Arc 3: Chapter 29: Bonds

Arc 3: Chapter 29: Bonds

I stared at the face in the mirror, trying to recognize it.

I stood in a private room in the queen-consort’s bastion. Clean and comfortably furnished, a still-steaming tub lay on the floor and clean clothes were strewn across a cushioned couch. They’d probably burned the ones I’d arrived in.

I’d lost weight during my imprisonment, and my musculature looked ghoulish, the skin clinging tight after the bath. I’d turned pale from so much time in the dark. Kross had known my powers kept me healthier than most men, so they’d been able to starve me more thoroughly.

My beard grew in an angry, wiry mass, its red darker than the copper tint of my hair, which fell past my shoulders, lank and tangled even after I’d tried attacking it with a comb.

The gold in my eyes seemed dimmer, closer to amber now, the faint light in them almost imperceptible. My cheekbones jutted out like precipices over the hollows of my cheeks, and my lips had thinned into a sour line I couldn’t relax.

I looked drained. Wasted.

I’d always been broad of build, with wide shoulders and long, strong arms. I’d gotten leaner, lost body mass. I looked older than I’d ever had, in a way the lasting youth the Sidhe magic had given me couldn’t mask.

I’d gotten lice, too, in the dark of Oraise’s dungeon.

Going into Rose Malin had been a terrible idea. I’d acted impulsively. I’d believed I could barrel my way through any situation.

I had people relying on me now. This wasn’t a war zone or a demon-haunted wilderness. If I acted brashly, people died.

I was a mess. My eyes fell to a razor and a pair of scissors lying on the vanity.

I tightened my jaw and grabbed the razor.

***

The servant stepped into the room where I was to dine with the Empress ahead of me, bowed low and said, “Master Alken, Your Grace.”

Ser Kaia stood by the door on guard, her clamshell helm once again covering her face. I felt her eyes on me, felt her distrust. I ignored her.

I heard Rose’s purring tenor from within, thanking the servant and permitting me entry.

I took a deep breath and entered a dimly lit, richly furnished dining hall. A table large enough to seat a small company dominated the space, and a hearth crackled energetically on one wall. The hearth’s light mixed with the candle glow of a chandelier above the table, an ostentatious piece carved from glass and metal, fashioned into a scene of hunting elves chasing horned demons around in circles.

I wondered if the piece’s makers found that as ironic as I did.

Even with spring well in season, the heights of the Empress’s bastion kept a lasting chill. Large windows opposite the fireplace gave us a view of sea. The most recent storm had passed, allowing the moons to shine forth over the Riven, casting titan blades of emerald and silver over black waters.

Framed in that moonlight where she stood by the windows waited the Empress of Urn. Rosanna Silvering turned as I entered, her hands folded over her pregnant stomach.

She’d changed her garments in the hour since I’d last seen her. Gone was the cloak of mist, the rich gown and the gemstone hairnet. She’d rearranged her black hair into two braided ropes which hung down the front of either shoulder, framing her neck and breasts. She wore a simpler dress of deep green and sea blues with layered sleeves, tight at the wrists in the popular northern fashion of late.

I felt an old pang — I’d once been very attracted to Rosanna, when I’d been young and foolish enough to believe a lowborn swordsman could have a chance with a royal. I’d learned better, and we’d found a different form of love besides. The love of comrades, of confidants, hard earned through many trials, though it had started to wither well before everything had gone wrong.

It didn’t mean I didn’t still find her beautiful. She was, and age hadn’t tarnished her at all, only given her a poise the stern girl in my memories hadn’t yet fully claimed. She seemed calmer than I remembered, more controlled.

More than that, in my auratic senses she blazed. Many of the high nobility are born with the seed of powerful Art, and though Rose had never cultivated her magic into a technique, she had the unearthly charisma many of her station possessed. It was what allowed her to be heard clear as thunder even when she but murmured a few soft words.

She turned to me, studied me a moment, and then pressed the tips of her ring-laden fingers to her mouth. Not to hide a laugh — the expression was one of shock, even pain.

“Alken, you—”

“Yeah,” I said, self-consciously reaching up to scratch at my hair, or what I’d left of it. I’d shaved my face, and in a fit of pique I’d shorn off my copper locks as well, leaving little more than a thin fuzz along my scalp.

I hadn’t been gentle, and my skin felt raw. Cold, too.

“Not a good look?” I asked, trying for humor.

“It just took me off guard,” Rosanna said, recovering. Her eyes lingered on my scars. They’d be much more visible now, without long bangs to held mask them.

I shrugged. We sat then, taking our places at opposite ends of the table. I saw the array of food there, and my mouth began to water. I hadn’t eaten well in...

Well, I didn’t hesitate. Once Rosanna nodded her assent, I tucked in. I didn’t come up for air for a while.

“How did your meeting with young Emma go?” Rose asked, after letting me break my fast. She’d barely touched her own food, and played idly with a beautiful silver cup without sipping its contents.

I grunted, dabbing at my mouth with a cloth. I knew my manners were terrible, especially in present company, but I was too starved and too many years an exile to care much. “She’s not happy with me. Emma is... Well, she can be willful.”

“I quite like her,” Rosanna said, smiling faintly.

You would, I silently grumbled. You’re practically two peas in a pod, even if she took more to swordplay than state.

“She’s a strong spirit,” I said aloud. “I’m doing what I can to guide her right, but... It’s hard. Knowing what’s right, I mean.”

“She’s noble born,” Rosanna said, with no particular implication in her tone.

I fell quiet, knowing those words tread on dangerous ground. “Yes.”

When I didn’t elaborate, the Empress nodded and sipped from her silver cup.

Though I still felt loyalty to Rose, and that feeling bordered on something integral in me, I did not trust her. I trusted her even less than Lias, in some ways. She was a monarch, after all, and Emma the last scion of an ancient line.

In other words, a potential tool. I wouldn’t let that become known to the Accord if I could avoid it.

“There’s a demon in your city,” I blurted, half to change the subject.

Rosanna flinched. I could count the number of times I’d seen her flinch on one hand. “You’re certain?” She asked, reasserting control.

“I spoke to it just earlier tonight,” I said. Had that really been tonight? So much had happened so quickly.

“Is that why you’re here?” She asked.

“...In part,” I admitted. “I didn’t know before I arrived, but I have been tracking... enemies.”

Rosanna studied me a long while. She didn’t do anything so crass as narrow her eyes.

“I am tempted to order you to tell me everything,” she said.

I settled back in my chair. “No need. I’ll tell you what matters.”

And I did. I didn’t tell her about my work as Headsman, or the Choir, or anything that would implicate her in matters bordering on heresy. I told her of the Recusants in Caelfall, of their potential alliance with Talsyn, and of my suspicions about their presence in the city.

By the end of my telling, Rosanna was massaging one temple with her ring-laden fingers. “Conspiracy with Talysn. I can’t say I’m surprised. Do you know the Emperor has been in peace talks with King Hasur?”

I blinked. “I did not.”

Rosanna nodded, setting her cup down next to her still-full plate. “If I bring this to him, he will want evidence. He will want to be certain.” She met my eyes, her emerald irises flashing with a steely emotion. “I cannot act on rumor and whispers alone. Not even from you.”

I nodded, having expected as much. “I don’t even know how Talsyn is involved, if at all, only that the Council of Cael — that’s been my name for them — were apparently in Hasur Vyke’s court last year. I suspect they’re here, Rose, I’ve got no proof. I do know the spirit they bound is here, though, and I intend to hunt it down.”

Rosanna lifted her glass as though to toast me. “In that, you have my full blessing. I’d assign Lias to aid you, if I knew where the fox was hiding.” She sighed. “If he’s caught in the city, I may not be able to protect him. I’m not even certain I should.”

“As for other leads,” Rosanna said, glancing toward the window. “I have had some of my own people investigating this. Nothing dedicated, you understand, lest the Presider know I’m on the hunt. This has been going on for months, but so far? Nothing of substance has come up. I believe some other elements of the Church may know more. I have considered asking the Abbey — they’ve always been easier to deal with — but the priesthood has withdrawn into itself. Tensions between the aristocracy and the clergy are high, and I haven’t gained any cooperation. If someone knows something, they’re damn well keeping it to themselves.”

She sipped from her cup, the motion almost petulant. I almost smiled. That was more like the Rose I remembered.

“You said the Presider is questioning nobles,” I said. “Surely someone’s let something slip? Have you questioned the people he’s questioned?”

“I’ve had my people make inquiries,” Rosanna admitted. “Whatever else can be said about him, Oraise isn’t a fool. He’s left few crumbs for anyone else to follow and no one is willing to tell my allies much. They either distrust me or they’re scared of him, or both. Sometimes they mean well, and they think siding with him is the pious thing to do. They don’t understand he is no man of faith himself — he’s just using the power it gives him.”

I wasn’t certain I agreed. Oraise had displayed a quiet zealotry, a dedication bordering on fever. He’d controlled it, channelled it, but I suspected that cold, terrible man very fervently believed he did God’s will.

I frowned, tapping a fork against my plate idly. “Whatever he’s looking for, he thinks he can find it through the aristocracy. What about the commoners?”

“There have been reports of the priorguard in the streets,” Rosanna told me. “Nothing like you’d expect. No raids or beatings, no suspected heretics taken into custody. The Priory is popular right now. I imagine they don’t want their dog taking an axe to that good will. Still, the man’s become more brazen these last weeks. He’s moved from questions to covert threats. It’s almost like he’s trying to scare a fox out of its den.”

That was my thought as well, hearing all the details.

“I think he might be hunting the same thing I am,” I said quietly. “Woed attacked one of the Priorguard safe houses tonight, the one where they held me. I think the demon was attacking them in retaliation.”

Yith’s “disciples” had been there as a raid, unless I still missed something.

Rosanna frowned. “That means Oraise might be getting close to finding whatever he’s looking for.”

“Maybe,” I agreed. “When Oraise interrogated me, he seemed uninterested in anything I had to say about cults and demons. The man’s an enigma.”

We fell quiet awhile, both retreating into our own thoughts. I chewed on everything Rosanna had said even as I chewed on the lavish meal I’d been offered.

After a while I said, “I’ll help. Or, I’ll try. But I need you to understand something before we go further.”

The Empress of Urn nodded, frowning slightly. She didn’t say anything, waiting for me to explain.

“I have my own reason to be here,” I told her. “I’m a soldier, and a terrible spy. I’m here to punish murderers, and hunt down a monster. I’ll help your people where I can, but I have my priorities.”

Rosanna sighed. “You’re still just as insolent as you used to be.” She smiled to take any reprimand from the words. “But you’re right. As I said earlier, Alken — you can walk away from all of this and face no hostility from me.”

“I don’t know why you’d want me for a subtle job,” I grumbled. “Don’t you have spies for this?”

“I do have them, yes.” Rosanna’s smile changed into something a wicked queen in an old fable might wear. “And believe me, I am using them. But you always did have less conventional tactics. Perhaps you can turn something up with that blundering about of yours?”

“Is that really what you want to call it?” I asked, pained. Inside, I suspected a very different motive — just like Lias had said back at the Fane, I was an outcast with no lingering political connections. A useful cat’s paw, which Rosanna could easily disavow if I were caught again.

She was a monarch, and would use anything and everything. I’d once resented her for it, but I understood the world better now.

Rosanna stifled a laugh. We might have said more, but just then a knock came at the door. The Empress suddenly looked... Scared. Alarmed.

She covered her reaction quickly and stood in a decisive motion, masking any emotion behind her usual regal grace.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing.” She took a deep breath. “Nothing’s wrong. There is someone I would like you to meet.” She turned toward the door and commanded, “Enter.”

The door opened and a maid shuffled in. She ushered two smaller figures forward, both of whom ran to the Empress without hesitation.

They were children. Two boys. One, the larger of the two, had his father’s deep brown hair and serious dark eyes. He stared at me and stepped forward just enough to put himself between me and his mother. A brave little knight in a steel gray doublet and golden buttons.

The younger acted more his age. He had his mother’s raven dark hair and green eyes, and he hid behind the Empress’s skirts to peer at me, balling rich fabric in his fists as though it were a shield.

Rosanna placed a gentle hand on the younger boy’s head and her other on the older’s shoulder. I’d never seen such a warm expression on her face, not in all the long years of war, intrigue, and dire prophecy we’d faced together.

“Alken, these are my sons. I wanted you to meet them.”

I hadn’t realized I’d risen from my own seat until I stepped forward. Still, I kept my distance.

I realized, in a flash of self-insight, that I was afraid of those two boys. Not because of who they were or what they might become, but because of what I was, and the danger I represented to them and their family. I wasn’t the royal champion any longer, not the Alder Knight to be trusted.

I was the Blackbough, the Headsman, the Choir of God’s weapon and demon-marked. Melodramatic, maybe, but true.

Why did Rosanna tolerate me in that room? Why did she still treat me like family, rather than send me from her palace at the point of a sword?

I didn’t deserve to be there, to be shown those two princes like a trusted uncle.

Rosanna didn’t seem to note the pain in my eyes. She gently pushed the two princes toward me. “Malcolm, Darsus, this is Ser Alken.” Ser Alken, she said. “I have known him for many years. I’ve told you stories, remember?”

“He fought your cousins,” the older boy, Malcom, said. He didn’t sound like a seven year old. He’d probably been born not long after my trial at the ruins of Kingsmeet, but he spoke with the cautious deliberation of an experienced courtier. It was uncanny.

He frowned at me, as though I represented some odd puzzle. “You said you wouldn’t have met Father if not for him.”

Rosanna glanced at me with a secret smile and said, “That’s true. He was my champion. My best knight.”

“Ser Kaia is your best knight!” The younger boy, Darsus, protested. He scowled at me. How old was he? Four? Five? Could he really string that many words together already?

The Empress laughed, almost girlishly. “Let us hope we never have to test that.”

I would never, for all the years I lived and strange shores I traveled to, forget that moment. All those years I’d been wandering like an avenging wraith — killing who I was told to kill, avoiding my old life and any reminder of it, resenting its memory — I’d given myself fully to trying to find some sort of penance, believing all the while I didn’t deserve it.

And there Rosanna stood. She’d made for herself a family. A kingdom. She was putting her all into creating the kind of world she wanted to live in, for her children to live in.

And what had I done? Remained trapped in the past, fighting the ghosts of the past? Losing myself to violence, teetering on the edge of apathy?

How many times had I thrown myself into a battle I knew I couldn’t win, secretly hoping it might be my last?

What had I done? What had I been doing?

It didn’t matter, I realized. What mattered was what I did next.

I knew. From the moment Rosanna had asked for my help, I’d known.

I had thought my world had died that day, when a monster wearing the face of someone I’d thought I loved had told me everything I fought for was a lie. But the world remained — wounded perhaps, but not dead. There were still things worth fighting for in it.

Maybe I couldn’t be redeemed, but redemption was a selfish thing to fight for anyway.

My battles were far from done.

I stepped forward and knelt before the two young royals, just like the knight I’d once been. “It’s good to meet you, my lords. I am at your service.”

End of Arc Three