by Aaron Yeager
Too late to back down now, he realized as he stepped forward.
The galley had been completely transformed. Rows of earth had been carefully laid along the edges of the room, where desert flowers had been planted but were not yet in full bloom, no doubt encouraged by Wysterian magic. Grape vines had sprung from a single large mound of earth in one corner and clung to the ceiling spars, their ends hanging down lazily at random intervals, heavy with ripe clumps of grapes that beckoned him onward. Everything about the room was full of life and youth, but nothing so much as the center table. Athel’s Nallorn tree Deutzia sat at the place of honor, rays of light extending out from her branches like a prism, embracing the room with a warm, natural light.
“I wanted to surprise you,” Athel said politely as she closed the door behind him and smiled warmly. She was dressed in her white Navy uniform. That was unusual for such a traditional setting, but Privet thought it suited her perfectly. Her auburn-red hair had been braided back, and small emerald-colored flowers placed for accent. Her face was young and soft, and her eyes twinkled in the warm light with a strength and confidence remarkable for her age.
Maybe this won’t be so bad after all, he considered for a moment, before rebuking himself.
Athel’s movements were graceful and elegant as she led him to his chair, and he realized that he had forgotten that she could be exceptionally poised when she wanted to be.
Deutzia extended two thin rootlets over the top of her pot and smartly snapped his napkin open, allowing it to gently float down onto his lap. Without thinking, Privet bowed in thanks.
You’re getting too caught up in the moment, he warned himself. He had always known that she was attractive, but here in the light and atmosphere with her hair done up just the way he preferred, he realized for the first time how stunningly beautiful she could be. If you’re not careful you could end up falling for this one...hard.
From the kitchen, Alder brought out all of the six courses and placed them on a smaller table directly behind Deutzia, before wishing them all a splendid evening and seeing himself out. For the first course, Deutzia gracefully picked up a serving dish with the tips of her branches and portioned it out to Privet and Athel.
“It’s really good,” Privet praised as he took a sip. At first they engaged in small talk as they ate, but the formality quickly melted away, and soon they found themselves eating with more gusto, filling the room with laughter as they shared their stories of what had happened to them since they had last been together. Privet was disappointed at his own meager stories and so allowed her to dominate the larger share of the conversation. One day is very much like the next when you are a palace guard. He felt like she had outpaced him in the intervening months. Her time in the sun had given her a touch of color on her skin, as well as some new freckles. She seemed wiser than before, enough so that he found her far more interesting than she had been.
As she spoke of her time on Thesda, Privet felt something stirring inside of him and he fought against it. So much so that she paused and asked him if anything was wrong. He assured her that everything was fine. As soon as she began her stories again, he felt it welling up anew, a growing desire to stay by her side.
Deutzia chimed sweetly and gave off more of a lavender light as she removed the empty dinner plates from a particularly sumptuous roast and brought out a single glass filled with a white pudding and placed it before Athel. With an eager smile, she stood up and brought the dessert over to Privet. He could feel his heart beating as she approached, knowing what was coming. She would offer him a single spoonful. If he accepted her, he would eat it, and if he did not, he would refuse.
His anxiety peaked as she stopped before him and delicately spooned the dessert around and around the rim, as if dragging out the moment intentionally to savor it. The spoon left the top of the glass, a perfectly twirled cone of pudding on it. Privet closed his eyes and imagined for a moment what it would be like to accept it into his mouth. He very much wanted to, but as the reality of it fell upon him, he felt a sharp stabbing pain in his heart. The pain was so intense that it nearly made him gasp out loud. Physical pain he could handle, he even preferred it, but against this he felt completely powerless. He longed to face a thousand swords alone, for he knew he could do that without fear or hesitation. He longed to face a thousand ships alone, for that he could do without doubt or indecision. But this...this was something he knew he could never defeat.
Privet turned his head and apologized quietly as Athel offered the dessert to him. For several moments she said nothing and he kept his eyes turned downward.
“Please look at me,” she requested quietly, but he kept his eyes fixed downward. He dared not look up. He could not look up, for fear of what he might see in her eyes when he did.
“Please tell me why,” she pleaded softly.
“I’m sorry,” Privet whispered. “But I have seen no evidence of loyalty in the women of the noble houses. As a palace guard I’ve seen nothing but an endless stream of backbiting, undermining, and betrayal. If you don’t even have loyalty toward your equals, then how could you ever have it for a man?”
Privet apologized again and stood up. He clenched his fists tightly as he walked away. He was furious at himself, so angry that he would have screamed out loud if he didn’t fear losing all control at that moment.
He walked out the galley door leaving Athel standing alone, the spoon still in her hand.
* * *
There was no medical reason why Spirea should have awoken at that very moment. Her body had been chilled, her heartbeat slowed to less than a beat a minute. The floor of the cold vault in which she was stored was dotted by small earthen pots which gave off a yellow mist designed to keep her in such a state, and yet she had awoken sharply. Without opening her eyes, she curled up in fear. She knew that somewhere, far away, at that very moment, her grandmother had died by execution.
It had always been there, for as long as she could remember, like an echo in the void, the faint light of her grandmother’s life. No matter how far away she was from it, it was still there. Now the light had flickered and died, snuffed out like a candle and the shock of it had shoved her into consciousness.
Now there was a stirring in the void, then frightening speed as it came for her, body and soul, and she could only cry out helplessly.
Even closed, Spirea’s eyes caught a growing light in the room and she looked down, terrified to behold that it was coming from her own body. Faint lines began appearing along her skin, and she could feel the cuts as freshly as the day they were etched on her. Bizarre patterns that spread in their countless permutations of lines and curves, covering her skin from head to toe like an endless hedge maze. She screamed in pain, but that paled in comparison to the fear that overwhelmed her. The room was now completely alight with the unnatural radiance given off from her body, and she could feel the darkness rushing across the waters toward her impossibly fast.
It crashed into her with all the force of a gale storm, lifting her off the stone altar and smashing her against the wall. It closed around her like taloned fingers, and for a moment she could feel the terrible strength of its will. Dozens of voices cried out within it, creating a sound like a chorus with each participant singing a distinct melody. It was a bizarre thing to experience, for although the individual melodies were beautiful, they were layered so discordantly upon one another that the whole was grotesque and ugly.
Spirea felt her mind and soul dissolving. She felt like she was floating, as if she was no longer real. She screamed, but even the energy of her terror and rage just dissolved as she was consumed.
She found herself looking through its eyes, years ago, when it took the body of her grandmother. She saw her grandmother, still a young woman, screaming in terror as she attempted to flee along the sandy beaches, attempting to reach the sea before it took her. Through her grandmother’s eyes, she saw a lifetime fly past her. She watched as her daughters and granddaughters were born. She watched in
horror as a young raven-haired child was selected and prepared to be the next to lead the Sotol family. She watched as the authorities broke into her house, arresting her, and felt the smug reassurance during weeks of trial, knowing that she could not be killed.
She experienced the pain of execution and the release of freedom as she sped across the ocean, drawn to the new shell. She watched the shell scream in pain as she wrapped herself around it and consumed it whole.
As the last of Spirea dissolved into the blackness, she called out for help, but none came.
* * *
At first Athel had felt only numbness, but the shock wore off as she walked back toward her quarters and she began feeling hurt, a deep hurt that waffled back and forth between despair and rage. In one moment, she felt like she would collapse to the floor, so dead inside that no amount of crying could ever cleanse it, then in the next she wanted nothing more than to lash out at the walls around her. She wanted to strike the wood, the air. She wanted to tear and break the world around her until it resembled the torn and broken feelings she had inside of her.
Losing her bearings, she opened the doors to what she thought were her quarters, but she quickly realized they were actually Margaret’s. Her room was decorated with sketches of famous Thesdan minstrels, and a makeshift bookshelf had been installed to carry her large collections of books, most of which were the wildly inaccurate studies of Wysterian culture she had brought with her from her college.
Margaret and Alder were kneeling on the floor in their uniforms as a tiny whirlwind of air spun around the floor before them like a top, picking up small bits of paper from the floor and twirling them upward through its funnel.
“What are you doing?” Athel asked venomously.
Margaret opened her eyes and the whirlwind dissipated.
“Oh, hi Forsythia,” she said excitedly. “Mister Bursage here asked me if I would teach him some Stretian magic. Isn’t that neat?”
“Neat?” Athel scoffed. “There’s nothing neat about wasting time.”
“My apologies, Miss Athel,” Alder said politely as he rose. “I did not realize that I was still needed.”
“I didn’t say you were needed,” she corrected, “I said you were wasting your time. You’ve been up to this ever since we joined the Navy. First it was Mina, then Ryin, and now this one. Just what do you hope to accomplish?”
“Pardon me, Miss Athel, but I felt that if I could learn some of their magic, I might be of greater use to you if we were ever in danger, as we often find ourselves.”
The revelation made her pause and focus a little bit. A small part of her realized that she was just lashing out randomly and that she needed to control herself, but the rest of her was hurt and angry and crushed the first part into silence.
“And what would you do?” Athel required. “Rush in to save me, like some gallant knight? What makes you think I need protecting? The Treesingers of my family are the most powerful of all our people. What could you do? If anything, you’d just get yourself in a snag and I’d end up having to save you.”
Athel could see the hurt on his face as he bowed in apology. Part of her enjoyed crushing him like that, while another part of her hated herself for doing it.
She left the room and marched back down the corridor toward her own room. It was then that Bunni Bubbles made the mistake of walking out before her, still dressed in a copy of her uniform.
“I’m a spoiled princess, do what I say!” it sang as it danced and spun around on the floor. “Kiss the floor and stick your bottoms up into the air!”
Tears welled up in Athel’s eyes, and she felt like her heart was about to burst in her chest. Snarling, she lunged down to snatch up the tiny doll, but it slipped out of her grasp and ran off in fright.
“Come back here!” she commanded as she chased after it.
Stones and briars, I hate that stupid doll, she thought to herself. I hate its hair and that stupid high-pitched voice.
She rounded the corner and followed it through a small curtain that had been hung in front of the space underneath the stairs. Inside, she found it trying to hide itself under a worn blanket and snatched it up.
It’s ridiculous for a grown man to own something like this. It’s a doll for little girls. What is wrong with him? It’s made to braid hair and apply makeup, not help him with his chores, she judged as she tapped the small rune on Bunni’s back, silencing its cries as it was put into sleep mode.
I can’t believe I let him keep this stupid thing. I’m going to throw it outside and get rid of it for good.
Athel turned to carry out her decision, but something made her pause. She looked around wondering what it was, but she could find nothing and turned again.
As she lifted the curtain, she realized what it was that was strange. It was the nothingness that was strange. She lowered the curtain and looked over Alder’s living area again. No pictures or posters adorned the walls, no plants or artifacts were placed on the bare shelves. It was completely empty, except for a spare uniform with green stained pants hanging neatly on a coat hanger against one wall, and the worn blanket lying on the floor at her feet.
Athel looked the room over again and tried to take in the emptiness of it all.
He doesn’t have anything, she realized. The only thing he has ever owned is this doll he won in a game of chance. That’s why he kept it. That’s why he taught it to help him cook and clean.
Athel held up the doll again and looked at it curiously.
What must it feel like to have nothing?
Slowly, Athel placed the tiny golem on one of the empty shelves. It stirred slightly in imitation of disturbed sleep. Behind her, Athel heard the curtain part, and Alder walked into the small space where he had slept and lived for the last several months.
He didn’t greet her, and his silence communicated to her that he knew what had occurred with Privet earlier.
“Try not to judge him too harshly, my Lady,” Alder counseled. “Among the men, he is something of a legend.”
“Is he famous for treating people like garbage?”
Alder shook his head tenderly.
“His first matron, Madame Ochre, was something of an eccentric traveler, as you may recall,” Alder explained as he sat down.
“You don’t mean Ashli Ochre?” Athel asked, sitting down next to him.
“Yes, the one who funded that foreign treasure hunter, Alkalia Bolt.”
“That guy turned out to be a huge fraud, as I recall,” Athel said, wiping away a tear.
“Yes, but it took him a while to drain her family fortune, and toward the end of her life she accompanied him on most of his trips, with Privet along as her personal attendant. Well, when his maps all turned out to be forgeries, Madame Ochre was crushed and lived out her remaining months in the Kingdom of Mertrion in humiliation and shame, refusing to return to Wysteria.”
“I remember that,” Athel commented. “When I was seven, I remember my mother taking me along to Mertrion to meet with the Magistrate and authorize the relocation of her remains to Wysteria. I was furious because she never let me leave the ship, so all I could do was look out the porthole and sniff the breeze.”
“Yes, it was quite a mess, and with no direct heir, the Ochre Family and their assets had to be folded into the Tamarack family. Somewhere in the shuffle, the records of Privet were lost and he found himself unexpectedly freed from any attachment.”
“So, no one owned him?” Athel asked.
“It was a clerical error,” Alder explained, “but yes, he was free. He was only twelve at the time, but even he realized that at some point the mistake might be discovered, so he joined the Navy as a way to keep himself on the move and his location unknown.”
“I can see why you househusbands share that story with each other,” Athel admitted. “So, how did he come to return to Wysteria?”
“He fell in love with Aden Buckthorn,” Alder explained.
“The daughter of Lady Tupelo Buckthorn,” Athel
said with recognition, trying to put a face to the name.
“Aden was one of the warriors sent to aid the Federal Navy when it put down the Callintaro uprising on Adin, and the two fought alongside each other for several months, during which time they began their courtship. When she was recalled, she asked him to resign his commission and return with her.”
“Were they to be married?”
“Yes, but when they returned, Lady Buckthorn forced her daughter to call it off and the ‘missing property’ was returned to the Tamarack family, along with his confiscated savings and wages.”
There was silence for several moments as Athel pondered. “That still doesn’t excuse him, you know,” she insisted.
“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed politely.
For several minutes, the two sat quietly on the floor together. Some things hurt beyond the ability of words and actions to succor, and at times like that, the only thing that someone can do is let time pass. Distance from pain is not healing, but at that moment, Athel was willing to settle for it.
“Thank you for not throwing away my golem,” Alder said at last, breaking the silence.
“You’re welcome,” she said softly.
Chapter Thirty Seven
Flotsam and Jetsam
When Spirea was declared heir apparent to the throne of Stretis, she should have naturally been released from prison, but for some reason she had not. With a little bribe consisting of a warm bowl of Alder’s rice pudding Odger had been prodded to make some discreet inquiries but had been unable to find any information about her at all. It was as if she had never been imprisoned in the first place.
Going to Thesda to rescue Spirea was probably the worst move they could make at this point. Thesda was a major Naval port and the entire Navy was on the lookout for them. The smart move would have been to sail west to open skies and find a small uninhabited island to hide on for a few months. In a strange way Athel was relieved about the situation. Having an obstacle to overcome gave her something else to think about. The sting of Privet’s rejection still hung heavy in her heart. She wasn’t entirely sure why it was so important to her that they rescue Ms. Sotol, but it was. Perhaps it was because Spirea had never had a chance to be her own person. Her family had controlled every aspect of her life, and Athel wanted her to get that chance. Perhaps it was because she wanted to prove to Privet that she could be loyal to her friends. Perhaps the real reason was she just wanted to prove to herself that she wasn’t like her mother.
