not focusing on anything in particular. His eyes darted around the ceiling - but Sophine noticed that the pupils were disappearing. Just as they did when Royth took his looks into the future. “Little bear saves. Red banner,” he muttered.
Sophine interrupted the priest. “What is he saying?” She asked.
“My Queen, I must finish the rites,” he protested. “The King’s spirit must be assured of his conveyance into the afterlife.”
“But these words - do they mean anything? Tell me what they mean.” Something inside her said the answer was yes. The priest disagreed.
“Angels’ words, my Queen. His spirit is leaving us, and they speak through him.”
“All the more reason to listen,” she said. The Priest kept speaking, and ignored her; she shut him out, and lowered herself to Rionn’s side taking his hand. As her husband rambled, she listened intently.
“Shining crown, the red banner, the little bear… “The serpent wraps twice around the world. Gnaws its tail. Death eats from within. Little bear saves. Little be-” Without warning, his body seized up, and a final violent series of coughs overtook him. His body slumped in the bed, and the physician listened for a pulse, with his ear pressed against the blood-spattered sleeping robes. Sadness overwhelmed Sophine, and only the words no came to her lips. A void emerged in her heart, and brought with it great panic, like a black beast bursting through a fragile door. Her hands trembled as she reached for his face, and felt the fading warmth in it. The life was gone from his eyes.
After a time, the physician spoke. “The king is dead,” he announced with remorse.
The priest rang his bell three times, and offered final words. “Guide him down the path, holy spirits… take his soul to the next life, that he may sit in his ageless throne, for such is the reward for a goodly king and a ruler of men.” He traced the Ring on his forehead, and said, solemnly, “The end without end.”
She kissed Rionn’s cooling lips, one last time, before standing to her feet and making the sign of the Circle. “The end without end,” she said. She felt her daughters’ arms around her shoulder and sides, and leaned into them; Sophine saw Caliandra’s eyes filling with tears, and -
THUNK. Something heavy fell to the floor in the periphery of her vision. Sophine turned to see, but she already knew what it was. Peacebringer had split in two, and fallen to the ground.
“It’s broken,” Caliandra said, marveling at the sight. “Peacebringer’s broken.” She moved towards it, away from Sophine, but Marrol stopped her with a gentle hand.
“No, Princess - Lady Caliandra. The pieces must be taken to the vault, and held until the Fitting. You mustn’t touch them,” he said, moving towards the broken Axe. Marrol took up the pieces, one in each in hand, and strained with the effort; Sophine had forgotten how easily her husband had lifted them while he was alive. That was the truest mark of Peacebringer’s chosen King - if they were able to lift the Axe as though it were nothing. Marrol summoned two guards, and grunted as he handed each a piece; one, the head. The other, the haft. “Take them to the vault,” he said. “Keep them safe, for the next King’s sake.”
The guards departed immediately, and Marrol turned back to Sophine. “I am sorry, Duchess. He was a good King, and a better friend,” he said. Sophine reached out and hugged him. Marrol let her stay there, and she was thankful for it; in that moment, she felt as if she were a cracking vase that had finally broken. Sophine was afraid to let go, because she did not know how she might pick up the pieces again - losing a son was agony beyond measure, but bearable, if she had Rionn and her daughters. To lose both Rionn and Valric was… to call it devastating didn’t do the feeling justice. It was as if parts of her had been carved out, and her soul had numbed itself to staunch the pain.
Eventually, she let go, and returned to her daughters, embracing them. “We are all that’s left of the Feors, now,” Sophine said, choking out the words. “Only us.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Sophine returned to her chambers feeling as if everything had been pulled out of her – like a lake sucked dry. She had tried to prepare herself for Rionn’s passing, but it was… it was worse than she expected. Losing Rionn meant she lost another part of her soul, and more – a shoulder she leaned on. A heartbeat she listened to. A smile that made her blush. Dead and gone, never to be again.
How long would it take to wake up without this feeling? She wondered. W
eeks? Months? Years, even? When would it all fade?
Eife, her maid, approached her immediately with great tenderness. “I only just heard,” she said, as Sophine held out her arms to the sides, and allowed Eife to undress her. She felt like a doll, being undressed – for years, she’d never minded it, but there was a strangeness that came with it now. And a demotion. Sophine was no longer Queen; she was a widowed Duchess. She doubted she would ever get past it. Even now, she only wanted to cling tighter to his memory while it was still fresh in her mind.
“Eife,” Sophine asked, “Could you fetch one of the King’s shirts from his room?”
“I don’t know,” Eife said, her voice tinged with doubt and fear. “He’s still in there, you know. They haven’t moved him yet.” Eife was scared, of course; anyone would be when it came to the dead.
“Maybe he has some elsewhere?” Sophine asked, offering a compromise.
“I’ll go check.” Eife left Sophine in her night gown, and went off for several minutes. The Duchess was left alone – worn-out, tired, and liable to fall asleep before the bed had been heated. She stared out the windows at the night sky, where the waning crescent shined in the darkness. Eife returned some time later, with a bundle of clothing in hand.
“His majesty’s former servants send their condolences. And,” she said, producing sweet-cakes from underneath the shirt. “They said you’d be needing these more than they would.”
Sophine mustered a faint smile; it was the best she could manage. “That’s very kind of them,” she said, quietly. “I’ll thank them properly tomorrow.” She took one, and half-heartedly chewed at it. On any other day, it would’ve been delicious, the flavors dancing on her tongue, with just the right mix of sweet and spice; yet without Rionn, the flavor had gone out of everything. Eife placed the remaining cakes on the night table, next to Sophine’s bed.
