Fairmist

by Todd Fahnestock

  Chapter 57

  Vecenne

  Vecenne stood frozen in the Temple of the Faia. The young man Jorun Magnus had called “prince” sobbed at the edge of the fountain, curled over Mimi’s body. The hot flow of battle in Vecenne’s veins had allowed her to push back the horror of this day. The Archon. Her father’s brutal slaying. The return of the slinks.

  But the death of her sister had paralyzed her. Not Mimi. Not now. Not after all this. Mimi’s shocking reappearance had been the dawn of new hope. In that first moment in Vecenne’s room, when the lie of a bald courtesan became truth, Vecenne had seen the future, had seen the wounds of the past miraculously healed, the wrongs righted. She had pictured herself and Mimi sitting on the expansive balcony of the royal wing, looking at the blue sea and talking of things reserved only for sisters. A normal life. A happy life.

  That flicker of hope died as she stared at the pale, still body. There was no justice in the world. She wanted to crumple next to this prince and weep with him. It was done. It was all done. What mattered now?

  “Yooour Highnessss.”

  She started at the gravelly voice. The burnt figure towered next to her, smelling of sizzling fat. Jorun Magnus, the great betrayer. The one who had taken Mimi away in the first place.

  Except that Jorun had saved Vecenne. She wouldn’t have left her father’s tower alive without him. Magnus had leapt in front of her, taking the slink’s fire on his back. He had thrown the huge metal table onto its side, shoved it against the wall to shield her.

  She had huddled behind the hot metal as flames roared overhead and Magnus battled the creature. Magnus had become something more than human. He could be burned alive and not die.

  “We cannot ssstop,” Magnus said.

  “My sister—”

  “Yourrr emmmpire,” Magnus said, pointing at the screaming, running people, at the slinks who drove them like a herd of cattle.

  “I can’t stop the war—”

  “There is no war,” the prince said in a dead voice. He raised his head, and she could see his profile against the glimmering water of the fountain. His hair was half-wet, plastered against his head. The beads of water on his cheeks looked like tears.

  “What?” she asked.

  “It’s not real.”

  She said nothing, glanced at Magnus’ grisly face. Mimi’s death had snapped the young man. He had been taken by the slink sickness.

  “That ssslink wasss reeeal,” Blevins slurred, glancing at the wall where Kuruk had fled.

  “He is the only one. This,” he waved a hand at the sky, at the bloody courtyard. “Is a spell. It is your own fears come to life. It has no substance.”

  Blevins was silent, staring with his eerie white eyeballs.

  “That’s impossible,” Vecenne said.

  With red-rimmed eyes, the prince looked at the battle near the palace. Two slinks were pulling apart a screaming child. Vecenne had to look away, but the prince’s stony face didn’t change expression.

  The prince laid Mimi’s body gently on the ground and stood up. Without a word, he shuffled out from under the domed ceiling of the Temple of the Faia.

  “Kuruk is weak,” he said dully. “Injured. Now is the time to rip the lie down.”

  Overhead, a slink with huge, bat-like wings spied the prince. He stared up at it and waved his hands half-heartedly. It stooped into a dive toward him, and Vecenne’s heart leapt into her chest. She moved instinctively toward him, wanting to jerk him back under the shelter of the temple, but Magnus put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Wwwait,” the burnt man slurred.

  “For him to be killed? His mind has snapped—”

  “No,” the prince said, holding up his black hand, bony fingers splayed. “Watch. See the truth.”

  The slink screeched, holding forward red claws, black arms covered to the elbow in gore.

  It hit the prince, bones crunching as it slammed him against the ground. It tore at his chest, splintering ribs and yanking his entrails into the air. Its wings flapped furiously, hovering while it tore and bit. The prince gave a horrible death scream. Then the slink leapt into the air, taking half of the body with him.

  “Grei!” Magnus roared. Vecenne drew and shot, but the arrow bounced off the slink, who flapped up into the sky.

  She stood stunned. He had let himself be killed right in front of them!

  Magnus swore.

  “Blevins,” Prince Grei said. Vecenne jumped. He stood next to them. A rushing sound filled her mind. She staggered back. The rushing became heat on her face and hands, on her chest and the front of her thighs, like she was standing before a bonfire. She gasped and spun, and now her back was scorched. The fire pushed at her. She needed to go north, as fast as she could, all the way to Benasca.

  But suddenly there was a voice, speaking softly, laying a cool blanket over the heat. It was Prince Grei’s voice, murmuring over and over.

  “Fight it or it will make you mad.” His hands were on hers. “It is the spell. It isn’t you.”

  She looked into his brown eyes, this mysterious prince of whom she’d never heard before. He couldn’t be dead and alive at the same time. He couldn’t—

  “Whaaat magic isss thisss?” Magnus hissed.

  Vecenne bowed her head and put a fist to her temple, feeling the slink’s compulsion trying to dominate her, but Prince Grei’s voice was a shield, protecting her. Her mind felt thin, brittle, about to break.

  “Kuruk’s strength is not in numbers,” the prince said. “But in lies. He has held us captive —we have held ourselves captive— for seven years.”

  The heat faded. She no longer wanted to flee to the north.

  “He is weak,” Prince Grei said. “Now is the time for you to defeat him.” He gave one last glance to the chaos of the courtyard, then turned and went back to Mimi. He knelt next to her and lifted her bald head into his lap.

  “Prince Grei...” Vecenne said, but he didn’t look up. “We need—”

  “Yourrr Highnesss. You mussst tell the empresss,” Magnus said.

  Vecenne swallowed, looking around. Chased by a slink, a woman jumped from a third story balcony. Her scream ended in a sickening crunch.

  “By the Faia!” Vecenne turned away, then gave a desperate look at Prince Grei. He clenched Mimi’s body and whispered, oblivious to them.

  “Princessss—” Magnus began.

  “Yes. Okay,” she said.

  “Gooood.”

  She gripped the thorny bow she had taken from her father’s workshop, clutched the cloak at her neck and strode onto the courtyard. People ran past her, screaming as slinks chased them. The spell tried to re-assert itself, but she held onto the knowledge of what Prince Grei had shown her. The hideous slinks were everywhere, but they were like ghosts.

  A slink lunged at her, and Magnus stepped in front, swinging his sword.

  She saw the sword bounce off, saw the slink slip around Magnus and leap toward her.

  She stood her ground. Every muscle in her body tensed. She needed to flee, to get as far away as she could. Claws raked her shoulder, her back, and she twisted under the pain. But she held the image of the prince standing before the diving slink. She held it and screamed.

  She fell to her knees, and the pain of the scratches vanished.

  “Princessss,” Magnus said, towering over her. “Arrre you okaaay?”

  She panted, throwing back her cloak to reveal her shoulder. No blood. No scratches. Not a single rip in her flesh.

  “The empresss,” Magnus rasped. He seemed more stooped than before. Wisps of smoke drifted from his smoldering back, and he smelled like roasted pig. She wanted to retch.

  Vecenne got to her feet, secured her cloak and ran through the courtyard into the palace. They wended their way past slinks and people running from them. Ultimately, it was the fleeing Thiarans who were the true danger. Their wild eyes saw nothing but escape. They injured themselves and others in their terror. A screaming woman ran head first into a wal
l in her desperation, knocking herself unconscious. One man clawed at Vecenne in his effort to get past her, but Blevins threw him out of the way.

  They found her mother in the great hall encircled by an army of Highblades and Ringblades. The empress fought to organize them for evacuation, and they moved slowly toward the doors. Grotesque slinks writhed like worms on the ceiling. They were everywhere, creeping down the walls, herding the empress and her entourage toward the doors. The room echoed with their chittering laughter and the terse commands of the Highblades.

  Vecenne thought only of reaching her mother, of telling her the truth, but as Vecenne stood in the room, she couldn’t think of any words that would sway the empress. The room was a nightmare come to life. Even with Grei’s help, Vecenne was barely able to push back the fear of them.

  “They won’t even see me,” she said to Magnus. “They’ll drag me away before I can say a thing.”

  Magnus was silent as he stared with his lidless white eyes.

  “Mmmake them sssee you,” he hissed.

  The Highblades and Ringblades saw shocking death all around them. What could possibly pull their gazes away? She looked down at her ravaged clothes underneath the cloak. Flashes of the Archon came to her. She grit her teeth.

  Her gaze flicked around the room. “Hold this.” She shoved her thorn bow and quiver of arrows into Magnus’ sticky hands. She shrugged off her cloak, folding it and tying it into a makeshift skirt around her hips. She belted it in place and ran half-naked to the throne. Blevins shuffled behind her.

  No one even glanced her way; she had to make them see.

  She stood on her father’s throne. Her hands shook, and she tried to calm them as she raised her voice in song.

  The song was The Sea Serpent’s Wife, a sad tale of a Venishan fisherman’s daughter who liked to sing by the sea. The girl’s beautiful voice attracted a Venishan sea monster who abducted her and transformed her into his serpent bride.

  The song came out stilted at first, but Vecenne closed her eyes to shut out the slinks and focused her concentration. She had to create a sharp contrast, a sliver of beauty in this room of horrors.

  She allowed the past day-and-a-half to flow out of her, to become the notes of the Venishan girl’s heart-wrenching story. Finding Mimi again became the girl’s joy at playing by the sea. Vecenne’s brutal rape became the arrival of the Venishan sea monster and Mimi’s death, so wrong, so unfair, became the girl being pulled into the sea, changed forever into a monster’s bride.

  Vecenne put the last of herself into the final note, holding it for as long as she could, then she stopped and opened her eyes. The Highblades and Ringblades stared at her like she was a deer sitting at a royal banquet, hooves on the table. Their gazes went from the grotesquely burned Blevins back to the half-naked princess and for one critical moment, they were not looking at the slinks.

  Vecenne stood up on the throne, thrusting her fist into the air.

  “Thiarans!” she shouted. “Listen to me!”

  The slinks, swarming overhead as thick as locusts, stopped and swiveled toward her.

  “You are being lied to! These slinks are phantoms. They are false, and you can overcome them without swinging a single blade.”

  Murmurs went through the assemblage. Many of them turned to her mother, who stood stunned.

  “Get her down from there,” the empress commanded. “Now.”

  “Mother,” Vecenne shouted. “Listen to me!”

  Four Highblades moved toward the throne in formation. From somewhere at the back of the larger circle, someone screamed as they were “attacked” by a slink. Vecenne saw the Highblade fall under transparent claws; but she also saw the illusion for what it was. The Highblade fought with nothing, then lay prone as if slain. Then the “dead” Highblade rose as though in a dream and ran through the doors. Another followed.

  The small formation of Highblades hurried toward Vecenne, but Magnus leapt among them, throwing the first to the ground before his sword could descend. The second ran Magnus through, but he picked up the Highblade and threw him into the other two. The three swordsmen went down in a tangle of arms and legs.

  “They’ve used your fear against you,” Vecenne shouted. “But you must open your eyes. There are no slinks. Only citizens of Thiara stand in this room.”

  “Vecenne,” the empress shouted. “Get down!” She wailed, reaching toward her daughter. Vecenne heard the slink chitter behind her, felt the claws curl over her throat, but she willed herself to feel the truth, and they did not cut her. They passed through her, and her head pounded as she fought the lie.

  Shouts went up from the assembled Highblades and Ringblades as they “watched her die”. She waited, wincing as the headache faded. Vecenne opened her eyes. The slinks in the room were even more transparent now. Only a vague heat at the back of her head told her she should run to the north.

  “Noooo!” Her mother stood transfixed in agony, flanked by two Ringblades. The empire’s protectors turned away, unable to witness the grisly carnage of their princess’ death.

  She could see the bloody illusion of herself sprawled beneath her on the throne. Did each of the empire’s protectors see a different kind of mangled corpse, depending on their fears?

  “My vision is nearly clear,” she said to Magnus. He pulled the Highblade’s sword from his burned chest and threw it away. His own blade lowered, point clinking on the ground.

  He nodded, not speaking. His shoulders were so stooped he now leaned on his sword like a cane. He looked like he could barely stand.

  “Are you okay?” she said.

  That brought a bubbling chuckle from between his white teeth. “Go quiiickly, princesss,” he said.

  Vecenne jumped from the throne and ran to the pack of defenders surrounding the empress. Her mother still stood frozen to the spot, unable to move even as a Ringblade spoke urgently in her ear.

  Vecenne moved past the tense Highblades, and they did not see her. In their minds, she was dead. She was invisible. They focused on the slinks, foreheads sweating, swords at the ready. Each was certain they would never make it out of Thiara alive, and each was bound to this spot only by his loyalty.

  Vecenne slipped between them until she stood next to the empress.

  “Mother,” she said softly, but the empress didn’t hear her.

  “Mother,” Vecenne repeated, touching the empress’ arm. The empress turned and gasped, suddenly seeing her. Vecenne watched her confusion, saw the insanity Grei had warned of. Mother’s eyes widened, and Vecenne gripped her arms.

  “Look at me, mother,” she said. “Trust in that. Trust in yourself.”

  “You died.” Her voice shook.

  “No. But he will take your mind if you let him. Do not let him. See what is real,” Vecenne urged.

  The war waged on her mother’s face. Surprise. Fear. Hope for her daughter’s escape. And the madness. It worked at her. Her mother’s eyes squinted and her brow wrinkled. For a moment Vecenne thought that her mother’s mind would break.

  “By the Faia,” Mother gasped, looking all around them.

  Vecenne nodded. “See the truth, mother. The room is empty, except for your Ringblades and Highblades.”

  “Vecenne...” Mother said, struggling.

  “He tried to make you believe I died. Yet here I stand. Use it. Use the truth.”

  “How could they—?”

  “He. There is only one, mother. One powerful slink who has grabbed your mind with a spell. Don’t let him have you.”

  Mother touched her forehead, closed her eyes. Vecenne waited in tense silence as the protectors around her fought against phantoms. They shouted. Weapons hit the floor, or hit each other. The dying—who were not actually dying—fell down then got up and ran from the palace with their own cloaks of invisibility, driven by the Slink Lord’s will.

  “Please, mother. You’re stronger than what has been done to you,” Vecenne murmured.

  The empress reached out a hand to steady
herself, and Vecenne took it, holding it firm. Suddenly, the trembling fingers calmed.

  The empress opened her eyes.

  She looked around as though counting every slink. Her eyes narrowed with the strain. “None of it?”

  “None,” Vecenne said, her heart leaping with joy. If her mother could pierce the illusion without Grei’s help, there was hope.

  “Not a single slink?”

  “Only one, and we drove him away,” Vecenne said.

  Vecenne saw remorse twist her mother’s face, the same shame Vecenne had felt. They had been duped. It was almost better to believe the illusion than to bear the reality: they had been enslaved by phantoms, by their own fears.

  But the empress’ self-recrimination came and went quickly. Her mother had always kept her eye on the necessities.

  “Then this is a war we can win,” she echoed Vecenne’s thoughts, her blue eyes glinting. The empress looked down at Vecenne. “But dear...”

  “Yes?”

  “Let’s get you some clothes first.”

  Chapter 58

  Grei

  Kuruk’s illusion had been exposed. The war was over, and the empress’ Highblades had brought the body here. Grei stared at the covered corpse on the bier. No one else had visited except the empress, himself and Vecenne. No one else knew who lay beneath the sheet, and the empress had decided no one needed to know. The entire empire had accepted the original story, and the empress said there was no need to bring back the dead only to kill them again. Let the legend stay as it had been written.

  Grei knelt before the bier, memories bubbling up in his mind.

  After he had put every ounce of himself into attempting to revive Adora, he had lost consciousness. He had held her, clenching her ribs with his fingers, thinking of the dead blue rose in Fairmist, thinking of how the Faia had healed Selicia. He had begged Adora to live. That was the last he remembered until Vecenne woke him, telling him the war was over.

  The attempt had nearly killed him.

  “I am sorry, Grei,” Vecenne said, neatly managing her short yellow skirt and kneeling next to him.