Death's Abyss

by S D Simper

  Tallora smiled, gratified when Dauriel glanced up to see it. “But my whole world has changed,” she continued, “and not for the better. I don’t know anything anymore. Nearly everyone I’ve ever loved is gone, my home is destroyed, and I’m probably stupid to be here, but . . .” Her own tears threatened to rise, but she forced them away, knowing that once she cried, she wouldn’t stop. “You’re one of the only things I have left, and now you’re off to die as well. I can be angry once you’re gone. I want to love you while I still can.”

  Dauriel trembled as she leaned up and kissed her lips, her tears staining Tallora’s cheeks. When she pulled away, she held herself like a guppy before a shark. “I’ll never lie to you again. I’ll seal it in blood—whatever it takes for you to know I mean it.”

  Tallora touched her swollen face, stroked gentle lines upon it. “You can’t make that promise. Not as empress. Not when Solvira is your priority.”

  “Tallora, I am so sorry.” The empress’ eyes glistened, her cheeks red and blotchy.

  Tallora smiled as she cupped Dauriel’s cheek. “I forgive you—”

  “Don’t,” Dauriel said—mouthed, really, fresh tears stealing her word.

  “Too late, Empress,” Tallora said with a wink, but Dauriel fell apart in her arms nonetheless. As she wept, Tallora placed successive kisses upon her hair, content to cradle Dauriel forever if needs be. “I’m worried. I know more than you realize. I heard you crying to Khastra the night I caught you with the courtesans. I saw what happened last night—everything, Dauriel, from the council meeting until you collapsed in tears in the training grounds.”

  Dauriel’s grip tightened, sobs shaking her form.

  “I love you,” Tallora said, vehement as she brought Dauriel’s tear-streaked face to look at her. “Your sacrifice for the world will be the noblest of acts, but I’m worried you’re being reckless because you don’t want to be here anymore. Death was always your chance to escape—and now you’ve found a way.”

  Exhaustion fell upon Dauriel’s countenance. Her hand came up to touch Tallora’s face, sliding to the back of her neck as she held them together. “I’m losing my mind.”

  “You’re hurting—”

  “No.” Dauriel stiffened, her tears still falling like gentle rain. “No, I’m losing myself.”

  Tallora’s thumb stroked a tender line along Dauriel’s jaw. “I don’t understand.”

  Again, Tallora saw that shame, and she longed to kiss it away. “I don’t know how to explain this horrible thing inside me. I’ve never been good at discussing feelings, but I feel like a nerve; I feel like a bloody, open wound, and all I can do is drink to numb it. My mind has always been dark, but lately it’s screaming and I can’t breathe—” Her eyes squeezed shut, anguish and shame twisting her features. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about those damned whores. You didn’t—I just—I—” Dauriel’s composure fell apart once more, but Tallora tried to catch her.

  “I don’t care,” she pled, heart breaking when Dauriel wailed into her dress. “I swear to you, I don’t care. Yes, it hurt to see, but we weren’t together—”

  But Dauriel sobbed, drowning out Tallora’s words. Helpless, Tallora simply held her, her own composure barely holding on as the minutes passed.

  Her memory welled a painful thought, of words her mother had spoken long ago—that to love someone broken could hurt as much as it healed, and that sometimes the only reward was to see another sunrise after a long night of soothing their aching soul.

  When her empress’ cries had dwindled into trembling, sniffling sobs, Tallora kissed her hair, sweaty from her exhausted state. “Let me help you,” she pled, but Dauriel shook her head. “Dauriel, if there’s anything I can do—”

  “There isn’t a monster to fight; not when the monster is simply me.” She shut her eyes, setting her head against Tallora’s chest. “Despite everything, I shall be my mother all the same. It’s good I can’t have children—they’d be as fucked as I am. But instead of ruining the lives of my people, I’d rather die as—”

  “Please stop. You’re not a monster, Dauriel.” Tallora held tight to Dauriel, wishing so dearly she could chase her demons away. The whole world feared Dauriel, but this wasn’t cruelty or narcissism. This wasn’t a mirror of her tempestuous progenitors her kingdom had come to fear. Dauriel was vicious, but she’d always been just to her own.

  This was despair.

  “I’ve told you about my papa,” Tallora whispered. “When I was a little girl, he told me there was a worm inside his head who whispered cruel things and made him sick—so sick that he’d sometimes stay in bed for days. That was how he explained it to me. I told him I’d fight it for him.” She smiled, but it hurt—a wound that still ached on dark, lonely nights. “My papa’s mind also screamed at him, and he was the kindest, sweetest man to ever live. He was worth fighting for, and my mother loved him with all her heart.”

  “Yes,” Dauriel said, her words hollow and void, “and then he killed himself.”

  Tallora shut her eyes, jaw clenching at those terrible, damning words. Trembling, she pressed her lips against Dauriel’s forehead, her breath escaping as a violent shudder. “What do you need? Right now—what can I give you?”

  Dauriel whispered, “Just stay. For a moment.”

  “I’ll stay forever,” Tallora replied, and it frightened her so, to realize the truth.

  What she wanted, she dared not contemplate. Instead, they simply breathed the other, drifting into a fitful rest.

  * * *

  They bathed in Dauriel’s tub, living in quiet, tentative peace. Tallora was careful to not submerge her entire self, lest she transform; instead, she washed her empress’ hair, kissed her tears when she softly cried, loved every precious moment with the woman she loved.

  Dauriel clung to her in the warm bath, the water sealing their naked bodies together. Tallora lightly stroked her short hair, content to simply hear her breathe. The innocence of it warmed her heart, and she prayed Dauriel felt some comfort in their intimacy.

  “In that meeting,” Tallora asked, recalling Moratham’s General and Dauriel’s outburst, “what did you speak of alone?”

  Dauriel shook her head. “Nothing particularly grand. My father thinks I’m justified. Toria thinks I should have at least heard the general out. Someday I shall issue an edict that states any council member who sasses the empress shall have their tongue cut out.”

  Tallora kissed her sneered lip. “While I do hope you live long enough to issue that edict, I think it would be taken poorly by the populace. Simply dismissing her is much less blood to clean up.”

  “Priestess Toria wondered if Morathma might be lying to Yu’Khrall. I think the notion is insane.”

  Tallora frowned. “King Merl said the same thing. What would you do if that was the actual truth?”

  “Exactly as I’m doing now.” Dauriel’s frown hardened her handsome features. “I will not compromise. Not with Moratham, and not with Yu’Khrall—not after all the carnage.”

  Tallora kissed the side of Dauriel’s mouth, but her empress pulled away, her frown still etched into her visage.

  Dauriel was silent for a long time as she watched the subtle ripples in the bathwater. Tallora feared what her mind had wrought, but then Dauriel finally looked up, immutable sorrow in her features. “I’m so sorry about your mother.”

  Tallora shook her head, the words bringing fresh sorrow. “We’re talking about you.”

  “Then I will be selfish and admit it’s been plaguing me to think of you all alone after that awful calamity.”

  Dauriel’s gentle gaze was an invitation, and Tallora spoke hollow, wounded words. “She didn’t die in the destruction of the city. She died when I tried to rescue her from the ruins.”

  She told the tale—of Harbinger scrying to find her, of the survivors her mother had harbored, and of Yu’Khrall’s onslaught, how he’d crushed her to death. “I held her hand as she died,” Tallora finished, quiet tears streaming
down her face. “And it hurts. I haven’t felt like this since my papa died. My mom was my only family, and now I’m alone.”

  Dauriel pulled herself up, her hand cupping Tallora’s face.

  “I miss her, Dauriel. I miss her so much. She was my whole world for so long. After my papa died, she sacrificed so much to take care of me. And one of the last conversations we had was about you, and how she disapproved, and now here I am . . .” Tallora took a painful, heaving breath, heart aching at the terrible truth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Dauriel shook her head, her grip on Tallora tightening protectively. “She wasn’t exactly wrong about me.”

  “Whether she was right or wrong doesn’t matter anymore. She’s dead. Everyone’s dead.”

  Tallora’s sobs rose, wracking her figure. She clung to Dauriel, who held her tenderly, simply letting her cry. Oh, it hurt, the pain striking anew to think of her momma’s hand falling limp, but Dauriel’s gentle touch and strong arms became the whole world.

  Her cries did quell, eventually. “She’d want me to be strong,” Tallora managed to say. She wiped away her tears, stealing a gasping breath. “When my papa died, my momma told me to take it one day at a time. To think about the years ahead without him would drive me mad with grief. So one day. Get through one day. And then tomorrow, do it again. That’s what I’ve done, even if I still cry most days, thinking about her.”

  “How can I help you get through this one?”

  Tallora sniffed, still liable to collapse into sobs anew. “Distract me.”

  Dauriel kissed her cheek. “All right,” she said, the barest beginnings of a smile pulling at her lip. It was the first Tallora had seen of it in so long; she loved it so. “All right—a distraction. How crass of a story would you like?”

  Tallora managed to smile, recalling a time long ago when Dauriel had soothed her panicked heart all through the night. She stroked her empress’ disheveled hair, adoring the dark locks. Savoring the touch, she thought only of this precious moment. “As crass as you’d like but make certain it’s funny.”

  Dauriel pressed her face back against Tallora’s breast, her hand sliding up to caress it, though there was no intention behind it. “When I was sixteen,” the empress said, “Khastra caught me staring a moment too long at a maidservant’s ass.”

  “That’s a way to start a story.” Tallora chuckled, gratified when Dauriel peered up to give her an exhausted smile.

  With her hand still cupping Tallora’s breast, she said, “I should add that I was actively fighting Khastra in the training grounds. The maidservant had been tending to one of the injured soldiers during practice—he was her lover, I think. But she bent over, and I was so shaken by the sight of her skirt tightening around her ass that Khastra whacked me on the back of the skull with her practice sword.” Dauriel reached back to part her hairline, revealing a small scar among the dark locks. “I dropped like a rock. She panicked, thinking she’d killed me.”

  Tallora grinned. “That must’ve been hilarious.”

  “I wish I could remember it. I just remember the girl’s ass and then waking up in bed with a pounding headache.”

  “That’s a cute story,” Tallora teased, but her empress shook her head.

  “It gets better.” Dauriel said, scooting up to bring their faces closer. “After that, I was banned from the training grounds for two weeks, in case there was any lingering disorientation. Khastra, of course, wasted no time in asking me what the hell went wrong—because it should have been an easy blow to parry.” She stared away toward the window, subtle amusement in her smile. “I didn’t really have an answer because I hadn’t ever considered that I was attracted to women; I told her I was distracted. That might’ve been the end of it, but then the nurse attending to me entered while we spoke. She bent over to inspect my head and her blouse fell open—and she must not have been wearing a corset because I saw everything. Khastra said after, and I do quote this directly—” Dauriel then lowered her voice, providing a crude interpretation of the half-demon’s accent. “‘You stopped listening. You were staring at her breasts like a dog at meat.’”

  When Dauriel grinned, Tallora chuckled and brought her hand to cup her precious face. “You are terrible.”

  Dauriel laughed, and Tallora’s heart delighted to hear it. “I wasn’t trying to be creepy—I’d never seen anything like it, except in artwork. But Khastra and I talked about it. She is old enough to have been married numerous times, to men and women both, so she was very supportive.” She leaned up to kiss Tallora, her lips soft and welcome. “The end.”

  “You didn’t know you liked women, though?”

  Dauriel shook her head. “I was sick for years and missed a few milestones in my youth. Most girls start falling head over heels for boys when they’re starting their monthlies—but I was crippled from pain and bedridden, so I never got to know either way.” Her humorless laugh sank Tallora’s tentative joy. “But, growing up as royalty, love was never something to pursue anyway. Whenever my mother was particularly annoyed with me, she’d threaten to find me a husband from Ilunnes and ship me off to live alone and pregnant in the swamp.”

  Tallora’s jaw fell slack at that. “That’s awful.”

  “It was, but I had an escape plan readied if she acted. Always kept knives at my bedside in case I needed to slit my own throat.”

  Tallora clutched Dauriel tight, heart aching for the little girl who had seen death as the only escape. “Well,” she whispered, agonized at Dauriel’s words, “she’s gone now. She’s gone, and you’re mine.”

  “Is that what I am?” Dauriel asked, a certain softness in her words.

  Tallora leaned in to kiss her, content to memorize her mouth and skin. “Yes,” she whispered, the truth of it piercing her brutalized heart.

  Their lips met, sweet and serene. Tallora let Dauriel lead, overjoyed to feel her mouth, letting her set the pace as her hands wandered Tallora’s body.

  Dauriel craved intimacy like a drowning man for a savior; Tallora knew this like her own skin. And so did she; in the aftermath of so much tragedy, she yearned for a moment of joy. They kissed with the softness of sunrise, their touch like lingering dew on petals, and when Dauriel pushed inside her, tears fell down Tallora’s cheeks. The empress’ tongue subdued her own, and Tallora loved to be owned, each thrust of Dauriel’s hand pulling muffled groans from her mouth.

  She savored the sensation, their slow fucking enough to bring her to the brink. When their eyes met in their lovemaking, Tallora said, “I love you.”

  Dauriel’s eyes glistened as she placed kisses upon her cheek and neck, gentle trailing words of, “I love you,” at her lips. Little bites on Tallora’s neck meant the world would know she was owned. But Dauriel owned the world, so what did their opinion matter? The gentle pace of their love never strayed, not until Tallora’s pleasure peaked, the tender cry of, “Oh, Dauriel . . ..” the one to soothe her through her body’s erratic shaking. The empress’ pace slowed as she rode her orgasm, finally withdrawing when Tallora stilled.

  They lingered in the silence, the weight of Dauriel’s soft breathing a reminder of the coming storm.

  Tallora would be whatever she needed in their precious, final days.

  “Come outside,” Tallora said, once her hair had dried. “The sun will do you good.”

  They appeared in the garden, a gentle falling of snow greeting them. There was a whole world outside filled with pain, a great cataclysm on the horizon, but for the moment, Dauriel was everything.

  Evidence of snow covered the statues and skeletal remains of trees. “Winter doesn’t come to the seas,” Tallora said, adoring how the flakes fell upon her hair, reminding her of Yaleris’ domain. “I think it’s beautiful.”

  “I don’t find many people who enjoy winter,” Dauriel replied, her melancholy matching that of the scenery.

  Yet, though they said winter was dreary, Tallora couldn’t see it. She held out a finger, catching a single, minisc
ule flake, smiling wide as she stared at its perfect form. It melted, its beauty fleeting, but Tallora thought there was poetry to be found in that. She caught another, giggling as several collected upon her fingertips, then noticed Dauriel watching, adoration in her gaze.

  Tallora kissed her shamelessly on the mouth. Dauriel returned the gesture, deepening the kiss with her tongue as they embraced in the winter gardens. Let the people see them; let them gossip. Tallora had seen tragedy, had witnessed death, saw how fleeting and beautiful life could be.

  She would cherish it all, for as long as she had it.

  Gloved hands caressed her hair and figure. Dauriel pulled her into a warm embrace. Tallora brushed gathering snow from Dauriel’s doublet and hair, blushing when the gesture was returned. “When I was a little girl,” Tallora said, “my father would tease me and say my hair was like the frost on the glaciers in the north. It wasn’t until I was much older that I saw the truth in it.”

  “I’ve never seen hair like yours,” Dauriel said, stealing a strand with her fingers, pure white against her black gloves. “When I first began falling in love with you, it was your hair that would linger with me—I once found a strand of it on my tunic when I was your keeper and couldn’t bear to throw it away.”

  “That’s terribly creepy,” Tallora teased, and Dauriel laughed. Tallora squealed when Dauriel grabbed her and pulled her back against her chest.

  “Oh, extremely,” Dauriel said. “I’ve never felt a small emotion in all my life—I went from hatred to adoration to obsession quicker than I’d prefer to admit.”