by Mira Zamin
It was strange that my first reaction to the man bent over Auralia was disappointment. Or perhaps not that strange at all, considering the shredded condition of my heart. It was an instant of a queer, half-hopeful spasm in my heart, followed by a flash of discontent, and finally the balm of relief. The man’s breath was heavy and it appeared that he had only been a few steps ahead of us the entire time—but that may have been the magic of the labyrinth. Something on the ground winked back with a cool glow and as I focused on it, I saw an axe, one I happened to recognize, one that usually hung in the Room of Reflection and had been forged by the Pari long, long ago. There they were, haloed in silvery luminescence. The soft light of the moon, my namesake, refracted through dozens of crystals, curled over them, embracing them, pushing them together. And slowly, slowly, he brought his lips to hers. I held my breath.
Her lashes fluttered open heavily and her eyes widened as they beheld her savior, my savior in the dim glitter of the crystal fortress.
“Auralia,” he breathed as if he had never spoken a word more precious in his life.
“Ferdas.” Her voice was a throaty whisper. “I dreamed of you.”
“And I you. Every night.” He ran a finger down her cheek in disbelief. Carefully, she raised herself up and curled a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him once more. They parted.
“I hoped you would come,” she sighed, nestling her head sleepily against his chest.
He held her hand to his lips. “I am sorry I waited so long, beloved.”
Placing a hand on the shoulder of one of my companions, I slowly and silently backed away. It took every fiber of strength to take those steps, to postpone our long-awaited reunion a while longer. I would have stayed, run forth to be reunited with my sister, but I had no place in this moment. In fact, I, twisted by fear, had done all I could to hinder its arrival. Besides, let Auralia have her brief breath of perfection—madness enough waited in the world outside, madness enough had she experience in the years before her sleep.
One step. My regiment followed me, moving silently for men who were still fully armed. Two. Three. I felt the warm, dry air stroke my back. Desert stars dazzled my eyes. My guards tripped out after me.
“Are you satisfied?” asked the djinn calmly. He almost melted into the night sky, as if the darkness was just waiting to swallow him up. His face was cut into its ever-present lines of patience and I wondered if he were ever anything but impassive. Did he laugh? It would seem as impossible as an ancient tree chuckling, but he, despite his powers, was a being like a human. Surely he felt something other than detachment.
I thought about what I had just witnessed. The curse had been lifted, by Ferdas no less, over whom I had broken my heart over those years ago. It had not even been a year since the enchantment had fallen. The thought boggled my mind. And some would say that the curse virtually left us unscathed, but thinking of Talia, of my own girl, Evela, of the bloody battle being fought between the hills of Lariya I knew that this resolution was hard won, that it was still being won, being lost, somewhere far away.
So was I satisfied. “Quite.” A wide grin belied my brisk words. “How long were we within?”
Impassively, he reported, “Seven hours.”
Had it felt that long within the labyrinth? Longer? Shorter? Surely it had been longer. The time that we had passed within, the memories and images, were already beginning to muddle and blur. “Return us to our generals then,” adding, “Of course, this is not a wish.”
A ghost of a smirk flickered across his face. “Of course not.”
And once more, we were plucked from the earth, stretched and kneaded and fired like clay. My eyes were closed and I was afraid to open them, afraid of what I might see. I did not hear the sounds of war, the shrieks of horses, the cries of fighting men, the chime of swords. I did not smell fresh blood, salt and iron, nor sweat, sticky and frightened.
I opened my eyes.
As the light steadied, I saw a circle of faces, surrounding a campfire, gaping at me. Familiar faces, friendly faces.
“Your Majesty.”
“Tell me what happened!” I ordered, stepping closer to the seated group.
Banked embers crackled lightly in the late night coolness and occasional breezes grazed goose bumps over my skin, carrying the scents of piss and ale.
“Quenela’s forces were defeated. It was a decisive victory. The benefit of our positioning was not easily ignored and the men—and women—” Niara added, seeming pleased, “fought valiantly. We took hundreds of prisoners, including Quenela, Hadil, Kaladus, and Fyodor themselves. And another man you may be interested in, Farzal, who was once your steward in Aquia.”
I wrinkled my nose in distaste. And then a fear struck me. What if he had told Quenela? It was such an immense secret and so many knew. As long as Auralia never knows.
Niara pushed the four forth, their hands and feet bound. They shuffled forward sleepily. Quenela’s face was bowed, a deep scratch gouged by the side of her eye. I wondered if she had fought defeat to the last. Hadil swayed, his head bowed. I shook my head. He was my family, my own sister’s father-in-law. He should have remained remained loyal Ghalain. I had no attention to spare for Kaladus, who stood straight-backed and defiant, but my gaze lingered on Fyodor, the betrayer.
“When we return to the Alhazar, send them to the dungeons, installed in four separate chambers. They will know their fate once I devise...something suitable.” A wait for their sentence and then reparations, confinement, and being stripped of their titles would serve them nicely. And if they knew of Talia’s true descent, I would not hesitate to find a means to silence them effectively.
I watched Quenela. Every fiber of her being projected resistance. Perhaps something harsher for her. She was the lead traitor, after all. The thought did not sit well with me and I pushed it aside. Whatever Quenela’s politics, I could not but admire the woman her conviction. Although, she would not hesitate to detach my head from my body had she the chance.
“Very good, your Majesty.”
I looked around and realized that two very important faces were missing. “Where are Kershid and Liem?” I asked, suddenly nervous.
Niara and Baswor exchanged looks. “I am afraid...your Majesty.”
Lyra patted my hand gently, her eyes starry with tears. “My Queen, it is with deepest grief that I—” Her voice broke. “Liem was killed.”
I clutched my throat. “What? How? No! It cannot be! Say it is not so!”
But no one belied the news.
“And Kershid?” I felt heavy and tired, my head swollen and my throat tight.
“I am here.” He strode into the circle, eyes dark rimmed, still in his battle armor. He knelt before me and kissed my hand. “Your Majesty.” His voice cracked. Heedless of protocol, I enveloped him in my arms as he sobbed into my skirts and my own tears rained on my face for cheerful, good-natured, and devastatingly handsome Liem. Liem who had greeted me on my first day in Nyneveh, who had congratulated me on my wedding, who had been a bulwark of good humor in the dark sea of court life. Who had died for me.
“And precisely where were you?” inquired Corrine as Kershid stepped away and wiped his tears. At my level look, she added a belated, “Your Majesty.”
I lowered myself on the earth and spread my skirts primly and tried my very best to put away my grief for a later time. “I am pleased to announce that the Aquian curse has been lifted.”
There was an outburst of “How?” and “Seasons!” and even “Congratulations!” At the sound of the outcry, there were a few, faint drunken cries of solidarity, cheering whatever there was to be cheered on this night of victory. A few revelers still celebrated, but it appeared that the festival of the soldiers had largely tapered off due to the lateness of the night. Fighting was hard work and partying after the battle really took it out of a man.
I smiled wanly. “Our good friend Ferdas has roused the sleeping beauty.”
“Will your Majesty return home, then?”
asked Kershid hoarsely.
I bit my lip. I longed for the peace and purity of Aquia, but my duty was to Ghalain. I could not be constantly disappearing into Aquia. “Home to Nyneveh? But of course. My place is here.”
There was silence.
“Bah!” Corrine interrupted. “The battle is done, the opponents captured neatly. We will be marching back to Nyneveh shortly, you go ahead.”
My attention wandered to the receding figure of Fyodor, being taken by a guard to his tent. I liked Corrine, but I had liked Fyodor. And I rankled at her thinking to give me permission, as if I were her granddaughter and not her sovereign. This war had been won, but if I had thought that would settle me in my queenship before the eyes of all, it only proved my naiveté. There was too much to lose by not riding in with the victorious army, and though I hated it, a slight suspicion uncoiled in my breast. Returning immediately to Aquia was a tempting prospect, one that I longed for, but I shook my ahead. “When we return to Nyneveh, I will ride in the front. After all, I am Queen.”