by Sam Farren
“I was unconscious in the dirt for the better part of twelve hours. I did not have time to make myself presentable, I am afraid. I rushed straight here,” Eos said, letting go of Castelle’s wrist.
“How did you know Svir would be here?” Castelle asked, hand dropping to stroke Rhyolite between his ears.
“I didn’t. But I knew Niamh and Tanen would be here, and that they would point me in the right direction.”
Castelle swivelled on the sofa, head rested against its padded back.
“I can’t make heads nor tails of it. Reed is convinced Svir wants to kill you, but you’re friends with her wife. Tanen is friends with both of you, Svir claims to have known you for decades, to respect you, but she still knocked you out with a dart and kidnapped me,” Castelle said, piecing it together as she spoke. “And you come here, sit down, and resolve matters by talking. You have Svir admit that she realised she couldn’t sell me within ten minutes of meeting me! Not to mention the fact that your cat lives here.”
“Svir would not really kill me. Probably,” Eos said. “Most likely. Not unless the situation was truly dire. We left Reed’s in such a hurry because my concern was for you. Svir has no attachments to you, and when she sets her mind to something, it most often transpires.”
“Unless she gets shot in the shoulder,” Castelle said.
“Did that happen? She did not say anything about it.”
Castelle’s chest hurt before she started laughing. Eos pulled Rhyolite into her arms as Castelle cleared her throat and regained herself.
“They are all my friends, in one way or another. I knew Svir, growing up around the mountains. I met Reed through her, when I came to Fenroe. I met Tanen in Torshval, working the sort of jobs I would never take. We travelled together, for some years, but they need routine, stability. They would often relapse, on the road. Svir agreed to give them somewhere to live, to watch over them. I am grateful to her for that.”
How strange it was to hear Eos speak of herself. I did this, I did that. Years condensed into short sentences, complex relationships laid out as a series of facts. Castelle didn’t begrudge it. For the first time, she realised Eos was trying.
This was more than she gave others.
“So, we’re free now? Is that it? We can leave the house and no one will charge after us?”
“I expect so. That necklace may well be the fortune Svir has always searched for. But if you would not mind, I would like to stay for the night. To bathe, at the very least.”
Eos got to her feet, cat scooped in one arm, and Castelle said nothing. She could only look up at her, doing her utmost to see her in a new light, after everything Svir and Tanen had told her about Eos’ past.
Questions should’ve poured from her. Why had Eos done it? Had she really had no other choice? What options had she exhausted? What had pushed her into that position, what had happened in her life that led to the murder of a monarch? What did exile mean to her? Did she resent the ground she stood upon, or was it a relief to have left the warzone her home had become?
“Is something wrong?” Eos asked, kneeling in front of Castelle when she only stared. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”
Rhyolite tumbled out of Eos’ arms and into Castelle’s lap, still purring softly. Castelle placed her hands upon him, faint rumbles bringing her back to herself.
“The man on horseback caught up with Svir and me. Don’t worry. Svir handled that problem, after he shot her. He was sent by my fathers. He was sent to take me back to Laister. He had a letter on him. A letter from my fathers. I have it right here, but I…”
Eos’ eyes narrowed in a way talk of abduction and danger alone could never be responsible for. The thought of being dragged back to Laister made Castelle’s heart beat faster than a bear trap ever had.
“I can’t bring myself to read it. I’m scared I’ll believe whatever my fathers have written,” Castelle murmured. “But if you were here with me, I…”
Eos returned to her feet, nodding.
“I understand,” she said. “I will be here. Whenever you are ready, we will read the letter together.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The house became a different place with her freedom bargained for.
The corridors were wider, the windows let in more light, and there was no end to the open doors greeting her. Eos headed through the dining room on her way to clean up, having no need to ask for directions, and placed a hand on the back of Niamh’s chair, stopping to talk to her. Niamh was all smiles. She patted Eos’ hand, telling her she must spend the night, at the very least.
How bizarre it was. Castelle had spent so long considering herself the Queen of Fenroe, and when she’d left the temple, not only was she unrecognised and unremembered, but she didn’t have a friend in the world, either. Yet there was Eos, a Yrician with an accent she had no obligation to work around and scars deep enough to tell their own story; everywhere she went, she found friends.
People kissed her, embraced her. People welcomed her into their homes, even when they were on the fence about killing her.
Not knowing where else to go, Castelle sat with Niamh in the dining room. Niamh had retired to one of the armchairs, busy going over the household accounts and expenses. Svir’s job ended at bringing the gold home, and Niamh wasn’t fazed by long numbers and quick equations.
“I’m glad Svir finally had her change of heart,” Niamh said. “I thought she’d buckle hours before she did, for what it’s worth. Honestly, I don’t know what gets into her head, sometimes. Between her thing with Eos and this latest stunt, I had no idea what to make of it. But this is a lovely necklace, Castelle. It’ll look after everyone here for a long time to come.”
Castelle glanced at the page Niamh was working on and gleaned absolutely nothing from it.
“I’m glad. It wasn’t doing me any good, locked in a box. If I’m to be honest, I forgot I had it,” Castelle said.
“Such is always the way. Most of this house was gutted, when what happened happened, but I kept hold of a few pieces of jewellery and several rare books. My mother did the same. Selling it off piece-by-piece saw us through the better part of a decade.”
“Where is your mother now?” Castelle asked.
She couldn’t rule her out of living in the house. Every time Castelle looked up, a new face poked into the room, wanting to see the last Greyser heir.
“Dead,” Niamh said, tapping her pen against the page.
“Oh. I’m so sorry, Niamh.”
“Don’t be. She was a cruel woman. My father was the one who’d softened to the resistance’s ideas, in all honesty. My mother sold him out that she might survive, and spent her remaining years clinging to the last shreds of nobility she had left. She screamed at servants over nothing and never liked Svir, for reasons I’ll leave up to you to decipher.”
Niamh scribbled something across the page, surprisingly pleased with the results. Castelle watched her work in silence, wishing her relationship with her own mother was equally as uncomplicated. Castelle’s mother had been awful, and she’d died as a direct result. It wasn’t right to miss her, wasn’t fair to all those who’d suffered under her rule that she still longed to have her by her side, whenever the world grew dark and lashed out against her.
Castelle sunk into her chair, content to say nothing else. Niamh worked with a singular focus and Castelle traced the shape of the letter through her pocket.
In another world, one where the rebellion had failed or never had cause to get off its feet, she could’ve been sitting next to Niamh, just like she was now. It’d be in some courtyard, in one of the castle’s dozen parlours or music rooms, in a library or at an impromptu feast. Niamh would be a Countess, or in line to inherit the title.
Niamh was Castelle’s age. In this world, she’d taken a wife for herself. Maybe Castelle’s parents would’ve pushed them towards one another, would’ve dropped heavy-handed hints every time they spoke of her, and—
Gods. What a terrible w
orld that would be. Pushing two people together because it was convenient, because Niamh’s blood was deemed worthy enough of mixing with a Greyser’s.
Niamh was happier than any noble Castelle had ever met. Niamh had chosen a wife for herself, and the two of them were utterly bizarre together, unfathomable to Castelle, but so was the rest of the world.
It was a better world, now. It had to be. Castelle had to make a better effort to understand it all.
“How do you know all these people?” Castelle asked, after the fifth woman poked her head into the room and flashed a sheepish grin. “There are all sorts here, from what I can tell.”
“Svir is just as bad as Eos, when it comes to picking up strays. It’s in their blood to care for the less fortunate, I think. Plenty of them were homeless, or trapped in abusive situations of various sorts. Others were just down on their luck, looking for a change of scenery, old sex-worker friends of Svir’s, that sort of thing.”
“Your wife is an interesting woman,” Castelle said.
Laughing, Niamh said, “Isn’t she just?”
Eos wasted little time cleaning up. Castelle expected her to fall asleep the moment she was alone, but she wasn’t left not knowing what to do or say long into the day.
Eos returned within half an hour, dark hair turned black by the water, scars more prominent than ever. She’d changed into clothes that belonged to Tanen. The sleeves were far too long, the trousers covered her feet, and the excess material hung loosely around her. She had a towel draped over one shoulder, a cat circling her feet, and absolutely no dirt on her face.
“Thank you for waiting,” Eos said.
It was awkward, said for the sake of speaking. Weeks ago, she wouldn’t have said a word. She would’ve nodded at the doorway, expected Castelle to follow her, and that would’ve been all.
“It’s fine. Niamh and I were catching up. Did you know her father used to be a Count?”
“Svir tells anyone who will listen,” Eos said, gesturing to a free study.
There were more books piled on the floor than there were on shelves, creased with well-loved use. There were blankets on the floor, forts made between stacks of books and windowsills, held down by hefty paperweights. It was the sort of place almost never empty, open to all who wished to use it. It wasn’t sealed off, unknowable to all but one person whose leather-bound books were all for show.
Rhyolite dove into one of the blanket-forts. Eos closed the door behind her and took a seat at a cluttered desk.
Castelle considered her options. Follow Rhyolite beneath the blankets and forget every island dotted across the archipelago, or sit next to Eos and take in the words she’d never forget.
Crouching down and patting Rhyolite’s back, Castelle pulled out the chair next to Eos.
Better to never forget what she’d read than spend forever wondering what it’d said.
Castelle held the letter between her hands, still folded. Placing it on the table shouldn’t have been harder than snapping off the end of an arrow embedded in the shoulder of the woman who’d abducted her, but her hands wouldn’t move.
“Here,” Eos said, taking the letter from Castelle’s stone hands.
She unfolded it, placed it on the table, and put paperweights on each corner. She didn’t read a single word. It wasn’t hers to take in, not before Castelle did.
“I’m sorry,” Castelle said, uncertain why she was laughing. “It’s just a letter, isn’t it? I know what it’s going to be made of. Lies, lies, nothing but lies. What do they think they can even say to me, at this point?”
“It is fine. Take your time.”
Castelle clasped her hands together under the table, knee bouncing as she forced herself to focus on the words.
Castelle, it read.
If you’re reading this, it means you’ve survived. You have proven time and time again that you’re a survivor, and always have been. It is in your blood to thrive, so long as your Kingdom needs you. If you are reading this, your father and I cannot express how proud we are of you.
We love you more than words can say. We have sent our most loyal soldiers to retrieve you. Fight against it though we may, we always knew this day would come; we always knew someone would filter through the forest and tear down our defences. We consider ourselves privileged to have protected you without fail for fourteen years.
This never should’ve happened to you, Castelle, but such is the burden of the Queen of Fenroe. Your enemies are numerous, and at times, it may feel as though they outnumber your allies.
Never believe it is so. Laister needs you. The Kingdom needs you, Castelle. Come home to us. Do whatever it takes. Come home. You have already taken the first steps to restoring your Kingdom. Come home, and we will light the way for you.
With love and sorrow,
Your fathers.
Castelle read the letter two, three times. She pushed the paperweights aside, turned the letter over, took a deep breath, and read it again.
The words didn’t change.
“That’s—that’s it?” Castelle asked. “That’s it?”
“It would appear so,” Eos said.
“That’s it?” Castelle repeated. There was the laughter again, hoarse in her throat. “That’s it? I’ve been out of that forest for more than three months, have travelled from Laister to Llyne to Fél, through Wayston and Vertias, and now I am back in Caelfal, I—I have seen Fenroe for what it has become. I’ve seen how the people thrive, how the world has changed without the monarchy, and that—
“That’s it?”
Eos took the letter and carefully folded it back up.
“Gods! Gods, they didn’t explain themselves. There wasn’t a single lie in there, was there? They didn’t even attempt to make me think the world beyond Laister was an illusion, that I was wrong about what I saw with my own two eyes. What is it? What do they think of me? That I will see without seeing? That I won’t understand?
“That I don’t know how the people despise my family, despise me? That I don’t know how they celebrated my siblings’ deaths, that they wouldn’t hesitate to put my head on a pike, to sate a fourteen-year itch? Do they think I believe Fenroe still needs Queen, that it wants a Queen? Do they think I do not realise how the people hate me, hate what I stand for?
“I have seen it all, Eos. I have seen it all. I know that I am not needed, not wanted. All I have worked for, all I have survived for, it is as nothing, worth nothing, I am worth nothing, everything has changed and I have not, I am nothing, Eos, I am stagnant, I am—”
The laughter was still there, ringing between words, but her eyes were glassy with tears. The world blurred. The letter was finally out of sight.
“I am useless,” Castelle murmured. “I am useless, and they know it. They know they are all I have, and—”
“Please,” Eos said, interrupting her.
Castelle had no concept of the thudding in her head blossoming from fists hitting the table, until Eos took hold of her wrists.
“They don’t love me. They don’t love me,” Castelle said, struggling to break free of Eos’ grasp. “They never have, they never have! Gods. They never loved me. Tell me they never loved me.”
Eos set her jaw, hands still tight around Castelle’s wrists.
“They believe what they had done to you over so many years overrides reality,” Eos said, after a long moment. “But you are stronger than that, Castelle. You have taken the truth to your core. That is not nothing.”
Castelle’s jaw trembled. She swallowed the lump in her throat, tears rolling down her face.
“What am I going to do?” she asked in a whisper. “I was supposed to be Queen, Eos. I was supposed to be Queen. I was supposed to save all of Fenroe. I spent every day studying, poring over maps, conjuring plans and weighing them against the potential consequences, and, and… I was going to save Fenroe, but it doesn’t need to be saved, does it? It doesn’t need me.
“I wanted them to lie. I wanted to believe it, Eos. I wanted
to go back to the forest, to live a life where I meant something, and—gods. I was supposed to be Queen. I never wanted it. It was never made for me. But I didn’t resign myself to it. I opened myself to it, because Marigold, she was supposed to be Queen. She was meant to take the throne, to rule over the archipelago.
“I was supposed to be her little sister, there to support her. A shoulder for her to cry on, because the Queen certainly couldn’t do that in front of her advisors, in front of the nobles and politicians. Every day I told myself I was doing it for her. That I was going to become a Queen Marigold was proud of, that I’d muster all the resolve she had, and… and…”
Eos had let go of her wrists. The rest of Castelle’s words were lost to sobs. She buried her face in her arms, flat across the table.
It was all for nothing! It was all for nothing! Her life had been one lie atop another, and those who’d lied to her didn’t even have the decency to keep up the charade! What did she have now? Not her crown, not her throne, not even the promise of wrongs to right! There was nothing, nothing! She was no good to anyone! What could she do in this new, bright world? She couldn’t cook, couldn’t sew, couldn’t fight, couldn’t sail, couldn’t work, didn’t know any of the songs they’d sing in taverns, any of the plays they’d put on in theatres.
The temple was gone, her fathers along with it. The spirits had risen and condemned it back to ruin. She had nothing, nothing.
Nothing but Eos’ hand on her shoulder, gently urging her to sit up.
She met Castelle’s gaze, not once considering turning away, and held out a handkerchief.
Castelle wiped her tears and blew her nose loudly.
“You are not nothing,” Eos said.
“I was there for fourteen years, Eos. Fourteen years. That’s so much of my life, gone. I haven’t—I never got the chance to be who I was supposed to,” Castelle said. “It was all a waste. I’ve lost it all. All of it.”
“Yes, but you are only twenty-eight. There are countless years ahead of you.”
