Conquests and Crowns

by S E Meliers

  ‘An interesting idea,’ the Hallow spoke. The guards and Executioner made signs to ward off evil as if the words carried with them a taint. Patience recognised the voice: it was the Hallow who had visited her cell on the day of the invasion. She wondered if it bode well that the same Hallow attended her second visit to the dungeons. ‘Somewhat like the education a Hallow receives?’ the Hallow suggested, voice mildly mocking.

  The suggestion seemed to amuse Gallant, which indicated to Patience that a Hallow’s education was not a pleasant experience: ‘Perhaps,’ the Priest sniffed his pomander. ‘But to educate all the children, peasant and noble alike, of those who refuse to convert? That would take a massive effort, and expense.’

  ‘Surely no more effort than it currently takes to keep them in the dungeons, and all that involves. And, to think, my Lord, those children will remain un-maimed, in body and mind, therefore better able to serve the Monad.’

  ‘It would have rather less impact on the parent’s mindset, however,’ Gallant disputed without heat. He seemed to find the discourse diverting. ‘The threat, or sight, of their child enduring pain, can be quite a tool in conversion,’ he continued in explanation, as if their discussion was theoretical and did not involve living beings. Patience pressed her nails into the palm of her hand to keep her revulsion and horror at the indifference with which he discussed the torture of children at bay. ‘Now, my Lady,’ he paused to take stock of his surroundings. ‘Ah, there’s Gat. Now, my Lady, we must pick up our pace if we are to return in time for luncheon.’

  Patience was sure she would never be able to eat again.

  They passed through the dismal cell lined corridors, to an open room. As they stepped across the uneven threshold, Patience noted that her slippers stuck to the stones. Looking down, she discovered that someone had made an attempt to wash the floor, but all they’d done was water down the gore. It coated the stones in a reddish brown sludge, in some places thick as sauce, and in others just a film across the stone. In the time it took for her brain to register the origins of the sludge, she identified a tooth like a white island in the slime. Her stomach recoiled, and so did she, straight into Gallant, who caught her. For a moment, they wrestled, but he won, pinning her against him with surprising strength and lifting the pomander to her nose. ‘Breathe deeply, my lady,’ he said in her ear. ‘This moment of hysteria will pass.’

  She forced herself to look over the pomander at the room, to take in the full grotesqueness of it. It was a large chamber, in the centre of which was a heavy and wide wooden table. There were manacles and chains attached to each corner of the table, and the wood grain was blackened and waxy in a terrible way. On a smaller table alongside, lined up in a particular order, were surprisingly clean and shiny metal tools, the uses for which she did not want to know. There was a brazier, currently cool, set near the smaller table. Along the walls were strung manacles at varying heights. From one set of manacles hung a man, naked, skin shiny with sweat and marred with blood, grime and burns, his head limp against his chest, obscuring his face. Each breath was agonised, the ribcage indented in a way that foretold of a slow death from internal bleeding. Further along the same wall, an older man, bearded, sat, with his left foot imprisoned in a strange contraption she did not wish to examine closely. From the way he was propped against the wall, she thought, perhaps, he was dead, and they had not yet realised. The bottom end of the room was divided off by a barred wall, forming a cell which was, horribly, overcrowded with men, women, and children. Some huddled as far from the bars as possible, as if hoping to pass unnoticed, whilst others hissed abuse at the visitors only to recoil when Gat struck the bars with a pole.

  ‘I think I will be ill,’ she gasped, the pomander unable to mask the foul stench of rotten meat that permeated the room.

  ‘Not an infrequent occurrence in this room,’ he commented mildly. ‘Just try not to splash me.’

  ‘Oh, oh - ’ she wailed into the pomander. ‘There’s a finger on the floor -’ She emptied her stomach wretchedly, where it mingled with the general gore on the stone floor unnoticeably.

  ‘There, there,’ Gallant said indifferently. ‘This is most unbecoming, Lady Patience. Do control yourself. You requested this tour, after all. Do I need to slap you to bring you to yourself?’

  Miserably, Patience pulled herself free of him. ‘I think -’ she struggled to pull her mind free of the insanity of the horror around her. ‘I think I was unwise in this errand.’

  ‘Well, we can leave at any time,’ Gallant shrugged. ‘I have discharged my duty to Cinder in bringing you here and have no other reason to remain in such unsolicitous surrounds.’

  What she had intended to do, to achieve, Patience realised, in coming here, was minor in the reality of what she faced. To speak the words she had set forth to say, would be a mockery of what these people were enduring. And yet, she was possessed by a fierce anger as she saw the children’s faces behind the bars and with it came clarity on what she needed to do. ‘You are fools,’ she said to her people, instead of the gentle entreaty she had intended to use. ‘You are prideful fools, but that is your right. It is your right to sacrifice your flesh for an ideal, if that is what you wish to do. You deserve this. You deserve every moment of torture you endure, because you have also made the choice to force your children, who cannot speak for themselves and rely on you to safeguard their wellbeing, to endure this torture too.’ She drew in a deep breath as the braver or more resilient responded in a ferocious wave of antipathy.

  ‘Call me a whore,’ she snapped in reply. ‘Call me a whore, a traitor, a slut; if that is what you wish to do. I do not care. My children are not behind bars, their bellies are not empty, and they do not suffer! The Monad is merciful to them. You are underserved of his mercy. So I will take your children from you. You do not deserve to even know what is to become of them,’ she turned on her heel. ‘Executioner Gat, I want every child, every single child, removed from these dungeons immediately.’ She glared her challenge at Gallant, but he seemed amused rather than argumentative.

  ‘And in taking these children, what do you think to achieve?’ Gallant mocked her mildly as he trailed her from the room. ‘Do you think to start you school for the misguided? Do you think Cinder will welcome such initiative in his leman? Or the expense, or use of manpower, that it would require to run?’

  Once in the corridor beyond, Patience drew a deep breath and released it, centring herself. ‘To be honest, my Lord,’ she admitted. ‘I have no idea. I was just so… so angry I did not think beyond the immediate need to punish them for their misdeeds.’ And save those poor babes, she added silently, from your savagery. She pressed a hand to her stomach. Nothing, absolutely nothing she had to do, would be too much if in doing it she could keep her children from this place. ‘Please, can we please go?’

  Rogue

  She was shaking. For the longest time, she stood in the shadows and trembled. She had not felt this fragile in a long, long time. Her skin felt thin, her bones brittle. If a moth landed on her now, she feared she would break apart beneath its weight. Her mind refused to focus, flicking between half-forgotten memories and visions of the future. She dug her nails into the palm of her hand, the sharp pain bringing her tenaciously into reality.

  Patience... Patience brought about this fragility in her.... Memories of her mother, perhaps.... She was not sure. It was too confused, too jumbled in her mind. It may have even been Patience’s importance in the future which made her feel so on edge and shaky. Yes, yes, that would make sense. She liked that last. It was less weak of her to flail at the future rather than remembered affections.

  She drew the dagger from her hip and bared an arm. A quick swipe; the blood welled from the shallow seam in her skin, the fraying of flesh pulling apart like lips. The blood was not sufficient to flow. Twice more she cut, the third time a little deeper. The motion, watching the blood rise, the brief stinging pain, calmed her. Remember, she thought to herself each time, remember; a small spell to
seal the memory for future review when she was better prepared to do so, visions of the future too precious to be left to the vagaries of the mind.

  Three red lines joined an erratic arrangement of white scars lining her arm; memories made flesh of visions of the future. She wiped the dagger clean, the memory sealed and safe, and refocussed on slowing her erratic breathing and heartbeat. She needed to get herself under control before someone saw her like this. Too much rode upon the image of cold competence and brutal savagery that she had cultivated over the years.

  She felt unclean. The dungeons always had that effect on her. She always emerged feeling like she carried a film of filth and suffering on her skin. She headed to her rooms catching a page and ordering a full bath, searing hot, on her way. As she made her way through the main hall, she saw them in the distance, saw them see her and pause, Coal frowning and Ash meeting her eyes with challenge. She quickened her pace, lifting the hood of her cloak over her head. They knew the signature feathers and bone of her cloak – each Hallow decorated their cloak as they felt fit – so lifting her hood would not hide her from them, but doing so might indicate that she was working and to leave her alone.

  She took a side passage, not wanting to head directly to her rooms. They had never been there – it felt too personal – but she knew they would know where she slept when she slept alone, it being impossible to keep such things secret in a castle serviced by gossipy pages. Going to her rooms would ruin the effect of raising her hood: she was not working if she was going to her own quarters.

  She cut through one of the courtyard gardens, hoping to lose them in the maze of Amori. There was a tree that formed a secret bower that no one seemed to know of, she had lurked in there several times and used it again now as a point from which to watch for pursuit. None came. She did not know whether she was disappointed. Her feelings towards the EAerymen were confused at best.

  She was having a terrible day she thought wryly. At least the pages had now had time to get her bath ready. She took a more direct route to her rooms. The last page was just leaving as she entered. The wooden bath barrel stood steaming before the fireplace, cloths for drying on a rack within reach and lay around the floor to catch errant drips. Frustratingly, they were there, Ash reclining upon her bed whilst Coal lingered near the window; they must have headed to her rooms when they had lost sight of her, knowing that she would have to eventually return there. What a boon it must have been for them to find the pages setting up her bath; confirmation of her intention to return shortly.

  She dropped her cloak onto the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. ‘I did not invite you here,’ she said savagely pulling her boots from her feet.

  ‘You are upset,’ Coal turned to face her, an expression she could not quite name pulled at his face.

  ‘No, I am Hallow,’ she hissed at him and yanked off her bodice and threw it atop the cloak. ‘We do not get upset.’ She yanked off her pants, stumbling slightly as one foot stuck, before kicking them off in fury. ‘I am taking a bath. Leave.’ She pointed to the door.

  ‘If you wanted us to leave,’ Ash pointed out, ‘you would have told us to do so before removing your clothing. I think you are spoiling for a fight or a fvccant and you know that we are the cure for your need.’

  ‘Arrogance,’ she tugged her fingers through her hair. ‘I am not spoiling for a fight or a fvccant, I am going to have a bath, and then go to sleep.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ Ash flicked his fingers at her dismissively.

  ‘You are still here,’ she pointed out.

  ‘And you are still naked,’ he grinned. ‘And not nearly wet enough for someone professing to want a bath.’

  ‘Ergh!’ she threw her hands into the air and stomped over to the bath. It was steaming hot. She gritted her teeth and sunk up to her shoulders in it.

  ‘It is far too hot,’ Coal reproved pulling a stool over to behind her head. ‘Your skin is reddened from the water. It is not good to overheat yourself in such a way.’ He straddled the stool and dipped a wooden cup into the water. He poured it carefully over her hair. She considered protesting his assumptive touch, but his fingers against her scalp felt too nice. She relaxed and let him rub soap through her hair.

  There had been too many cold baths in her life, she thought. ‘I like it hot,’ she replied somnolently. The soap was scented with EAeryian Blessed Orchid – they must have sent a page to bring it from their own supply. They seemed fond of the scent on her; it was not the first time they had anointed her with it. She wondered if its use was significant, and what she should do about it if it were.

  He rinsed her hair. ‘Do you want to talk about why you are upset?’ he asked taking up a wash cloth and rubbing soap on it.

  ‘Not particularly,’ she replied, closing her eyes against the entreating enquiry in his. The wash cloth rubbed relaxing circles over her tense shoulders until the muscles surrendered and relaxed. The coarse cloth rubbed its way between her breasts and over her belly, before returning up to the peaks to rub circles round her nipples. She hissed between her teeth, but not with annoyance. The warmth, the relaxing hair wash and shoulder rub, the coarse cloth over her skin, and his subtle masculine scent in her nose as he leaned over her awoke a deeper need in her body. ‘Curse you,’ she muttered, disgruntled. ‘I do not want to copulate with you.’

  ‘Did we say anything about copulation?’ he murmured in her ear. The cloth travelled down to the sensitive flesh between her legs and she opened for him regardless of her misgivings. The cloth felt fabulous, and he was learning her body, growing skilled in how she liked to be touched.

  ‘Why do you persist?’ she whispered, achingly. ‘I am Hallow… defiled.’

  ‘Not to us,’ he whispered back finding the sweet spot so she arched and moaned with orgasm. ‘To us you are perfect.’

  Praise

  Praise watched the dragons soar in the sky like exotic birds of prey.

  The beach spread in a perfect curve of white sand, kissed on the inner curve by the sparkling azure ocean as it lapped its way towards land. At the edge of the sand, the spiky grasses waved feathered heads, and the palms bowed in acknowledgement of the slight wind that rose from over the water. She stood in the shade of one of the palms, her palm resting against its smooth trunk. Did she hide? She didn’t like to think so; avoided was the phrase she was leaning towards.

  She wasn’t forbidden to wander off alone, exactly, but it seemed that every time she headed off somewhere, someone came along in a very companionable, but unavoidable, way. There was a bond, a unity, to the dragon riders, and she knew that this was their way of looking after their newest member. But, she needed time away from them to assimilate her new life, and they had forced her to be, not exactly dishonest, but certainly covert about doing so.

  And now, she knew, she felt, with that inner sense that seemed to grow daily, that Ember had noticed her absence, and this jangled up her spine and set a backdrop of anxiety to the otherwise peaceful moment. It wasn’t fear - Ember would not harm her – that she felt, just unease. He wanted her return, and she was resisting. She knew it was only a matter of time before he would be able to see in her mind where she was and would come and get her.

  ‘It is a beautiful day, is it not?’ a woman appeared out of seemingly nowhere and scared her out of her wits. For a moment, before her mind registered that the woman was not a rider, she feared that she had been followed after all and that there would be questions about the secrecy and stealth of her movements that she did not want to answer.

  The woman’s long hair was white in the same way that Ember’s was red – not anything within the realms of gingery hues that humans titled red hair, like Praise’s own hair, but actual red, like fresh blood – and Praise wondered if she was an omniscient creature like the dragons - or a dragon, though she did not remember seeing a white dragon in the tangle. ‘The perfect day for a beach walk,’ the woman continued.

  Praise realised that she was being rude, caught silent in her own po
nderings – never a good thing with omniscient creatures, she had learnt through association with Ember’s dragon tangle, as one never knew what they’d take offense to. ‘I am sorry,’ she flushed. ‘I was caught in my own thoughts. Yes, it is a lovely day.’

  ‘They must be deep thoughts to absorb you so,’ the woman considered her with eyes so pale a blue as to almost be clear. ‘Are you troubled, my dear?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Praise didn’t lie, precisely. Something about the lady was troubling her, but the woman’s identity wasn’t the thought that absorbed her mind. She frowned.

  ‘That is good. It is good to be free of troubles,’ the woman smiled.

  ‘Do I know you?’ Praise asked.

  The woman considered her. ‘Can we ever truly know another person?’ she replied evasively.

  ‘I do!’ Praise was outraged with recognition. ‘It is you! You gave me to that – that man! And he gave me to the dragons! I could have been killed. You-’ she sputtered her ire wordlessly.

  ‘You are still alive, however,’ the woman was unperturbed. ‘So it all worked out in the end, did it not?’

  ‘Worked out?’ Praise demanded. ‘How has it worked out for me? I am...’ she didn’t know what she was.

  ‘Alive,’ the woman finished for her. ‘Which you would not have been by now if I had not set you on this path. In fact, on bare facts, I believe you owe me your life. You would have starved to death, or fallen prey to one of the many night-time predators of Amori’s streets – maybe ending your life in a puddle of blood after being raped repeatedly – not a pleasant way to die. Instead, here you are, whole and hale, well fed, well clad, a glowing image of health and wellbeing.’