Of Embers

by Amily Cabelaris

  As the weather warmed and the alchemy and spell books grew tiresome, they ventured out, further and further from the confines of that little cabin. Both Ilvara and Evelyn loved adventures and each others' company. Evelyn loved the sun, and so basked in it at every opportunity, earning freckles and sunburns and never minding.

  While she recovered more of her strength and memory, Evelyn developed severe and unpredictable anger. The first time this presented itself was when she dropped a pot of water, then clenched her hands so hard she cut herself with her fingernails. Ilvara went on long runs around the grass field with her to tire her out when she was overwhelmed. It usually helped.

  Evelyn’s arrival brought unique changes and challenges that Ilvara could have never expected, but with them, the greatest rewards came as well. Like the time Evelyn picked a bunch of flowers because they reminded her of Ilvara. Or when she cooked a meal for Ilvara without any prompting. The meal was a burnt elk hoof and a pile of dandelions, but Ilvara ate without grimacing.

  The biggest reward came when Evelyn noticed Ilvara writing in her journal and wanted to learn to write as well. She would practise daily until, without Ilvara’s knowledge, she could compose a full letter. Ilvara found it one day on her desk, when she came in from the garden.

  It was simple. It was short. But Ilvara read it and wept. And for years to come, she would weep every time she read it, until she rolled it up into a tiny scroll and stuck it inside a small glass bottle to wear around her neck. She wouldn’t take off that precious necklace until Hadrian commanded it sometime after they were married. His exact words were: “A countess doesn’t wear bottles around their necks. They wear decent jewelry like gemstones or charms.” And so, Hadrian bought her a special necklace with a chunk of black rock he called a “fire crystal,” and Ilvara bought the charms of the gods and goddesses on one of their many trips to the chapel. However, she kept that bottle in her jewelry box to look over when times were tough.

  She gazes over it now, shaking in white hands long separated from her bow and from the daily tasks of survival. The ink has faded, the parchment worn from years of frequent rolling and unrolling, but Ilvara has long memorized the words, written in careful handwriting:

  Dear Ilvara,

  I am writing this letter to ask if I can call you Mama because mine is gone.

  And to thank you for saving my life.

  And to you to tell you that I love you.

  Evelyn

  Chapter 4

  Truth

  Asher sighs as he stares down at the oversized shoes Maven gave him. He was waved from the room where Alesia was being treated, so Grogar pulled out a massive, stiff chair in the main hall for him to sit and wait. The Orc still treats him with disdain, ever since their first meeting. Asher’s heart twists. The day Grogar was bothering Evelyn. He even remembers how her hair was pulled back, with a few strands coming out on the front, glinting in the sunlight. How her sapphire eyes sparkled…

  A coldness settles deep in his gut as he thinks of her now. Cold, ashy skin. Golden hair dulled. He leans over to clasp his hands and catch his breath, suddenly light-headed. His chest tightens. He draws blood biting his lip, trying to hold back the tears.

  If only she would have listened to me and stayed at the castle. She’d be alive now. I told her. I told her.

  Another side of him argues. Would she have still been the same woman if she had given up when you told her to? Would you have loved her as much as you do right now?

  He shoots to his feet, unable to sit still any longer. The growling thunder and bustling people grate his raw emotions. He just needs a quiet place, somewhere he can be alone. He catches sight of Evelyn’s old room door, his salvation.

  Asher shuts himself inside and grinds his face against the inside of the door, letting out a quivering sob. He covers his eyes. It smells like her in here.

  “Asher?”

  Asher leaps in fright as he whips around, blinking in the darkness. “Leo?”

  “You—You’ve returned,” Leo says, sliding out of Evelyn’s old bed. The dim candle on the desk casts an eerie glow about him.

  “What in Arx’s name are you doing in here? This is Evelyn’s room,” Asher asks, repulsed by his presence.

  “Not since she was tried for murder and cast into prison. These are my quarters now.”

  Asher furrows his brows. “What? Why?”

  “Count Hadrian made me general and trainer, until they can find a trainer in Tarreth. You should probably speak with him on the morrow.”

  “He what?” Asher shakes his head. “We’ll deal with that later. Do you not hear the ruckus in the hall? Everyone is awake. Lightning struck one of the cottages, and they’re trying to control the fire.”

  “Is that why you’re back? You saw the fire from the mountains and thought, ‘I knew Lockmire would catch fire without me.’”

  “No.” Asher shuts his eyes. “We came back because Evelyn was killed.”

  Leo staggers backward. “Wh—What?”

  “She died defending us from some…” Asher tries to think, but Ilvara’s term for her fits perfectly, “forest lunatic.”

  “Gods…” Leo chokes. “I didn’t know.”

  “It just happened.”

  “Is she here? Her—her body, I mean?”

  Asher hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Countess Ilvara is with her.”

  Without another word, Leo charges from the room. Asher thinks he should follow, but he hesitates. He doesn’t want to return to all the noise.

  A thick stack of parchment on the desk glows in the candlelight. He isn’t sure why it draws him so. If Leo is the new general and trainer, he must have documents to assess. But why so many? Parchment is not free.

  With a glance over his shoulder, Asher sits down at the desk, his eyes scanning over the untidy words on the first page:

  30th of Nubilus, 269 AN

  Greetings. My name is Evelyn. I turned sixteen years old a few weeks ago. Ilvara found me somewhere nearly beaten to death. She has made food for me, and has a very nice little cottage here. She told me I should write things down, so I can remember all the nice things that happen and practise my letters. She says it will be good for me to write down the happenings of the day, so that is what I will try to do.

  Asher sits back, head whirling. It’s hers. Some kind of journal she wrote nine years ago. It takes him a moment to gather enough strength to read on.

  I did not do very much today, but Ilvara says it’s good I’m sitting up. She makes tasty food, and her cottage is warm and small. It’s hard not remembering the last sixteen years. Very strange. Ilvara is reading what I’m writing now. She tells me I am doing well remembering my letters. I don’t hold the quill properly though. I don’t remember ever holding a quill before. I’m going to try writing smaller.

  The rest is written in tiny, careful writing, smudged in places with ink.

  It’s not easy writing like this. The sunlight is coming in through the window next to me. It looks very nice on the parchment. I wonder why my skin looks so strange. Ilvara’s skin is not strange. She says my skin is beautiful, even with the bandages. I have a lot of bandages. Ilvara says I’m not fully healed from being beaten.

  The sunlight is very warm. It makes Ilvara’s eyes shine.

  That’s all for now, she says. So, I shall write soon. Farewell.

  There are pages and pages of entries. Almost ten years’ worth. Each page is black with tiny letters, sometimes indiscernible. She must have written every day, cramming sometimes three or four short entries into a page. Some entries only consist of a few words, like:

  5th of Nova Die, 273 AN

  Too cold to write.

  And:

  21st of Nivalus, 275 AN

  Dark out. Dark in. Odd.

  How strange that first entry seems compared to her most recent ones. How unemotional and absent-minded she must have been. A beating? Bandages? What did Evelyn endure? She said once that she was haunted by “soulless, ang
ry demons.” Ilvara must have saved her from it, in some way. Suddenly, her devotion to the countess makes so much more sense. All the pieces are falling together.

  Asher covers his face with his hands, hiding the words. Every hurtful thing he ever said to her, every degrading comment, every discouragement he had thrown comes jolting back. It rolls his gut into knots. After all she had been through, she wanted to give something—her very life—for the one who saved her from some kind of torturous past. And he, the self-righteous, pig-headed general he was, chose to stand in her way.

  No wonder she could never forgive him. He can’t even forgive himself.

  In the midst of his own self-loathing, Asher realizes where he is. Leo’s room. He looks down at the parchment. Were these stashed in here? Is Leo snooping through Evelyn’s old things? She would have never given him these willingly. It is wrong for him to have them. But what can I do about it?

  At a loss, he stares at the pages. It makes the most sense for Countess Ilvara or Caius to have them. They were closest to her. And yet, he doesn’t want to give them away. It’s selfish, of course, but he wants one thing to share with Evelyn that no one else has.

  But Leo has read these, no doubt. I’ve already lost.

  Asher plucks the thick stack from the desk and heads out of the room. Caius enters the main hall from outside, soaked through. At his approach, Asher suddenly says,

  “Leo just went in to see Evelyn’s body.”

  Fire ignites Caius’ eyes immediately. “What?”

  Without waiting for explanation, he storms down the hallway toward the countess’ bedchambers, Asher on his heels.

  “Don’t upset the countess,” Asher begs, though he’s sure Caius isn’t listening.

  Caius bashes open the bedchamber door, hitting someone standing in the way. He picks up Leo by the throat. Grogar rushes in after Asher, struggling to separate Caius and Leo.

  “Your witness,” Caius grounds out, unbothered by Grogar’s orders to unhand Leo. “Your witness doomed her to prison. You forced us to run. If we didn’t have to run, we wouldn’t have…she wouldn’t have…”

  Grogar finally manages to shove Leo away, against the wall. He holds Caius back by the arm. “Enough!”

  “She didn’t need my witness,” Leo says, lip curling. “She was the one who stabbed you. She sealed her own fate. And I didn’t force you to run. You did all that on your own.”

  Asher eyes Leo in confusion. Not ten minutes ago, he was nearly in tears at the news of her death.

  Caius jerks forward, stopped only by Grogar’s strong grip. He curses darkly.

  Leo takes a bold step toward him. “It appears I’m not to blame for her lying there now. You are.”

  Anguish and rage mingle in Caius’ expression. “You stole her journal.”

  Leo shrugs, then spots the parchment in Asher’s hands. The pages suddenly feel as heavy as iron. Asher swallows hard, afraid of Caius’ anger despite himself.

  “They were in his room,” Asher gets out. “He’s staying in Evelyn’s old room.”

  “They were there when I got there,” Leo says. “I stole nothing.”

  Caius clenches his jaw, but it is Countess Ilvara who speaks. She enters the tense circle, her voice low and even. “Grogar, remove Achilleo from the room.”

  “Where shall I take him, my lady?”

  “The cells. Just keep him there until I can deal with him.” As Grogar obeys the order, Ilvara says, “Asher, let me see that.”

  Asher passes her the parchment. “Of course, Countess.”

  Her pained eyes scan over the first page. After only a moment, she nods. “Yes, these are hers.”

  “He stole them from her,” Caius says. “She told me herself.”

  “When?”

  “When she’d been in the cells that night. She told me once that she mentioned it to the guards where it was, and he must have overheard. That’s the only explanation she could think of. Then he visited her cell to flaunt them in her face. Tore them right out of the journal binding.”

  Ilvara nods. “I was…detained at the time,” she says. “Or I wouldn’t have allowed him down there.”

  Caius glances up at the door. “Keep them safe, Countess,” he says. “I’ll be back.”

  “Where are you going?” Asher asks.

  “To fulfill her wishes.”

  The door slamming might as well have been the lid on Leo’s coffin.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Caius nearly collides with Count Hadrian in the hall. The count seems bewildered.

  “Trainer!” he exclaims. “What in Arx’s name is going on?”

  “Excuse me, my lord,” Caius says, edging past him.

  “Stop,” Hadrian calls behind him, but Caius ignores it. Thankfully, he doesn’t call again.

  Caius stops at the door to the dungeon where Grogar stands guard.

  “I need to see your prisoner,” Caius says.

  Grogar does not move. “I can’t let you down there. You know that.”

  “Look around, Grogar,” Caius says lowly. “The entire city has fallen. Count Hadrian is wandering around, unsure of what’s happening. There are cottages burning down, villagers running like madmen, enemies nearly at their gates; and now, a traitorous outsider has been appointed general and trainer after only a few weeks. Allow some justice to be done here tonight.”

  Grogar trains a murky eye on him. “The girl is really dead?”

  Caius lowers his brows. “Yes, but why would that matter to you? From what she told me, you hated her.”

  Grogar shakes his head. “She was a servant who looked bored every day of her life. She never concentrated properly. She didn’t complete her tasks properly. She did nothing to deserve Ilvara’s affections.”

  Caius’ gut tightens. “She was tortured as a child. Ilvara saved her life.”

  The Orc raises an eyebrow. “I was never told that.”

  “The scars didn’t give any indication?”

  Grogar shrugs, and Caius lets out his breath. He has studied Orcs only briefly, but it’s never been this apparent that their brains are small to accommodate their large body size.

  “I did not wish for her to die,” the Orc goes on. “Although I did not understand Ilvara’s affections, I did not want the countess to hurt like she is now.”

  “And still, you abused her while she worked here.” Caius glances past Grogar to the door. “Will you let me by or not?”

  “I am sorry the girl is dead,” Grogar says, handing him a key.

  Caius looks up at him. He’s not used to looking up at anybody. Solemnly, he nods.

  With that, Grogar steps aside. “I’ll check on the countess.”

  Caius heads down the short flight of stairs to the first level. Leo is in the first cell, with no prisoners beside him. His head shoots up when Caius enters.

  “Come to finish me, have you?” Leo asks.

  Caius stops. He stands motionless, silent, watching him.

  The realization seems to hit Leo then. His mischievous expression slackens. His eyes flicker to the sword in Caius’ sheath, then to the key in his hand.

  Caius takes a leisurely step forward. “You shouldn’t have followed her around. You shouldn’t have made her life so difficult.”

  “I told you,” Leo says, his voice low. He steps to the door. “None of it was my fault. She stabbed you because of what you did to her.”

  Caius hesitates.

  Leo smiles a sick smile. “Oh yes, I heard it all. Everything. I didn’t have to tell the leaders that, though. Just what I saw. But I heard how you burnt her village down. How you killed her family.”

  Caius’ nostrils flare. He reaches for the hilt of his sword.

  “If not for you, she might have never been captured,” Leo says slowly, as if he has all the time in the world. “I read those pages. I know the monstrous things done to her. She used to have nightmares about her sister being raped to death, about men pinning her down and…” Leo stops, smirking. “Well, I sup
pose I don’t have to detail what happened. You were part of that army. You knew. You probably did the same to your prisoners.”

  Caius unlocks the door and pulls it open, chest heaving. “Someone else would have killed her in that cottage. I didn’t.”

  Leo backs into the wall. “Is that how you justify it to yourself? Would a quick death really be worse than what she had to endure? Years of torture, only to end when the same bandit who started it all finally got her killed?”

  Caius smashes his fist against Leo’s cheek, throwing him to the side. “Shut up.”

  “Why?” Leo gets out, staggering upright again. “Don’t you like hearing the truth?”

  Caius hits him again, harder, in the kidneys. Leo doubles in pain, gasping for air. Caius allows him to straighten. When he does, Leo grins crookedly.

  “You know, I loved her too,” Leo says. “Deeply. Only I wouldn’t have gotten her killed.”

  Caius hits his face again. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Leo spits blood. “Gods, Caius, you’re such an emotional fool. You orchestrated the entire thing, didn’t you? Running away from here, living in the wilderness—” another strike to the face, “—Evelyn wrote that you grew up outside the city, so that’s where you were comfortable. You manipulated her into doing whatever you wanted. She was probably so wracked with guilt over nearly killing you that she’d do whatever you desired. She was used to that. Did it all the time when she was prisoner. Maybe she was even afraid of you.” Leo laughs once. “That would have made things…fairly easy.”

  Nauseous with fury at his accusation, Caius beats him, releasing all his pain and anger until Leo finally collapses, his face a bloodied mess. Caius steps back, panting hard, and rips out his sword.

  “You didn’t know her,” Caius says, admiring the clean blade but very ready to bloody it. “And you don’t know me.”

  Leo shakily gets to his knees. “That’s where you’re wrong. You’re the one who didn’t know her.”