by Rosie Scott
“You wouldn't abide by any requests of mine,” Sirius seethed.
“You're right,” I agreed. “Here's what's going to happen: when Sera is free of the shit stain that has marred its reputation for six decades after you finally die, I will flay your body down to the bone. I will feed the meat to beasts, and I will keep your skeleton and dye it black so I always know where it is. Every time Sera is ever touched by warfare, every time one of Terran's children rebels against me, the only thing that is left of you and your memory will rise to fight in my name. For as long as I live, I promise you will never rest. I will call upon your skeleton to fight for me again and again until it is destroyed and you are utterly forgotten. After a lifetime of hunting and killing necromancers, you will forever be one's minion.”
Sirius was a bumbling mess of tears and vocal incoherencies. I'd completely broken him down mentally and physically, and it felt absolutely liberating. He didn't have long before he would succumb to death, so I moved forward to the next step in my plan. Holding Sirius's head up to face me and the corpse of his son, I stabbed his gut with Terran's dagger. Leaving the blade inside, I jerked it down with the strength of my high, tearing through already ruptured internal organs and disemboweling him. The overpowering bitter stench of stomach acid spiced the air.
“That was for Nyx,” I informed him, tugging out the blade and handing it to Terran's corpse.
Sirius couldn't say anything through his overwhelming mental and physical traumas, but horror flashed through his weakening eyes as his undead son shambled over with the dagger. Terran's corpse stabbed Sirius directly in the heart as I directed it to, and he finally slumped with death, still hanging from his bookshelf.
My brother walked back over to me, just as stupidly innocent and bloodthirsty as any other corpse. Lightning scars marred his skin from Sirius's spell, but other than that, it was Terran. For the first time, it saddened me.
I dispelled the death magic, and Terran fell in a puddle of Sirius's blood and bile. With the rage subsided and the battle won, I could allow myself to mourn. I collapsed to the floor with utter mental exhaustion and announced, “It is finished.”
Forty-five
The grasslands of Sera sparkled as they waved to the south, encouraged by high winds coming from the northern Servis. My closest friends and allies gathered around a funeral pyre we'd built for Nyx along Caravaneer Road. The constant breezes fanned the flames, releasing her ashes in bursts into the southern plains. It was rare to hold such an event in an odd location like this, but I hadn't wanted to spread Nyx's ashes in Sera. She'd always hated it.
The bottle hanging from my neck was heavier with a lock of Nyx's hair, and we'd recovered what we could of her armor and weapons. Azazel had already started a portrait of her, and he promised that when he learned to sculpt, hers would be the first. For now, we mourned.
Holter held onto me like a lifeline, sobbing uncontrollably into my neck. He refused to watch her burn. On his other side, Calder stared blankly into the flames as he smoked. He'd shed tears and nearly fell into a rage himself after learning of Nyx's death two days ago, but he tried to block the rest of it out with drugs. A cloud of remorse surrounded Azazel as he dealt with the guilt of his inability to save her. Cerin was more upset by the loss than I'd ever seen him. For all their differences, Nyx was one of the greatest friends he'd ever had.
I'd shed all of my tears already, and the ducts were now as arid as Nahara. A perpetual headache from crying too much slammed against my skull. My eyes were on the flames, but I stared through them. Dozens of what-ifs flooded my mind. What if Nyx had never rejoined us? What if I'd never shown Terran mercy? What if I hadn't respected Cerin's request to allow my friends close to me in Sera? I'd tried to grow as a leader by respecting the pleas of those I loved, but that put Nyx in the wrong place at the wrong time. For as often as my friends teased me for being hardheaded, that trait led to my best decisions. Most times I'd caved to make someone happy it was a mistake.
As Holter squeezed me so tight his fingers squeaked against my armor, I reminded myself that sometimes tragedies happen. No amount of what-ifs or mental beatings could bring Nyx or anyone else back. I'd given Holter such advice over and over the past two days, but it was easier in theory than in practice. He felt guilty over her death since he wasn't transformed to save her. I'd once told Holter in Comercio that this day would come and cause him mental anguish even if the tragedy wasn't his fault. As he shook against me, broken and lost, I only hoped he would pull through this stronger than ever before.
We dispersed when the fire had nothing left to burn and faded into the morning with the scent of char and ash. So much was left to do to bring Sera up to par with the rest of Chairel. The people were clamoring for magical healthcare and open education. The Sentinels had offered to take care of the most urgent medical requests to give me and the others time to mourn, but the rest could wait. After all, I was now queen of Chairel, and I had a long life ahead of me yet.
In the lowest tier of Sera in a forgotten corner was a cemetery. I'd never had a reason to go there as a child, but I went there after Nyx's funeral with Cerin by my side. We walked through the grittiest slums of Sera, feeling the stares of the poorest civilians. I felt no concern for my safety here. While the populace in the richest upper districts loathed me for the massacre, the poorer people of Sera accepted me with open arms because with my rule came the changes they most desired. Many civilians here gazed at me with admiration, respect, or even awe.
A rundown and dirtied stone sign announced our destination with crudely drawn lettering: Cemetery of Traitors. As I passed and went through the iron gate, I dissolved the sign into sand.
The headstones here were all the same, barely more than misshapen rocks with no lettering. These men and women were forgotten, their names and identities erased at just one indication of dissension. Perhaps some of their executions were reasonable. More likely, many had died unjustly.
Cerin and I separated when we reached the edge of the cemetery that sat in the shadow of the same city wall we'd chased Terran over two days ago. We walked behind each headstone looking for a hidden sign.
“Kai.” I glanced up at my lover's voice. He motioned for me and nodded to a stone at his feet.
I walked over and checked the back of the headstone. In the bottom corner and partially hidden by overgrown grass were the hastily carved initials BB.
Bjorn spent his whole life working for a man who had not only killed him without a trial or a second thought, but had also thrown his corpse into an unmarked grave. It was only thanks to a few sympathetic civilians that his resting place was remembered at all, and the intel about its location hadn't been difficult to obtain. Bjorn was well-loved in Sera, and the people were all too happy to tell me how to find his grave so I could mourn him.
I lowered myself to my knees before his grave, and with a jingle of gear Cerin did the same. Stone was cool on my fingertips as I trailed them down the headstone as if I could feel Bjorn's warmth through it.
“I've been around the world and back again,” I murmured, “and I still love you. People come, people go; it is their influence that lasts a lifetime. I am growing immortal, father. That means your influence will be everlasting through all the generations left on Arrayis. I will spread word of you and your influence on my actions throughout the millennia, but people everywhere still speak of their admiration for you. Many may come to kill me for one reason or another, but you know me: I will put up a fight and come out the victor. It's all I know. Sometimes it gives me trouble, but it always brings me success.
“I wish you were here so I could tell you of the adventures and battles I've had that rival and surpass your favorite historical figures. I would tell you of Naharan music and leading my first army in the sands to slay a beast that swallowed cities. Of leading the Naharan Army to victory against a previously unbeatable foe. You would listen and share in my sorrow as I relayed my decision of mercy from the Battle of the Dead because I naive
ly thought I could solve problems with compassion.
“I would tell you stories of traveling on the seas with hidden gods and those with hidden talents, and losing everything to one kraken. How I picked myself back up despite injuries and misfortune and managed to build an army of men who were the only things harsher than the land. Of allowing friends their vengeance and toppling towers and tyrannical regimes.
“I would brag of Eteri's beauty until you begged me to take you there, but I would warn you against its politics. I'd tell you of the tragedies there and how I finally accepted that the only way to respond to brutality is by hitting back with twice the mercilessness. The sun conquered the ocean, my tsunami overtook mountains, and I birthed the largest tornado in the history of our world out of loss. I would tell you of Glacia's destruction, father, and I can just hear you saying, 'Good riddance!'
“We would discuss how my strategies finally ended the millennia long spats between Eteri and Hammerton by giving the Vhiri advantages they'd never had before. How I made friends with some of the same generals you once fought as we traveled through Hammerton, battling ancient dragons and armies that employed gods for the first time in millennia. I'd surprise you by bringing home dwarven siege weapons that I'd let you play with in the grasslands of Sera, and not only would I tell you how I discovered immortality for all, I would give you as much energy as I could so these conversations of ours could last lifetimes.
“Finally, I would tell you that you were right. Because despite losing it all, I managed to build the greatest rebellion this world has ever seen and take over the one country no one else dared to challenge. You told me I would go places, and I did. You said I would be a fantastic soldier, but I led armies and became a queen. You said I was an anomaly for my magical abilities alone, but I have broken record after record of military and scientific achievements. I was born with motivation and drive, but that would mean nothing if it weren't for your encouragement and love. If it weren't for you, I would be a drunk and a nobody trying to blank out Sirius's scorn. None of this potential would have been realized at all.
“You may not have lived long enough to see Arrayis change due to my actions, father, but you were the catalyst for that change. Thank you. I hope I've made you proud. If you were alive, I would give you a prestigious position on my court and pay you to sit around all day, drinking ale, talking politics, and playing with siege weapons.” I hesitated to laugh sadly. My throat was tight and achy with held back emotion. “Since you aren't alive, I will give you every respect in death I can. I will exhume your body and cremate you to keep you close. The scribes will hear of your deeds and loyalty to me. Your name will go down in legend with mine, and when I have Azazel recreate your likeness, I promise to underestimate the size of your gut.”
Cerin chuckled softly beside me.
“I love you, father, and I will until the end of time. In the slim chance that there is an afterlife, I suggest you share an ale with Nyx. Had you had more time together, I think you two would have been great friends.”
I swallowed hard to keep emotion from spilling through and finally stood up from Bjorn's grave. Cerin's silver eyes watched with concern. My efforts of holding everything back were obvious to him. My lover stood up beside me, immediately pulling me into a crushing hug.
“Let yourself cry,” Cerin encouraged, his rough voice muffled in my hair as he held me. “It does not make you weak.”
It was like I'd needed permission. All the tears in queue during Nyx's funeral let loose then, with only Cerin and unmarked headstones as their witness.
*
The sun set west of Sera, casting a bright reddish-coral glow over the northern Servis although the city fell in the mountain's shadow. I stood against the exterior battlement of the eastern wall just where Bjorn and I had been all those years ago. People I loved surrounded me. Calder smoked nearby. Azazel and Cerin were beside me, and Maggie hobbled out of the nearby guard tower with two mugs of ale. She gave one to Holter who sat in a wooden chair next to the keep. It was many weeks since Nyx's death, but depression had taken him. Holter stared at the stone wall with a blankness that refused to leave. Azazel and I took turns being with him. Holter had a particular fondness for us, and we had unique ways of helping him heal. Azazel supplied him with light work to keep him busy, and I stayed up late with him many nights engaging in the philosophical discussions we always got lost in. It seemed to be working; this was Holter's first night outside of the university since the battle.
We waited for Hasani and Cyrus to meet us here. We'd seen them sparingly since Nyx's funeral. For as helpful as my allies were in taking care of things while we mourned, the city's needs did not sleep. With the war over, we had to discuss what came next.
Calder watched the sunset beside Azazel, smoking a ferris cigarette. “Red's my favorite color,” he mused.
Azazel's eyebrows raised in surprise, but he continued observing the red glow hanging over the ocean. “Mine, too.”
Calder huffed with amusement and blew out a stream of smoke. “You're just saying that.”
“I swear on my life,” Azazel replied.
Calder took another drag. “It occurs so rarely underground. I used to hate the color because it meant there was lots of blood, and that blood never belonged to our oppressors. On the surface, it is beautiful.”
Azazel chuckled softly. “I said the same thing.”
“Oh, shut your mouth,” Calder retorted, though it was in jest.
Azazel glanced at me. “Kai?”
“He tells the truth,” I acknowledged. “I remember that specifically because he said it was why he always loved my hair.”
Calder snorted a laugh and threw his cigarette over the battlement. “Leave it to you to remember a compliment.”
“I'd be a miserable person if I focused on criticisms.”
Calder shrugged lightly like he couldn't disagree.
Footsteps alerted us to the guard tower. Hasani and Cyrus came through the doorway, and Holter watched them pass with a distant curiosity. As Hasani shook hands with Maggie and Cerin, Cyrus came directly to me and grabbed me in an embrace.
“Both of us became rulers out of tragedy, Kai,” Cyrus murmured beside my ear. “Do not hesitate to come to me for help or support.”
I squeezed him tight. “Thank you, Cy. For everything. You and the Sentinels have made this bearable.”
When Cyrus and I parted, I found Hasani squatting beside Holter's chair. I only caught the last part of what the king said to the scout.
“...favorite thing to do was live. She loved partying, drinking, dancing, and anything that involved a bed.” Hasani shook Holter's shoulder fondly. “Trust me: Nyx loved you. It's okay to mourn, but don't feel guilty when you go on to live. That's what she would have wanted.”
An ache clenched my heart. Hasani's advice was sound for everyone here.
“Sister.” Hasani held me at arm's length. “How are you?”
“Living,” I replied.
Hasani nodded and patted me on the arm. “That's a start. Are you sure you're ready to do this tonight?”
“As ready as I'll ever be.”
Hasani pulled back from me and looked out at the bright red sunset. “Good gods, did you pick a gorgeous place to meet. This reminds me of the sunsets of Nahara.”
“When are you going back?” I questioned.
Hasani smiled warmly and glanced back at me. “Don't sound too eager, sister. Once I go back, it'll be harder to leave. I want to help you get Sera off on the right foot. I'm staying for as long as that takes.”
“I appreciate it, brother.”
“Ol' Cyrus and I figured out a deal,” Hasani went on. “Fremont and Nahara are allies for the foreseeable future. An alliance with humans has always been a fickle concept for elves since our lifespans are barely longer than those of insects, but I'm hopeful that'll change with all this immortality business.”
“If you need life and death dual casters to return to Nahara with you, I w
ill find volunteers,” I offered.
Hasani chuckled softly. “I have one or two in my army already. Besides, what good does that do if there's nothing to kill? That's the only flaw in your discovery, Kai. Death is needed to give life.”
I'd often thought the same thing. “There are always things to kill, brother. Venture east to slay beasts or go hunting for the Blades of Meir.”
“Lend me Rek, and there will be cannibals eating cannibals,” Hasani mused, an eyebrow lifted at the irony.
“If you are serious, I will lend you Rek,” I replied. “He has sworn loyalty to me for as long as I remain undefeated.”
Cyrus looked off over the city. “Rek is an amazing ally, but he's unpredictable. Are you considering keeping him in Sera?”
“I'm not certain yet,” I replied. “I'm pondering sending him out to the various orc tribes around Chairel to try to better their culture a bit at a time. Free their slaves, maybe teach them some semblance of decency. Eventually, Rek may not be just the last orc god, he may also be the last of his kind. Many of Calder's soldiers are raising half-breed orcish children as we speak. Like Anto, these children may grow up a product of two vastly different races and resemble both.”
Cyrus raised one finger. “I have a few soldiers raising orc half-breeds as well. The next few decades could be either fascinating or horrifying.”
I chuckled lightly.
“Speaking of gods,” Hasani began, “have you heard anything from or about Hades? I didn't see him in Sera.”
“Neither did I, but he was here,” I replied. “Hades gave a letter to a messenger and paid him to deliver it to me.”
Hasani frowned. “Well, he's an odd one. What'd it say?”
“To paraphrase, Hades wrote that my war entertained him and he enjoyed himself. He left me a list of gods he wants dead if I come across them and said he was leaving Sera in pursuit of Cicero. It sounded as if he expected to see me again, but he made no promises or plans.”
