by Cassia Meare
"Where are we?" she asked.
"Ysil," he said in a low, lazy voice.
"What is it?"
"My secret place. Well, not so secret. Where I come when I want to be alone."
"You’re not alone," she pointed out.
"This time, better than alone."
She smiled, then stopped smiling. "And Ahn?"
"Her Tuaa was scrying for her, so she must have been on the move before the battle ended." He scoffed. "She can only go to one place now if she doesn't want me to find her and bind her. To Deep Realm."
Where Aya had disappeared, all that time ago …
"What’s there now?"
"Zealots," Nemours spat. "Lunatics."
"But you must go after her," Elinor said. "She did terrible things and will do more."
"No one can sail there. It requires a sacrifice. You pay on the way so as not to be torn apart by monsters in the Eclipse — or when you arrive, if you’re let through."
Elinor listened to his heartbeat for a while before she asked in a whisper, "What can she sacrifice?"
Nemours sat up, gently disengaging from her. The Hope Star was in the sky. It did look like a white lady, hovering in a shining dress. Staring at it, he gave a small shake of the head.
"I don’t know."
He was afraid. Afraid of more pain. Afraid of Ahn and what she was becoming. What, in fact, she had already become.
"Let’s not talk of it today," he begged. "Let's talk of happy things."
There were happy things, she thought, looking at the light in his eyes; which reminded her to ask, "What is Stockholm Syndrome?"
Nemours laughed so hard he fell upon the pillow. "Let me guess," he said. "You heard that in the group where I found you?"
"Indeed," she said.
He lay sideways, leaning his cheek on his hand. "You talked about me to the women there?"
"Well, yes, I—"
Nemours gasped. "So you went looking for counseling because I kidnapped you?"
Elinor turned indignant eyes on him. "I don’t see it as honorable for a man to seduce a maiden, abduct her and marry another!" she protested. "It’s most vile. Also, I was under a spell."
"Well, you’ve fairly summed up Stockholm Syndrome. You fall in love with your kidnapper, just as if you were under a spell." He pulled her to him and looked down at her face as he arranged her hair on the pillow. "Join his cause, believe him to be noble and fight most splendidly for him."
"Then … I suppose I have a most terrible case of Stockholm Syndrome."
"Perhaps. Let’s test it." He bent and kissed her for a while. "What did you think about?"
She sighed. "Nothing at all."
"Let’s try again."
He kissed her a lot more, and Elinor still didn’t think of the two worlds ending or being abducted or the wars.
"Now?" he asked.
"I thought … I wanted more kissing," she said.
The prince nodded gravely. "Then I can safely confirm it’s Stockholm Syndrome."
"No!" The tower room filled with Elinor’s laughter. She took his face in her hands. "It’s that I love thee."
He smiled. "But not more than I love thee."
41
"Delian!"
He had been hiding behind the foliage in the garden outside his room, but Elinor had found him. And she wasn’t put off by the fact that he was lying in the shade of trees wearing only his pajama trousers and an eye patch.
"Lady E," he said, making sure he sounded lazy and casual at the same time.
The truth was that he felt all sorts of ways and didn’t want to join celebrations of victory or discussions about what must be done with the losers, or anything at all. He just wanted to be alone.
Still, he opened his good eye to peer at Elinor as she approached and sat by him. She looked concerned, but so happy underneath it all that he closed his eye again.
Not that he didn’t want her to be happy — or his brother. They deserved it, but he wished things could be different. He wished he and Nemours didn’t love the same woman, for one.
But he didn’t want her to know—but he couldn’t help it—but—
Be happy for them. Be happy.
"Your eye," she said softly.
He shrugged. It had become his favorite thing to do. "It will grow."
She caressed his face. "I can—"
"No, don’t!" Once again, she seemed crestfallen. He had to add, "I think I look very dashing. Always wanted a scar and an eye patch. All I need now is a freaking parrot and a ship."
She frowned, not getting the allusion.
"It will be hard for you to see who is to your right when fighting," she pointed out.
"My dear Lady E," he said with dignity. "I may be somewhat bent, half blind, but make no mistake — I’m wholly unbroken."
"I know…" she said, looking like she doubted it.
Raising his arm, he plucked a leaf from the tree above him with more violence than he had intended and started cutting it into vertical pieces. "How are things with Nemours, then?"
Damn it, he had told himself not to ask! She threw him a sideways look and blushed.
"Yeah, I saw all the kissing on the battlements." He pretended to cough into his hand. "Cliché."
Double damn, he wasn’t supposed to do that either. Now there was no help for it, he just had to keep going.
"You make a great couple, by the way. I can tell you prefer the sullen, dark type. And Nemours, at least, is a serious creature. Not like me, for example." He threw the pieces of the leaf in the air and grabbed another one to destroy. "Here today, gone tomorrow. Sleeping with ghosts and all."
"Sleeping with ghosts?"
"Oh, Nemours didn’t tell you? Had a little dalliance with the lovely Lady N."
A-ha, she had frowned when he called Ngrayne that. What, did she think she had the monopoly of his nicknames?
"Nice that she left right away," he said with yet another shrug. "You know. Not a relationship man myself. Not like Nemours, who took three hundred years to get over Sibulla."
That was low.
"I mean, not get over — just, you know. Get a bit of—"
Shut up, Delian!
"In short," he said in desperation, "very nice that you’re all hooked up. What’s next then? Because I guess our adventures — I mean mine and yours — are over?"
"Oh, why?" she asked, widening hurt eyes.
You looked so beautiful in that armor, he thought — but said, "You’ll go with Nemours, no? Hand in hand, looking for the hekas? I can’t replace Ty and help you with the smart stuff, but Nemours can. So I’d be no use."
She scuttled closer to him. "But we found things together, just you and me. And you do help. And what am I to do, if there are horrible creatures? I don’t like to say I’m frightened, but I would never have taken the heka from that toad, Gloucester. Or been able to get to the catacombs at Old Edge. And I would never have learned anything of magic, or about television, and the google and the telephone—"
"You hate the telephone," he pointed out.
"But Delian," she insisted, scuttling even closer, "are you saying you won’t come to Earth with me?"
He pushed out his lips this time as he renewed the shrugging.
"Delian!" she cried, and there were tears in her eyes.
"No crying, Lady E. Don’t do that."
"I’m not going to cry," she said, surreptitiously wiping tears away. "It’s just—"
"Well, ask Nemours, in any case," he said quickly. "Maybe he’s a bit busy here, and if necessary I’ll take you back there. I don’t know. He’ll be king and bossier than ever, so if he orders me, and that’s what you want, maybe I’ll go."
"It’s what I want," she said in a low but happy voice.
She was impulsive, so she leaned over and kissed him.
He gave a small, wry smile. "Anything else you want to do with that pity?"
"Knave."
"Yeah, my brother would take my other eye, and
I need at least one." He grinned. "Besides, tempted as you may be by me at the moment, control yourself. I like younger women. Ngrayne, I think, was only about four hundred, which makes her a century younger than you."
Elinor wrinkled her nose. "Had a big scar, though."
"Peerless fighter," he said. "Jealous?"
It was her turn to shrug. A silence fell between them.
"Un ange passe," Delian said after a few moments. An angel passes.
"What do you mean?"
"It’s what the French say, when there is a lull in a conversation," he explained.
She looked up, and so did he. They knew that, were it true, the angel would not be a murderous white guard; it would be Ty.
***
Two evenings after the battles, the initial thrill of victory had already given way to graver considerations. Nemours sat alone in the council room, reading dispatches after having met with lords, ladies and emissaries.
Delian did not envy his brother. Nemours was to crown himself king and unify the lands under his rule, effectively neutralizing Ahn. No mortal would be able to aid or abet her in the least without facing his wrath, which meant that she could only stay in Deep Realm. Perhaps she had reached it already. It was hard to know anything about that place.
"Tinashe is dead," Nemours said, putting down a dispatch.
The muscles in his face worked — he was angry, and Delian couldn’t blame him. Everything had hurtled out of control, just as Ty had said, and Nemours felt responsible.
"I’m sorry," Delian said. "He was a good man. A great fighter."
"Tayne, half eaten by a werewolf — stabbed by one of those … things."
"It’s not right, I know," Delian said. "But Ahn was the one who stepped way out of line."
"I can’t tiptoe around magic anymore," Nemours said. "It’s all Ahn has left, and she will use it."
"She has Lamia with her."
"Lamia has been by her side through all this," Nemours reminded him.
Delian made a gesture of dismissal. "Lamia goes wherever she thinks it’s safest, we know that. She thought Ahn would win."
"Well, it just so happens that Ahn lost. And, in the meantime, Lamia has become evil."
"Come on, Nemours, Lamia hates Tuii and Tuaa and all that. She told us to kill Lotho as soon as possible."
"She still stood by Ahn’s side while he killed Lady Marget, abused her father and made a deal with devils and beasts."
"I don’t care if you become king," Delian said, leaning toward his brother. He was hardly ever that earnest. "In fact, I pity you. I know it’s the last thing you want. But I want Lamia alive, Nemours. I’ve lost too much already."
Pushing back his chair, Nemours rose and walked to the balcony. Delian followed. They looked at the city, so quiet now — only the smell of smoke and some debris to remind them that ships had burned there two days before.
"You and Ty were like each other’s shadow, I know," Nemours said quietly. "But I’ve lost him too. And—"
"If you say Sefira …"
"And I don’t know what will be of Sefira. She is in Ahn’s hands — and if something happens to her, I will have killed my sister."
"No. That will have been Ahn. Just like Sefira killed Ty, or so you keep telling me."
They fell silent, watching the city together rather than looking at each other. A song rose, far away. Drunks. Delian didn’t even feel like joining them for a few cups. Not without Ty.
"You’ve lost a lot," Delian said at last, "but you’ve also gained. And, you know, happy to let you have her."
Now Nemours crossed his arms, leaning on the balustrade, and scoffed. "Let me?"
"If…"
"Oh, there’s an ‘if’?"
Delian turned a serious face to his brother — serious enough that Nemours’ own smile faded as he listened.
"If you’re serious enough to bloodmingle with her. I don’t want to lose anyone else, Nemours. Lady E has no powers now, so she must become an immortal."
Why the hell was Nemours shaking his head? It was a fairly obvious thing!
"Don’t you see how mad we all are?" Nemours asked. "We are all insane or within an inch of becoming insane. And we are born immortal. Imagine what it is for mortals. The good ones always end up immolating themselves, whereas the ones who cling to it turn into psychos like Lotho or Sigrit. Or that new Tuaa of Ahn’s."
"Elinor is better than them all," Delian argued. "She is strong. Only a human woman, and look at all she did. And that wasn’t because of some damned birthmark — that was all her."
"I must give her the choice," Nemours insisted.
"She’ll say yes."
"I will ask her to think about it for longer than you just did."
"Why?"
"You say you don’t want to lose anyone else — well, neither do I."
Nemours moved back into the room, and again Delian followed.
"What, would it be easy to lose her now?"
"No."
"Crept up on you, huh?"
"Yes."
"So?"
"So I need her to understand what it means."
"Is there a course, or what? A simulation? Lock her in a tank for a century, see how she likes it?"
Eyes lost as if he were remembering something, Nemours gave a small smile. "She needs to find out if it’s not Stockholm Syndrome, for one."
"Say what?"
"I don’t want to ever see her die," Nemours said almost angrily, glaring at him. "Do you?"
"No," Delian said, lifting both hands, indicators to thumbs as if explaining an obvious lesson to an obtuse pupil, "but that’s precisely what imms don’t do. We don’t die."
"What if one day she chose to?"
"She won’t."
"Oh," Nemours waved a hand, "since you can scry the future…"
"No, but I know her. She’s steadfast and stubborn. And she has a happy nature."
"I need to talk to her."
"You do what you have to, then," Delian said, walking past Nemours. "But if you don’t make her an imm, I’m throwing my hat in the ring again."
"You do that, then," Nemours said, going back to his dispatches.
"I will."
"Fine, good luck."
"Fine."
Before he reached the door, Delian asked, "This king thing, will there be a party? I don’t feel like a party."
"I think you know it’s called a coronation. Usually a very dull affair."
"Well, whatever rocks your boat," Delian said. "Just don’t order me about in front of people."
"Right. Go away."
"I'm going, but not because you said so."
As he left the room, Nemours called, "Delian!"
He walked backwards and looked into the council room. "Yes, Graciousness?"
Nemours smiled almost sadly. "Thank you."
With another shrug — by heaven, he would turn into a hunchback — and a muttered, "Sure," Delian left, because he didn’t want Nemours to see the tear in his eye.
Why was he crying like a baby? He could not get to his room fast enough and close the door. He undressed, throwing his clothes every which way, and climbed on the bed.
It was late, and he thought he was tired, but Vestea was too bright. The white moon was always too bright. It was too beautiful a night when so many people had died, and Lamia was missing, and the world had gone upside down and …
"Ty!"
The small, tentative voice came from his balcony. A female voice. Delian sat bolt upright.
Perched outside, a harpy. The same one who had always come for Ty, although she hadn’t appeared in a long time.
"Get out, monster," Delian cried, his throat knotted and painful.
Instead, she gave two small leaps to the right, like the bird she half was. The moonlight showed her face clearly, and she was beautiful — with mournful dark eyes and plump lips. Her long hair covered her human breasts, and from the waist down she had brown and white feathers, ending in claws rat
her than feet. Her arms were also human, though, and she hugged herself as again she trilled. "Ty?"
"Ty is dead, you ugly thing," Delian said. He took a cup from the nightstand and threw it at her, but she took flight before it hit her. "He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead!" Delian screamed.
He sat, his hands hanging limply on his lap and sobbed as only people who never cry can sob. Taking deep, racking breaths, he repeated, "He’s dead, he’s dead. He’ll never come back, never."
I’m so tired, he thought again, after sobbing for a while — and lay down. How can I be so tired?
He was so tired that when he heard the ruffle of feathers outside, he didn’t have the strength to stir.
"Ty?" asked the harpy.
"He’s gone," Delian whispered.
She chirped again. "Ty?"
Putting a pillow over his head, he said, "You’ll drive me mad."
There was a stirring in the room. The bloody monster had flown in! Still he didn’t move, and felt rather than heard the scratching of claws on the pillow behind him.
"Ty?" the harpy asked.
Slowly, Delian lowered the pillow. "Listen—" he started.
The creature had begun to purr, or something. And coo. Her wings fluttered very slightly. It was a nice sound, right behind his head — half mournful, half in search of comfort.
A grief soft as a feather. It was always meant to happen …
"Don’t try to touch me," Delian said. "Seriously, that’s too bizarre. And I never thought I’d say this, but keep those breasts covered."
She only cooed and purred. And he left her there, because she was also thinking of his brother, and fell asleep to her sounds.
42
What the hell have I got myself into? Lamia wondered.
Running from her life, banished on pain of Binding by Nemours, who might be king by now and was certainly furious.
She even had a quick thought for her husband, left in her castle of Areia to deal with the victors. Would he get his head cut off? Poor man, he had never done anything. He was thoroughly useless; surely he would be allowed to live?
And she on a ship, sailing the Eclipse with Ahn — who might just have turned the corner on madness.
Of course Ahn was not frightened of the Eclipse, considering she was the Princess of the Night. And that sinister Tuaa, Hesir, stood near the prow with white eyes, scrying. Half the time Lamia didn’t know if she was an obedient servant of Ahn’s or another Sigrit.
