Saibra’s impassive air instantly shattered whenever we discussed anything that was remotely emotional for her, and even more so when the subject of intimacy came up. Once I had Saibra in my own chambers, I’d have almost unlimited access to her, and I knew that even the thought of that would drive the normally well-controlled woman into a near panic. For the first time since Laska, the thought of being with one of my Tári brought a smile to my face as I recalled images of Saibra’s past uncomfortable fumblings. There was still a long way for me to go with Saibra, I didn’t even know what her V’Ríel was yet, but just the prospect of finally getting a small measure of revenge for the beatings she’d given me in the training room made me practically giddy with mischievous delight.
For a time, we discussed the promotions and the restructuring of the Imperial Guards before moving on to other matters. Inevitably, the subject of what came next for us was broached, and I quickly shot it down.
“We have a long way to travel before we’re back home,” I responded to the inquiry. “And once we are, there’s still the matter of rebuilding our Army. Until then, I think discussing any future campaign is premature.”
My pronouncement was met with a series of nods around the table. We’d suffered a near defeat in Laska, and it would be some time before the Imperial Army recovered from the terrible losses it had taken in that battle. Not only that, but we also still needed to truly incorporate all the Realms that had recently joined my Empire. It was obvious that there was a great deal for us to manage before we could even contemplate our next move—the conquest of the Dark Lands.
“What about discussing the past?” Líann responded quite pointedly. “When exactly were you going to let us know that you’re Nentai’s daughter?”
I loved her, but damn—she could still be such a bitch sometimes.
I’d hoped to bring that up at some point but had been struggling to find the right words. Líann’s rather blunt question made that quite impossible, however, and I flashed her a rather nasty glare before I responded.
“You learned of it at the same time I did, Líann,” I replied without bothering to hide my irritation with her. “And before any of you ask, I have no idea what it means. Although I came here as one of the Deathless, my mother played a significant role in my transition to this world; I’m just not sure what the consequences of that will be.”
I’d left a lot out of my answer, like the fact that Nentai wasn’t alone in playing a role in my transition—all of the Gods had. Hell, if I was being totally honest—and I wasn’t—there really hadn’t been any transition at all. I’d been born in the magic of the Great Barrier, coming from literally nothing to emerge as a complete individual through a combination of raw computing power and divine magic. No, there was a great deal I’d left out, but that was everything I was willing to share—with anyone. But regardless of what was left unsaid, the answer I’d given managed put an end to that conversation, and we moved on to other things.
For the rest of the evening, our discussions mostly revolved around minor things. The weightier issues had already been dealt with or were at least put off for another time, so we talked of smaller matters and I found myself happy to be distracted from the darker thoughts of my mind. The burden of the losses we’d suffered, one of them in particular, had been weighing heavily on me for many days now. The return of some sense of normalcy, even a few moments of genuine happiness, was more than welcome.
When the night grew late, we reluctantly began to retire for the night. Although I knew that it was time for our gathering to end, I didn’t want it to, and I could sense the same feeling from my companions. We’d taken a rather large step back towards the way things used to be between us, and none of us were eager to let it go too soon. Unfortunately, the demands of our positions and responsibilities required otherwise, and each of my companions began bidding me farewell for the night until only Stel and Venna remained. I could tell by the uncomfortable look on his face that Stel had something he wanted to say to me, so I motioned for Saibra and Ella to wait for me outside. I thought he might want to discuss what we’d spoken of earlier that day, so I was completely unprepared for what Stel said once the three of us were alone.
“Sintári,” he began with a sense of both conviction and respect. “You chose to save me at the cost of your own love’s life. No matter what I do, I can never repay you for that, but I also know that you have a special love for Venna.”
His first few words caused me a great deal of confusion. I had no idea where he was going or what he was trying to say to me, but what Stel said next made his point all too clear.
“I cannot replace Tási for you,” Stel continued, “But I can offer Venna in her stead. You have done your best to respect my feelings in the past, but that is no longer necessary. She is yours, Sintári, whenever you want her. From this day forward, it is I who will yield to you—”
Stel’s head rocked sideways as the sharp crack of my hand slapping his face forcefully echoed inside the tent. My vision blurred as tears welled up in my eyes, and I quickly turned to flee into the darkness of the night.
For the first time in many months, I raised my hood to hide myself, lest one of my guards see the tears that began streaming down my face. Stel, a man I loved and respected more than any other, crudely offered his wife to me like a piece of meat, as if that was all she and I meant to each other. But his comments disturbed me even beyond the intense pain and disappointment they’d caused.
If Stel couldn’t see for himself the deep bonds that existed between Venna and me, how could I expect my citizens to understand? All they would see was some base, crude image, stoked by their limited ability to comprehend such things. His words shattered my dream of openly claiming my place as a Sintári—freeing myself from the prison of secrecy that I’d been trapped in for so long, and as I slowly trod my way back to my tent, I was filled with a sense of hollow despair. The thought of hiding who I was for perhaps centuries on end filled me with dread.
I threw myself down into the pile of cushions inside my tent but hadn’t been there long when Venna cautiously entered. Wordlessly, she laid down beside me and took hold of my hand as she began to speak.
“I’m so sorry, Dreya,” she whispered softly. “Stel didn’t tell me what he intended to say to you. I was just as surprised and offended as you were.”
“How could he even think…” My voice trailed off when I was unwilling to finish my own thought.
“My husband did not think, Dreya,” Venna lamented. “It is a failing of his from time to time, as you may have noticed. Despite that fact, he meant well. Honestly, I don’t think he even grasped the implications of what he said. It’s just that what we share is well beyond his ability to understand.”
“I know that, Venna,” I replied as I snuggled against her. “But I can’t help but feel disappointed with him.”
“As am I, Empress,” Venna responded, wrapping me up in her embrace.
We laid together in silence for a while. Venna made no move to leave, nor did I ask her to. We eventually fell asleep, still wrapped in each other’s arms, which was something I hadn’t thought I’d let myself do so soon after Tási’s death. But Venna had been there for me, offering me the comfort I’d needed after Stel’s carelessly spoken words.
The next day, rather than marching alongside the wagons, I stayed inside my carriage. My mind still dwelled on the meaning behind Stel’s callous offer, and I sought to find some path beyond his shallow perceptions; something that would set me free from the bounds of my people’s limited ability to perceive my relationships with my Tári. Stel’s fault was not truly his own—it was a limitation he shared with virtually every other living soul in all of Arrika, all save my Tári and me. None of them could truly understand what we shared, I reluctantly admitted to myself. I’d been expecting too much from them; I’d pinned my hopes on an unrealistic expectation—the belief that my people would accept something that they could not comprehend. It was a profoundly depre
ssing realization.
I was alone with that thought for a while until the door to my carriage opened, and Stel timidly stepped inside. He barely glanced at me as he took a seat and began fumbling for his words.
“Sintári… I have offended you,” he started awkwardly. “Please let me know how I can make amends.”
“Tell me that you did not come here without speaking to your wife first,” I replied to him harshly. “Again.”
Stel’s mortified expression told me that was exactly what had happened, and his failure to correct his previous blatant oversight only served to deepen my disappointment in him.
“Stel, get out,” I ordered him tersely. “And don’t you dare try to speak to me again without your wife by your side.”
He exited rather hastily in the face of my growing displeasure but returned more quickly than I thought he would—luckily for him with Venna this time. But she had a somewhat puzzled look on her face as she sat down beside him, and I realized that Stel had simply dragged Venna there without explaining himself first—would this fool never learn?
“How much do you want him to know, Venna?” I sighed in exasperation.
“As much as I hate to admit it at this moment,” Venna replied as we both ignored Stel’s presence. “He is my husband. It’s probably time for us to tell him everything.”
I took a deep breath, preparing myself to begin the difficult process of explaining the bond I shared with Venna, but before I could, she did it for me.
“I love both you and Dreya with all my heart, Stel,” she told him as she stared into his eyes. “But what Dreya and I have is far beyond anything you can imagine. We do not consummate the bond we share with our bodies, but with our souls instead. I cannot explain to you with words what that means but reducing it to some mere physical act as you did was a painful insult—to both of us.”
“No one could tear me from you with simple pleasures of the flesh, Stel,” Venna continued as her voice wavered with emotion. “Not even a Sintári. But just as Dreya has become something more, I have as well. I’ve become one of the Tári, gifted with the ability to share in the emotions of our Sintári. Dreya and I are a perfectly matched pair—we need each other to be whole. She fills an emptiness in my soul, and I do the same for her in return.”
“I will go to Dreya whenever she needs me, husband,” Venna concluded more forcefully. “I don’t need your permission to do that—nor do I need your goading.”
Stel’s utterly perplexed expression prompted me to explain further.
“The Tári are the companions of the Sintári, Stel,” I offered the confused elf. “Some of the connections the Sintári have with the world around them can be overwhelming, and the Tári help them deal with those. In return, the Sintári do much the same for their Tári. Their role is an honored one, as the Sintári could not have accomplished all they did without their Tári companions. And yes, before you ask, Tási was also one of the Tári.”
“I knew none of this,” Stel whispered in confusion.
“Yet you still chose to speak without consulting me first, husband,” Venna chided him gently.
“There’s more, Stel,” I added. “Much more. But the rest must remain between my Tári and me for now. Only know that if you ever do anything like this again, Mother will be the least of your worries.”
Venna had told me of Nentai’s admonishment; how she’d threatened them after the battle in Laska. While I had no intention of ever exacting the sort of vengeance my mother was so infamous for on Stel, the words made my displeasure with him perfectly clear.
“Forgive me, both of you,” Stel responded with his heartfelt apology. “I have been a fool, and not for the first time. I will not make this mistake again.”
I felt the deep sense of regret in his words and responded by gripping Stel in a fierce hug. Despite his occasional lapses, Stel was my closest friend outside my Tári, and I simply couldn’t stay angry with him any longer. I felt his armor pressing against me as he returned my embrace, and I only let him go after holding him close for a long moment. Then, as Stel held open the door for Venna to leave with him, she merely waved him off.
“I have one more matter to discuss with my Sintári, husband,” she told him playfully. “I will join you once we’re done.”
I only had time to glimpse Stel’s once again perplexed expression before Venna shut the door in his face.
“I was a bit taken aback when you introduced me to your other Tári,” Venna began right away as she leaned back into her seat. “But we have since had some time to talk with each other, and I think you made the right decision.”
I was grateful that she’d come to agree with what I’d done, but there was something about the way Venna looked at me as she spoke that I found unsettling. It reminded me just a little too much of how Líann would stare at me when she knew that she’d trapped me in some web of hers, and I immediately grew uncomfortable.
“Your thoughts stray too far into unpleasant matters when you’re by yourself, so we have decided that you cannot be left alone,” Venna declared, quite unequivocally. “This is simple enough during the day, but from now on, starting tonight, one of us will be by your side—always.”
I began to object, but Venna cut me off immediately.
“No,” she said emphatically. “Your Tári have spoken. We will not let you turn us away any longer. We will leave you alone during the day if you like, so long as you do not sulk alone in your carriage, but one of us will be with you every night. Ella has already spoken with your guards to let them know that we will be tending to you during this difficult time. This is not a debate, Dreya. I am simply informing you of the will of your Tári.”
I could practically see Líann’s fingerprints all over this sudden change in events. It reeked of her manipulative handiwork, but even as I began to formulate my revenge on her, Venna surprised me once more.
“Saibra will be joining you tonight,” Venna finished her pronouncement. “She’s quite nervous about that, but seeing as this was her idea, the rest of us thought that she should go first.”
Et tu, Saibra? It was an odd thought, rising from somewhere within the dead man’s memories, but it certainly seemed to fit the moment.
2
Venna stayed with me for a while but mercifully allowed me to quietly absorb what she’d told me rather than try to engage in conversation. She knew me well enough to know what I needed and was satisfied to simply remain by my side as I took in her words.
My Tári were right, of course. My mind did tend to wander into its darkest corners at times, especially when I was alone. And in those moments of solitude, I often found myself lost in the deepest part of my shadows, pondering the most painful and least productive of my thoughts. Although I resented what they’d done, part of me was also grateful as well. I remembered the dead man’s pitiful end, and I didn’t want to ever fall into the trap of despair that had sapped him of his will to live. Venna and my Tári would clearly not let that happen to me, and I was thankful for their not-so-subtle push away from my self-imposed isolation.
“Thank you, Venna,” I smiled at her as I gave her hand a squeeze.
“You’re welcome, my Sintári,” she replied.
The warmth of her words belied their formality. She might as well have said ‘my love’ for all the meaning that she’d poured into those few syllables. Venna had told me many times before that this world gave me what I needed, not what I wanted, and I’d come to believe her. But at that moment I also understood that those two things were not incompatible—once I’d opened my heart, I found that what I needed was, more often than not, also what I truly desired.
We stepped outside together, and I marched along with my guards for a moment while Venna left to find Stel. She had a great deal still left to discuss with him, and despite my frustration and disappointment with Stel, I felt sorry for him. His wife had become one of the legends from the forgotten past, and he simply had no way of comprehending what that meant. I was cer
tain that Venna would be informing him of exactly what she expected of him, but even so, the situation was still profoundly unfair to him. He should have been both honored and revered as the spouse of a Tári, but instead, just like me, Stel was forced to hide that part of himself away from the world. Of all the injustices I sought to end, it seemed that this would be the most difficult one for me to conquer.
But rather than dwell on it, I chose to wander among my friends and companions, seeking each of them out in turn and spending some time talking with all of them. The day flew by as I did so, much more quickly than the days I’d spent wallowing in my misery, and before I knew it, we were stopping for the night.
One of the few people I hadn’t been able to talk to during the day was Saibra. Somehow, no matter how hard I tried to work my way towards her, she always managed to slip away before I could step beside her. Saibra had no idea how to handle her softer emotions, and I knew that the thought of spending the night with me had her completely unsettled. But the fact that she wouldn’t even let me get anywhere near her all day told me that her fear was far worse than I’d realized.
But once our camp had been made and we sat down for dinner, Saibra could no longer avoid me. Hovering behind my seat at the table, she was stuck at her guard post and unable to retreat from me when I stopped beside her.
“You weren’t planning on backing out tonight, were you?” I whispered to her quietly.
“No,” Saibra replied, barely audible even though I stood so close that our bodies nearly met.
“You’ve got nothing to be afraid of, Saibra,” I smiled at her reassuringly. “All we’re going to do is spend some time together.”
Saibra squinted at me just slightly, as if she was evaluating the truth of my intentions before returning to her impassive stance. Despite her calm exterior, I knew there was a turmoil of emotions raging inside her at that moment. Insleí had never experienced anything remotely close to love or even friendship before I’d broken her, and Saibra lacked the ability to handle even the slightest bit of warmth. Bringing out her innate Tári nature was going to be a true challenge for us both, and although I knew that I’d have to push her at times, that would have to wait for a while. In these early stages, she needed to be supported, not rushed. So, rather than torment her any further, I let her have her silence and took my place at the table.
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