by Della Roth
“Did you just punch him in the stomach?” I ask, but I don’t get a reply from Roland. I shake my head. “Alright, help him up and let’s go.”
To the birthplace and burial ground of the Feeble Princess…
It’s my turn to lead, even though I have no idea of what I’m leading us into.
Twenty-Seven
HEAT. ONWARD WE GO. Sweat drenches me. The path leads more inward now versus upward, and thin lines of red-orange viscous liquid ooze slowly in between fissure cracks in the walls. It creates a decorative and elaborate dance as it pulses. I hardly need the torch now.
“What is it?” I ask, but I already suspect I know. Besides, Roland has run out of ways to insult and demean Dev, and I’m no longer interested in hearing about how our unwanted guest is nothing more than a spy.
I resist the urge to poke a fingertip in the gorgeous molten liquid. I wouldn’t get it back.
“The daughter of lava,” Roland replies softly.
He’s directly behind me. He could lift his hand and touch me, that’s how close he is. Cat and Dev are behind us, chatting in the Patroxi tongue. Based on the distance and their low voices, I catch every third or fourth word, but I can tell it isn’t friendly. Cat pushes him along. Guarding him. Though what he could do to harm any of us is beyond me. He hasn’t a weapon to his name and there are but two ways to go: forward or backward. Both probably lead to death. Not a promising thought, either way.
“Why not just regular lava?” I ask, wondering how something can be the daughter of lava.
“In the depth of our continent, a great ocean of lava churns. Spitting. Burning itself over and over. It is ever so angry. You see, lava detests being held captive. But once it releases itself on the surface, it hardens and becomes one with the solid earth.”
“A rock, you mean?”
“Yes,” he answers. “It can’t stand either state of being. It doesn’t want to idle away underground and it doesn’t want to become a solid object above ground that will continue to keep its sisters trapped beneath the surface. But here, at this point in the mountain, it can roam through cracks and caverns and grooves without becoming something else entirely. Thus, it is called the daughter of lava. It reminds me of you, actually.”
“Why?”
“Because you will never be happy without complete freedom. With the Grandfather, you were like an ocean of lava. Angry without knowing why. Knowing you craved something different, but not knowing what that meant. And now, away from him, you’re suffocating in society rules and from our demands on you. You are meant to do great things, Rahda, but it will cost you. Now that your soul knows who you are and who you are descended from, I can feel your heart pulling away. You want something in the middle. As the Sacred Soul, your heart and soul will never be in agreement. You want to be the daughter of yourself. A better version, at least,” he says with a sad grin.
We’re walking side by side, and I realize he’s holding my hand. I decide that I like it.
I look at him as if for the first time. Just when I think I know him, he says something like that to change my perception for the better.
“You can tell all that just by looking at slivers of lava?”
“I’ve known it about you since the day I met you.”
I don’t say anything for a few minutes, thinking, then, “There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye, Roland Rexus. I think that what you just said is more about you than me. You never wanted this role, did you? You never wanted to be the most powerful man on the continent.”
I say it as a statement, not a question.
“In case you didn’t notice, I’m no longer the most powerful man on the continent. For as long as I can remember, all I’ve wanted to do is make our continent better.”
“Like your water purifying chamber, for instance?”
“Ha!” he laughs. “I got that idea from you, sweetheart, after you turned a few robotic parts and charcoal dust into a carbon water filter. What were you, thirteen?”
Eons ago, it felt. I’m no longer that innocent girl.
“Probably. I tinkered a lot.” I think back to all the stupid things I made as a kid. Heaters. Filters. Radios. Small electrical grids. Refrigerators out of boxes. Air-steam bikes. Even a robot helper.
“You have a natural gift. We were all in awe of you,” he admits. “Even then, I knew who you were. I knew you were a direct descendant of Amaris Sevradan’s oldest daughter, Aldara.”
“Right,” I drawl out. “Your fancy genealogy charts. I don’t see how that has to do with my tinkering.”
“Do you remember your title?”
“Yes.” How could I forget it?
“Queen of Scarred Hearts and Priestess of Reclaimed Souls. Reclaimed Souls,” he repeats. His thumb caresses the back of my hand.
“My father once told me that the Goddess waited for the Priestess of Reclaimed Souls to save her.” Earlier, when Roland announced that title on the balcony, it chilled me to the bone. I knew then that there was more to my family history than I cared to admit.
The path starts to climb again at a steep pitch and, sadly, the lava slivers disappear.
“Yes, exactly,” he says with a touch of enthusiasm. “Think about it: everything has a soul, Rahda. Everything you touch wants to be reclaimed by you. When you tinker, as you describe it, you are reclaiming its soul. The thing is only too happy to comply. No one but you could have made that prototype mask my scars.”
I think back to how I was able to manipulate the Feeble Princess’ Pale Waters. It resisted at first, though.
“Roland, have I reclaimed your soul?”
“I wish you could.” He touches his scars. “The Grandfather marked me and owns my soul. But you own my heart. My scarred heart.”
I’m silent for a moment.
“I wonder if it’s enough,” I say finally.
“It has to be.” He grips my hand harder, as if he’ll never let go from here on out.
“That’s not what I meant,” I clarify, but not harshly. “I wonder if it’s enough to win.”
“To win what?” he asks, clearly confused.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what this war is all about.”
Roland sighs mournfully. “I often forget that you didn’t grow up in my world. You were taken away just as you would have begun your training. Even when you were with the Grandfather, he wasn’t going to tell you, now was he? He couldn’t without revealing his own hand in the plot. Actually, I’m not sure he knows everything. I don’t know everything.”
“Tell me what?”
“That whoever reclaims your soul controls the continent.”
I gasp. “No one will ever reclaim my soul!”
He clears his throat and looks at me in a manner of someone who is reluctant to give bad news.
“My love,” he murmurs. “You are the Sacred Soul. It is a complete marking upon birth. As long as your Guardian lives, you are safe.”
“You’re starting to sound like my brother in the days leading up to his death.”
The memory is clear as day.
“You chose her over me, didn’t you?” I remember Pareu’s accusing voice as he screamed this at our mother. “Was I not good enough, High Priestess? Rahda’s a twelve-year-old brat. What’s that?” he yelled at her as my father held him back and my mother hand-signed furiously. “It transfers on her thirteenth birthday? Well, guess what, I’ll make sure she has the best damn birthday ever.” Sure enough, the army came on my birthday, Pareu died, and my life has been one big lie ever since.
Roland pulls me from the memory when he gently touches my abdomen, just under my right breast, where, after Cat made love to me, she carved into my skin with her dagger.
“Two mornings ago, when you went to the Old City, Cat tried to collect part of your soul after she did this to you. She said wouldn’t, but she lied. Do you know what happened?”
“What happened?” I barely breathe the words, remembering how tired Cat looked when I returned t
o the Palace Skyscraper.
“The ritual backfired so intensely that it knocked her unconscious for several hours. Your Guardian visited her during her blackout and threatened to kill her if she ever tried it again.”
Mirror Lake. A top a hill lies Mirror Lake. Soft as silk and pure. Look inside, and your soul will look back.
Who will look back? What will look back?
“That’s why we’re headed to Mirror Lake, isn’t it? You want to see who owns my soul.”
There’s more that he’s not telling me. I can see it in his eyes. But he doesn’t disagree with me.
Twenty-Eight
IT FEELS LIKE I’VE been living my life and then, one morning, three days ago, I woke up only to discover it was all a dream.
What does being a Sacred Soul mean? For some reason, the word protector comes to mind. If that’s so, then I can’t be it. I’ve only protected myself.
I suppose I’ll have to wait and find out when I look in Mirror Lake.
I see a pinprick of light in the distance. We’ll reach the mouth of the tunnel in an hour.
“Will Mr. Underwood meet us?” I ask Roland. After the Sacred Soul conversation, we walked for some time in comfortable silence.
“Why, do you miss him?”
I think about that. “Actually, I do. I always know where I stand with him. There isn’t much to guess about.” Unlike you or Cat, I want to say.
“He doesn’t keep much to the chest, does he?” Roland chuckles, not taking the bait. “But, yes, we should see him soon. He admires you greatly.”
“Ah, in the same way a grizzly bear admires the fish it’s about to eat?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, after fetching that cuttlefish in the black waters, I wouldn’t doubt it if he’s sworn off fish for a lifetime.”
“It was for a good cause,” I say, remembering how well the prototype worked.
“It was an excuse to bring you back in my life,” he says easily. “I never cared about the scars. I only cared about what you would think.”
“I was shocked at first, but…”
“But what?”
“Honestly, I don’t see the scars anymore. I just see you.”
At this moment, Dev chooses to break into the conversation.
“Dear Goddess, what a great actress you are, Rahda. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were actually in love with scarface. Good thing, then, that I do know better.”
Roland slams him into the wall. Dev winces as the air leaves his lungs and as the jagged rocky wall digs into his flesh like dozens of razor blades.
Cat steps next to me and sighs.
“Jealousy,” she mutters, “is the worst emotion in humans.” She turns her head to stare at me a moment before she asks rather loudly, “Were you intimate with him?”
While Cat might not ever get jealous, she must feel something similar, just maybe not as strong. Maybe she is interested in Dev herself and wants to know if it’s worth it. Either way, did she have to ask the question that loud?
I realize the other two are also looking at me, awaiting my response, each with his own desired outcome.
I debate the merits of lying and how my answer will somehow affect everyone differently, myself included. I’ve been a liar most of my life, and I could continue the pattern. Or I could be honest and deal with the ramifications.
“Yes,” I answer neutrally. “Two days ago.”
Dev has a smug look on his face. Clearly, his intent was to infuriate Roland, but Roland is a man who won’t reveal his true emotions. He releases Dev, but shoves him aside.
He stalks up to me.
“A moment of your time, madam.” He says it through clenched teeth before he walks further up the path.
“She loved it, scarface!”
“Don’t forget your own words, Dev,” I rejoin, elevating my eyebrows at him in a haughty manner. “Obviously, I’m a great actress.”
Cat laughs for a full minute straight by the time I catch up to Roland.
The first thing he says surprises me. “It’s best if he thinks I’m upset.”
“And you’re not?”
“I’m not exactly thrilled, but it’s how you were trained. Your weapon is sex. I accepted it a long, long time ago. Actually,” he pauses as if he’s searching for the right words. “I never thought of it this way, but it’s to my advantage.”
He smiles brightly. Has he suddenly gone mad?
“How’s that?” No doubt I have the most stupid look on my face.
“Simple. We haven’t had sex yet.”
“Right,” I drawl out. “Oddly enough, I already knew that.”
“What I mean to say is that from the very beginning, you’ve never been my adversary. Otherwise, it would have happened already. But Dev the imbecile over there doesn’t know this. And it’s best if he doesn’t know that, okay?”
I frown. I had hoped by now that I’d be done with the games.
“You want me to play spy?”
“No, I don’t want you to do anything out of the ordinary. I don’t want you to seem overly defensive of me.”
“Have I ever been overly or even moderately defensive of you?”
“Good point,” he amends. “May I give you my impressions?”
“How can I resist?” By this time, I very nearly want to throw my hands up in the air and start mumbling incoherently like a crazy person.
“I presume this is the friend that sent you the secure communication messages?” I nod at this. “And as for the full-blooded Patroxi dispatch—” He practically spits the word dispatch out “—message, I also presume you learned of this message from him?” I nod affirmatively again. “Then I find it sufficient to suspect that he knows a whole hell of lot more than we do. Do you know who marked him?”
“Can you stop saying the word presume? No. I do know that it was just one person. He’s a former PPS.”
Roland’s eyes narrow. His thinking face. “And you don’t know him from anywhere else?”
He asks the question so intently that I’m convinced that I’ve missed something entirely.
“Only from the Old City.”
“You should know him from somewhere else, too, Rahda.” I shrug, completely oblivious. Roland sighs. “Jaucey’s lover. He’s the man that was with Jaucey last night.”
Twenty-Nine
MY MIND IS SO occupied that I find we’ve already passed through a series of zigzag rock formations hidden behind a thick blanket of foliage, out of the mountain tunnel, and into the bright sunlight before even realizing it.
When was the last time I actually witnessed true sunlight?
Back home, with Pareu and my parents. That’s when.
My companions are washed anew in the radiant yellow rays.
Roland’s hair appears more rich, his skin more healthy, his physique more chiseled. Cat’s silver hair practically glitters as the tattoos on her body jump out, lifelike and vibrant. Dev, being shirtless, looks more like a god than a formerly enslaved human. His caramel skin glows and his tattoos dance harmoniously.
I’m still nauseous after learning I made love to Jaucey’s lover, but, in time, I’ll recover.
I look back where we came. A dark cloud hangs depressingly south of us, oppressing the city and its inhabitants equally. The mountain range is orange and black as dark smoke rises from the burning trees and as the fire spreads north. It will continue to burn until nothing is left. Even here, where we stand now. It won’t take long, I think sadly.
I spot the mouth of not one, but three waterfalls, lower and to the left of us. They merge and surge fiercely, as if in a battle with one another to reach lower ground the fastest.
The top of the Palace Skyscraper is easy to identify. Grayish water fills the valley up to the fifth or sixth floor of the Palace, and I imagine the Old City beyond that is also under water. One day, maybe a dozen years from now, all of it will sink to the bottom, never to be seen again. Then, maybe a hundred years from now, all knowledge
of there ever having been life in the valley will vanish.
We returned it back to its natural state. Whoever decided to dam the waterfall in the first place and build in the valley must be turning over in her grave.
It feels too final, without a sense of victory.
Something about the scenery feels familiar, as if I’ve been here before. I turn around, facing away from the valley, as my mind searches for answers to explain why I knew there would be—immediately to my right—black, craggy, boulders that, illogically, would sprout flowers from their tops, or why, in the distance, it will only take me seven minutes to run to that apple orchard, or how, on a clear, windless day, on that house higher up on the mountain, I might hear a man lovingly talk to a woman who could never vocally talk back to him.
Home.
Something in my throat catches. I want to yell, scream, jump, run away, faint, sing, and cry all at the same time. No single emotion carries the moment.
Suddenly, I’m in Roland’s arms as I try to figure out why his chain mail is wet or why I’m unexpectedly at a loss for words.
This might be the birthplace and final resting ground of the Feeble Princess, but Roland, unbeknownst to me, has brought me home.
Thirty
IT’S THE SAME BUT different. I left home when I had just turned thirteen and was still innocent of what would befall me once the army took me away. I see it all like a painting that, in my mind, hasn’t changed, but in reality, I feel a sense of forced harmony. As if it is meant to seem warm and welcoming.
What I don’t remember is ever seeing anything beyond this little mountain hamlet. No waterfalls. No view of Skyscraper City. Perhaps as a girl of twelve, I wouldn’t have cared to see such things and so I never noticed. All I ever did was follow Pareu around, even when he didn’t want me to. “Not this time, Rahda,” he would say angrily. I’d sneak and follow anyway, unaware of what he was doing or where he was going. I never questioned.
