The Sting of Victory

by S D Simper

  “Were sleeping together? Oh, Flowra . . .” Ayla drew her in for a soft kiss. “How you amuse me.” Her gaze lingered, and then her words continued. “I work for him. Nothing more. I am indebted to him, but not happily so.”

  “Why though? Why must you work for him, or for anyone? Did-” Flowridia bit her lip, recalling Ayla’s past words. For five years, she had worked for Casvir, and if Etolié was to be believed, he only employed the dead. She continued, slower now. “Did he turn you into . . . into this?”

  Ayla shook her head. “Had Casvir twisted my mortal form into an undead monstrosity, I would be more compliant to his will. Such is the nature of necromancy: ruthless domination; your will against your slaves. No, Flowra, I have been around a long time. Longer than Casvir, and I expect to survive well after his death, at which point I’ll be free again for my own pursuits. Had Casvir wished it, he could have attempted to break my mind and will and control me like a puppet, but he wanted my intelligence as well as my skill set. Instead, the viceroy bound me into a contract, until Casvir’s death or mine.”

  “Forgive me,” Flowridia said, posture caving in, “but I’m surprised you haven’t tried to kill him.”

  Ayla spoke through uproarious laughter. “Oh, Flowra, you are too sweet and innocent for this world.” She placed a kiss on Flowridia’s lips. “I have tried. Many times. Someday, I’ll succeed.” Her hands moved to touch Flowridia’s clothed waist, pulling her close as she placed a kiss against her cheek. “I should go. If you show up at the meeting still dirty from travel, your precious Marielle will be suspicious.”

  Something of ire spoke in Ayla’s tone. “I don’t care,” Flowridia replied, shyly matching Ayla’s stare. “Do you not want them to know you’re alive?”

  “They’ll find out sooner or later. I don’t care, but I believe they’ll be rightfully wary of me after that bit of fun with Etolié.” Ayla’s wink caused Flowridia to blush. “If my time with Casvir has taught me anything, it’s that consequences are unavoidable. I’ve made my bed, and now I must lie in it.”

  No regret; simply acceptance. “They’ll distrust me too, if I’m caught lying in bed with you,” Flowridia said, and then a wry grin tugged at her lips. “But you’ve made my stay pleasurable.”

  Ayla chuckled. “Clever.” Her fingers traced lines through Flowridia’s hair, softly caressing the thick locks. “I would like to propose an official visit, then; a diplomatic gesture from Nox’Kartha. The embassy nears completion, and what better timing? Perhaps it will make your stay in my bed less complicated, if I make peace with those running your kingdom.”

  “I don’t know if they’ll accept it, Ayla,” Flowridia said, concern bleeding into her words. “Thalmus was already out for your blood, and surely Etolié doesn’t feel much better. I want you safe.”

  But Ayla smiled as she waved her words away. “If Nox’Kartha deems it my duty to oversee the embassy’s completion, Marielle will concede to it like the sheep she is.” Before Flowridia could balk at the insult, Ayla leaned forward, expression light. “It would be a wonderful excuse to spend a few days with you. I’ll spoil you, Flowra. I might even cook for you. While it has been centuries since I followed a mortal diet, as an elf I know a few recipes you might appreciate.”

  The mere idea drew a wide smile to Flowridia’s face. A romantic notion, beyond what she could have dared to hope for, yet . . . “I would love that, but Ayla-” Flowridia stopped her words, shrinking at the caress of Ayla’s finger against her chin. “Why all of this?”

  Whatever answer she hoped for or expected, she did not receive. Instead, Ayla whispered, “I ask myself the same.” Then, after a quick peck on Flowridia’s lips, Ayla continued. “Expect to hear from Nox’Kartha soon.” Her voice lowered, eyes bright with conspiracy. “And myself. For now, though, I must go, and you must bathe.” Ayla pressed their lips together once more, lingering at the touch. When Flowridia pulled away, Ayla followed, letting their kiss deepen instead of part.

  Flowridia bathed and ran to the council room, feeling naked without the usual sweet scent of flowers woven into her hair. After the meeting, she would tend to her garden.

  In the council chamber, all eyes followed her as she plopped into her seat. Demitri jumped from Etolié’s lap to the ground, and Flowridia saw the Celestial smile faintly as she watched his movements. Never had Flowridia seen Etolié look so disheveled, so sullen. Pale and emaciated, Etolié had also never appeared so alert. She twitched, and did Flowridia imagine the slight shaking of the Celestial’s hands?

  She soothed her nerves by clinging to Demitri, who settled in her lap. Marielle stood, drawing their attention, eyes wide in morose. “Whatever we had intended to happen . . .” Marielle’s jaw trembled as she glanced at the faces staring back. “Obviously it went terribly wrong. I want to know everything.”

  When Marielle’s gaze fell to her, Flowridia knew she was expected to speak. “Tholheim needs to be informed that their people are dead,” Flowridia said softly, staring out. Khastra came without her weapon, nothing to distract her wandering attention. In a reversal of norms, Meira stood, and Sora sat with sunken, dark rings around her eyes, staring at the floor.

  But Thalmus’ gaze was kind, as was Marielle’s, and Flowridia braced herself to continue. “We were attacked on the road. They wanted your orb.”

  “Flowridia spoke personally to Prince Falrir,” Thalmus added. “They were promised the crystal in the cavern in exchange for delivering the orb to their so-called ‘God.’”

  “A crystal now in our possession,” came Etolié’s exhausted voice. “But that’s a story for later.”

  Marielle stood silent as she contemplated Thalmus and Etolié’s words. “Lara needs to hear of this development.” Hesitant, she clutched the side of her throne, bracing for the next question. “Tell me how we managed to commit genocide on an entire species.”

  Genocide? Surely there were more Skalmites than simply . . .

  Or perhaps not. They couldn’t adapt to a world of magic. Perhaps the crystal had provided a haven for those few remaining.

  Thalmus looked to Flowridia, and she realized she would have to give her account. “Marielle, do you remember a certain ‘gift’ Nox’Kartha gave our kingdom? One you placed in my possession?”

  Marielle’s face snapped forward. “You made a wish.”

  Flowridia nodded.

  “Tiny one,” Khastra said, looking intrigued as she lounged in her enormous throne, “you will have to explain.”

  “Do you have it with you?” Marielle asked, looking to Flowridia.

  Shamefaced, Flowridia lifted the ear from her bodice. She realized one of the earrings had cracked and dulled. “It’s Ayla’s ear, a gift from Casvir,” she said softly, inspecting the ruined stone. The bottom two still held their vivid blue. “It grants wishes.”

  “You never told us we have a vampire on a leash.” Khastra looked not at her, but at Marielle.

  “Ayla entrusted it to Flowridia, so I thought I would too.”

  Khastra chuckled, deep but feminine, and she rested her chin on her fist. “Marielle, you are queen, but that is not how decisions are made here.”

  “It’s Lady Ayla’s ear,” Marielle snapped, “and if she wants Flowridia to have it-”

  “Look,” Etolié said, and Flowridia heard fatigue, “we’ll discuss this later. Let Flowers give her speech.”

  With a huff, Marielle returned her attention to Flowridia. “Flowridia, will you please tell us what you wished for?”

  “I wished to protect the crystal,” Flowridia whispered. In her hands, she stroked the fine lines of the ear, immune to its ghastly nature. The gems threatened to cut her thumb.

  She thought of Ayla, hardly disheveled after dancing through the camp with her knife and her nails, the screams from the cavern, the monster emerging to rip her open-

  She realized, as her mind wandered, that Etolié had begun giving the same account. Hearing it spoken so plainly cut deeper than the monster’s claws. To
reconcile that night with the woman who had loved her so tenderly only hours before . . .

  Etolié regaled her victory against the monster with little aplomb.

  “What you are describing,” Khastra said, curiosity in her words, “is demonic possession.”

  Etolié frowned. “It’s not demonic if it’s done by Eionei.”

  “I mean Ayla. She invoked the name of The Endless Night, used the tiny one’s blood to summon it, and then Ayla’s form twisted to match the demon inside her.”

  Etolié’s frown deepened, visibly thoughtful at the idea.

  “But she’s dead?” Marielle asked. “Ayla Darkleaf is dead?” She stared directly at Flowridia, waiting for confirmation.

  “She’s not dead.” Sora’s words cut the tense thread of silence. “If she’s dead, who was singing in your bedroom last night?”

  Flowridia felt her face pale as every eye turned to her. Tension brewed with each passing second. Truth or lie, she had to speak.

  All she could manage was a weak, “She’s alive.”

  Marielle pursed her lips. “At least we won’t have to navigate that political nightmare. Etolié, won’t you tell us what happened in the cave?”

  Flowridia kept her stare at Demitri as shame drove away her relief. It had seemed so simple that morning; Ayla had stayed. Ayla had comforted her. Ayla promised to return and set things right with the ruling council of her kingdom.

  But the wicked question of ‘why?’ threatened to shatter the image, the answer given that morning only a paltry supplication, and she knew it.

  “. . . wasn’t about to leave it unguarded, not after the Skalmites were willing to die to keep it,” Etolié said, and Flowridia realized how flush the Celestial’s cheeks were. “What I saw in the cave-” Etolié steeled her jaw, emotionless as she continued. “Absolute slaughter. Everywhere I turned, bodies – dwarves and Skalmites alike. Not simply killed. Mutilated; torn to shreds. There must have been thousands.”

  Flowridia’s heart sank with every word, nausea filling her stomach, but nothing was as vile as the dread in her soul. She shut her eyes as Etolié continued, images of the bonfire massacre filling her head. Torn limbs, bloodied earth, crushed spines-

  “But I did find the center. I found the crystal.” Etolié’s lower lip trembled, a single tear escaping her eye. “The Skalmites had clustered around to protect it, and their dead bodies formed a wall. They must’ve known they’d die if it were broken. But now there’s no one left in there to protect, so with some help from the party sent to retrieve us, I took it.”

  No one left to protect . . . Flowridia felt her throat begin to choke. An entire species nearly gone. What few remained faced an uncertain future.

  “It’s unique in that its aura can be dampened, I’ve discovered. It has a temporary home in the library, until we figure out what to do with our new refugee friends. Useful, that thing. I’ll be playing with it.”

  Khastra asked, “Refugee friends?”

  “I’m currently in the middle of a heated debate with Lara about which kingdom has the resources to take the surviving Skalmites in.”

  “I think for now,” Marielle said. “I want you to take time to rest. I’d like to adjourn this meeting.” She looked to Flowridia. “I need Flowridia to stay a minute, though.”

  Dismayed, Flowridia remained seated, even as the rest of the council cleared out. Sora hesitated by her chair. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

  Flowridia simply stared.

  “I figured it wasn’t you singing, though, unless you know elven tunes.”

  Flowridia didn’t, but she couldn’t find the words to articulate that. Sora left her alone, and Flowridia was grateful.

  But Thalmus lingered, and Flowridia saw the scowl on his dark features. Flowridia clutched Demitri, wishing he were larger so she could disappear into his fur. Marielle spared him a glance and said, “Ayla is alive?”

  Flowridia nodded.

  “Does she often visit you at night?”

  Flowridia stared at Thalmus, watching fury settle onto his feature as she said, “Not all the time. But she has before.”

  “You said you’d tell me if she ever came back,” Thalmus said, muted anger seeping into his words.

  “I-I was going to-”

  “Is this the first time she’s come back?”

  Flowridia couldn’t summon a response.

  “Is it?” Thalmus pushed, and Flowridia shrunk into her chair.

  “No.” Tears began to well in her eyes. “She’s come every night and left a rose on my table. I only saw her one of those nights, but-”

  Marielle’s eyes narrowed. “How?”

  “I’ve never asked.”

  “Does the imperator know this?”

  This time, Flowridia bit her lip. “I don’t think he does.”

  Marielle turned to Thalmus. “If Ayla can sneak in to see Flowridia, she can go anywhere she wants.”

  “Which is precisely why I asked Flowra to tell me if Ayla ever came back,” Thalmus said, disappointment in his dark features.

  Oh, that stung. It stung worse than the scar on her chest.

  “She doesn’t mean any harm,” Flowridia dared to say. “She isn’t our enemy.”

  Marielle released a slow sigh. “I will talk to Zorlaeus and see what he says on the matter.”

  “This can’t continue,” Thalmus said. “Ayla will be forbidden from-”

  “You can’t forbid anything!” The tears threatening to fall from Flowridia’s face finally did so, angry and hot. “You aren’t the queen, and you aren’t my father-”

  “Then you’d best keep her far away from me-”

  “No arguing!” Marielle snapped, and from her bosom the orb flashed bright red. “Flowridia, Ayla is dangerous. Zorlaeus doesn’t trust her, and now we know what she’s capable of.”

  “It was because I wished it,” Flowridia said, shrinking into her chair.

  Marielle opened her mouth to speak, but Thalmus’ words came faster. “Don’t. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this again, Flowra. She’ll say anything she can to get herself back into your bed, only to rip you open all over again-”

  “That’s not what happened!’ Flowridia yelled, and Demitri nearly fell when she suddenly stood. She managed to catch him, placing him back into the seat. “Ayla came to see me, yes, but she stayed. She comforted me. She brought Demitri and held me all night, and in the morning we talked-”

  “And you think she gives a damn about you?!” Thalmus stood now, standing several feet taller.

  Flowridia had no fear to mask her fury. “You don’t know what she’s like when we’re alone-”

  “I know she leaves you bruised and battered!”

  “I burned her!”

  “Both of you, stop!” This time, the orb flashed, and flame sizzled from Marielle’s feet and hair. Her footsteps left scorch marks. “Meeting adjourned. Flowridia, Ayla is a breach in security. I won’t forbid you from seeing her, but you will tell us when she visits. Thalmus, you can’t control the diplomat. Now, both of you will exit in different directions and not speak until you can both be civil. Am I clear?”

  Flowridia glared between Marielle and Thalmus, the latter of whom matched her simmering rage. “You’re clear,” she said, and she turned on her heels and left the room.

  * * *

  In the library, an enormous crystal floated in the center, perhaps ten feet above the pile of scarves and blankets. Larger than Flowridia, it bobbed gently, shining a florescent green and glowing vividly. To her surprise, the edges were jagged, as though ripped from the earth, any smooth edges ending quickly in rough cuts.

  Etolié sat beneath it, Khastra kneeling beside her. Flowridia caught the end of the general’s fervent chide: “. . . you have not eaten in days, Etolié.”

  “It’s difficult to keep shit down when I’m vomiting blood every hour, you bastard spawn of a-”

  They both turned simultaneously at Flowridia’s entrance. Upon seeing Flowridia,
Etolié gave her an exhausted smile. “Hi, Flowers.”

  Khastra kept her frown as she looked back to Etolié. “I will bring you something liquid.”

  Khastra hardly acknowledged Flowridia as she left the library.

  Etolié attempted to stand, and when Flowridia ran forward to help, the Celestial all but fell into her arms. Flowridia held her slight form with care, allowing Etolié to pull her into a tight hug. Her skin, where they touched, was clammy and cold. “You’re not bleeding anymore.”

  Etolié nodded as she stepped back. “Lara’s people got to me.” She knelt and hugged Demitri, planting kisses all over his face.

  Flowridia looked over her shoulder, toward the exit. “Khastra seemed-”

  “She’s like that when she’s worried. Nothing to do with you.”

  Studying the dark rings around Etolié’s eyes, her sullen features, Flowridia understood Khastra’s fears. “Can I get you anything? I know teas for soothing fevers and chills.”

  “If you really want to help, sneak me in a pint. Khastra won’t let me have a drink until I can go half a day without puking blood.” She smiled with no amusement. “Everything hurts, and I’m dying.”

  Flowridia sat down beside her. “Perhaps you should go lie down. Working won’t help you heal any faster.”

  “It won’t slow me down, either. Knowledge over health.”

  “Etolié, if everything hurts and you’re dying-”

  “I’m not really,” Etolié said, holding up a hand. She pulled Demitri into her lap and gently scratched at his neck. “We Celestials are tougher than we look. I won’t be partying with Eionei anytime soon.”

  Flowridia gave a slight nod and stood up, not wanting Etolié to see her worry. Instead, she walked toward the crystal and stared up at the faintly glowing stone. “What is it?”

  “It resembles maldectine, but I can turn it on and off, though it’s not something I want to play with quite yet. I’ll get better at controlling it with practice. I could teach you.”