Clingy. "I wasn't—"
"Yes, you fucking were," Abeille said. "And you never asked a goddamn thing about this situation, you never tried to understand. You just thought things would be fine. That you could handle them. You ran your mouth at the prince and didn't think there'd be punishment."
Merle shuddered. Her eyes were stinging and her throat felt like she'd swallowed too large a lump of bread and it refused to go down. She tried anyway, gulping. "That's not true."
"What do you think happened to Hibo?" Abeille asked. She grabbed Merle by the shoulder and shook her. "What do you think happened?"
"I—I didn't—"
"You didn't think anything," Abeille said, disgusted. She released Merle's shoulder. "You never do. I killed her."
"Abeille—"
Abeille turned away, fetching her clothes from the dresser. "I killed her in the arena because she'd been stupid enough to say something careless to the prince. The prince thought it'd be funny to put two roommates up against each other. Doing it with a friend is going to be even more hilarious, I'm sure."
There was a strange ringing in her ears. Everything felt distant, padded. "Abeille. I didn't mean to…"
"Who cares what you meant?" Abeille asked, back turned. Her shoulders were hunched and heaving slightly, as if with furious breaths. Still, there was no sound of it in her cold voice. "I killed her, and I'll kill you next unless you smarten up enough to fight for your life."
Merle stumbled, sitting heavily on Abeille's bunk. They'd been lying there so comfortably just minutes earlier. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You'd better learn to want to, idiot," Abeille said. She gathered her clothing into her arms in a ball, and headed to the door, still not looking at Merle. Her face was hidden behind the cloud of her hair. "You love me? Too bad. I hate you and everything you've done here. I never wanted to see you again. Fight me with all you've got."
And she went out, leaving Merle deeply, terribly alone.
*~*~*
The next couple of hours passed with Merle almost in a trance. She knew she was supposed to be preparing for a fight—how? why?—but it felt like an impossible task. There was white noise in her ears which kept creeping up and getting louder and louder whenever she wasn't paying attention to it. Time kept slipping away; she'd sit down, trying to think, and minutes would pass before she realized she wasn't thinking of anything at all.
Why did Abeille say those awful things? Did I deserve it? I don't think I did—I don't feel like I did. The night was so good. Quiet and sweet…
How could Abeille look at her the way she had in the garden, the way she had when they were nestled together in a narrow bed, and still be able to say those things?
How can she feel that way about me? Merle thought, and scrubbed tears away.
Answers weren't coming, and she couldn't make them come. Searching her mind brought up nothing. Maybe Abeille just hates me. Maybe it was that simple. Maybe I was just that stupid. Too stupid to notice she hated me.
Still. Understand it or not, she had to get ready for it.
She got up, finally, and stared at herself in the dresser's mirror for a long few moments before she slowly began to pin her hair up. In a fight, she'd want it out of the way. She'd learned that well enough when she was younger. There'd been a time when fighting for food had sometimes been terribly literal.
In any other circumstance, if Abeille had to go into a fight, Merle would be the one pinning her hair back for her.
The thought popped into her head unbidden and she shuddered, pulling at a handful of her own hair, yanking it into a ponytail and then twisting it so she could pin it up out of the way properly, wrap it around itself, and flatten it so it wouldn't afford any handhold.
Abeille wouldn't go for the hair, surely. But Merle couldn't know. She didn't understand why this had happened, or what Abeille could do.
Abeille might do it. She no longer understood Abeille at all.
Well, even if she does, I won't fight dirty, she resolved.
But what would she do?
She stared at herself in the mirror, at her dark eyes, heavy with shock.
Surviving had never been in question before. Surviving had been the only option. Abeille had vanished and never come back and Merle had failed to get in, gave up on seeing her again as the years passed, focused on just surviving. She'd done whatever she'd had to and always planned to escape. She'd always made whatever choice was necessary to live.
She was staying still again. Not getting ready. She had to, or she'd run out of time before the fight.
Merle took her dress and wrapped the front of it between her legs, pulling the cloth up and apart behind her to tie it at her waist, forming a pair of extremely short pants that left her legs free to move. It was extra skin to hit, true, but Abeille was stronger than her and had a longer reach. If it came to a hit, she was in trouble whether or not there was any fabric to mislead the eye or catch a weapon. Bare legs would give her a dexterity advantage to offset that disadvantage.
Weapons? She had none. Just her scissors. She slowly fastened her tool belt back over her tied dress. There was no guarantee that they'd arm her.
Would she be able to use a weapon against Abeille, though? If they armed her, could she fight? If she drove two fingers through her trusty scissors and kept them at the end of her fist, would she be able to throw a punch, knowing it was Abeille on the other end of it?
Would Abeille be able to do that against me now?
How will I fight?
Why am I fighting?
A loud knock came at her door and she jumped, whirling to face it, heart pounding.
She was out of time, and hadn't found any answers.
Chapter Eight
It was Sestin who had come to get her, unexpectedly a succubus right then. Merle blinked, surprised at the softer face, the curvy figure, but it was undeniably the same person otherwise: same horns, same hair, same ember-like orange eyes. A lot cuter, at least.
Is this some kind of pre-death consolation prize?
Sestin wore her new form comfortably. She gave Merle a tight smile and said, "Ready?"
"You look different," Merle managed instead of answering, because she wasn't sure that question was even possible to answer. "If you'd come to fetch me in the first place looking like this, we'd probably have a very different relationship by now."
"I know we would," Sestin said, almost patient. She came in and shut the door behind herself. "I thought you'd appreciate seeing me like this."
"I'm… really not feeling that right now," Merle said. She still felt light-headed. Every word seemed to fall weakly from her lips. "Is it time?"
"Almost. Listen, Merle—"
And then Sestin was changing again, form rippling and shifting like water. Her hair lengthened, darkened—her eyes too, the shape changing, color darkening, skin becoming more of a golden tan.
Merle was looking at her duplicate. She blinked, too numb already to fully feel shocked.
"Let me go out there." Sestin said. It was something close to her voice, too; it didn't quite sound right, but it wouldn't. Not when she was used to hearing it from the inside. "I can win the fight. You can't."
For a moment, hope flared. I don't have to fight? She didn't want to go out there, didn't want to look at Abeille and see death facing her.
But the hope faded a moment later as realization caught up to her. "No. You can't."
"I could make it look realistic," Sestin wheedled. "She's not stronger than me."
Merle shook her head furiously, and was distantly pleased when no pins came out. "I mean, I believe you. So no, you can't go out there for me. I won't take the deal."
Sestin frowned, lips pursing with more curiosity than disapproval. "You'd rather die?"
"I don't want Abeille to," Merle blurted.
"Ahh," Sestin sighed. She shifted her weight onto one hip, as Merle was inclined to do, and crossed her arms. "Listen, it's just that I'm tired of this sort o
f game. Vehr wants to see two friends fight to the death. I can change that. She won't realize what's going on. Just give me the chance."
Another head shake. Merle was trembling. She could feel it, legs too cold and seeming unable to hold her properly, too weak. "Sorry. Sorry. I know you probably don't want to see us do that, but I have to face this myself."
For a long moment, Sestin just looked at her, expression gone hard and eyes cold. And then they lightened, and Sestin rippled back into the previous form she'd been wearing, all curves and long limbs, horns and hooves and cubant eyes.
"It was worth a try," she said regretfully. "Well, Merle. In that case, I'll take you to the hall."
At least I can go to my death with some kind of dignity. Merle shivered hard, and when Sestin offered her an arm, she took it.
They were closer to a height like this, which she found a little odd still—Sestin should know her preference for taller girls, as a succubus—but then, she thought perhaps Sestin might be trying not to make her think of Abeille, compare her to Abeille. Impossible, always, let alone now.
She bit her lower lip and tried not to cry. If I start now, I'll still be at it when we reach the hall. She was sure of that.
Sestin escorted her to the right lift. As they descended, he shifted again, back into the form Merle was more used to.
"Why the change?" she asked, more to take her mind off what was coming than anything else. "Were you just doing that for me?"
"Half and half. I wouldn't mind being more ladylike today, but the prince doesn't like shapeshifting."
"Isn't that just… normal? Shapeshifting. Not just for cubants, for a lot of demons…?"
Sestin smiled blankly. "Oh, very," he said. "Believe me, she'd shut that down if she could. But as is, she discourages it in front of her. At least it means she turns a blind eye to whatever I do when I'm not directly in her sight."
"Is that good?"
"You'd be amazed at what I can get away with," Sestin said.
And then they were there and all casual conversation rushed out of Merle's lungs like she'd been punched.
Vehr was in the same position as always: in her chair, her hair winding through the room. It was pulled back a little, however, and the furniture, with demons sitting around as always, was further against the walls. It made for a somewhat open space where there hadn't been before, an arena defined by her parlor decoration and her hair.
And she the spider waiting at the edge of the web for prey to get tangled up in the middle, Merle thought bitterly.
Abeille was already there. She had turned her face away from the door, refusing to look at Merle as Sestin led her up. Merle saw that Abeille's hair was braided back. It would still be something she could grab if she were inclined to.
I won't, though.
Otherwise, Abeille too was dressed for combat, wearing the short-sleeved shift she wore when working her forge, with leggings beneath but no apron.
"Ah," Vehr said softly. "Our last combatant is here."
Sestin let go of Merle's arm and bowed to Vehr, withdrawing to the edge of the ring and sitting behind and a little to the left of Vehr where he had a good view. Merle wasn't exactly sure why he'd want one. He's sort of friends with both of us. I guess he wants to see this through.
"Weapons?" Vehr asked softly. "Abeille, you may pick. Swords, as before?"
If it were swords, the fight would be over before it began. Merle could lift one, but didn't know how to use it, and wasn't sure how long she could swing it. Abeille had trained with them for years.
"Knives," Abeille said. Her voice was hoarse and painful-sounding.
"Hoping to draw it out?" Vehr asked. "Or hoping to do less damage?"
Vehr nodded to one of her soldiers without waiting for an answer. They each drew a knife from their belts and threw them to the ground, one in front of Abeille and one in front of Merle.
Merle stared down at it blankly. It looked awfully small but terribly sharp.
But one of these, at least, she'd used before—both for protection when she was walking around the city and for hairdressing as well. She'd handled a straight razor back in Ors's place. She knew small blades as well as anyone could.
It's not exactly comforting.
Slowly, she bent and picked it up. It didn't feel heavy in her hand and if fit her palm almost perfectly.
Her skin crawled.
Knuckles white on the hilt, she straightened again to find that Abeille had done the same and was standing tall with the knife in one hand.
"Center of the ring," Vehr said.
They approached each other. Abeille's eyes were a little downcast, and she looked angry, but there was another terrible expression under it. Her eyes were bloodshot and her eyelids looked puffy.
Has she been crying? Merle's breath caught.
They were facing each other, about five feet from each other. Merle sought for something to say, anything. Her heart ached and she thought it must, in some way, be worse for Abeille. "Abeille—"
"Begin," Vehr said.
Abeille moved into a crouch, knife hand in front, the other tucked against her side to keep it out of the way. She began to circle, and Merle turned with her, holding her knife in front as well, trying to see where the first strike would come from.
"What's with that defeated look?" Abeille asked, scornful. "Don't tell me you're too stupid to fight back? I'm not going to go easy on you."
"No, I—" Merle stammered. Somehow, she hadn't imagined Abeille talking to her in the middle of this, even though it clearly was a good distraction technique. "It's just—"
"Good," Abeille said, and lunged.
Her first strike was slow, almost exploratory, and Merle turned it aside easily before darting back out of reach again. Her heart was pounding with the rush of fear and adrenaline. Shit, I need to calm down. Adrenaline meant sweaty palms and poor decisions.
I guess I've always made poor decisions, though.
Abeille moved in again, and Merle no longer had time to think or plan or fear at all. All she could do was react to each strike. Her eyes stung from sweat, but she kept them open, watching Abeille's feet for the next hint of a lunge.
Merle took a few hits, light slices across her arms, but barely felt the pain. She was more worried that blood might add to the slipperiness on her palms. She wished she'd thought to wrap her hands in something.
They had another exchange of blows, and Merle felt herself calm down a little. It wasn't like she was fighting to win—she wasn't attacking. Refused to attack, just focused on defending. It kept her from leaving as many openings and drew the fight out. She didn't know what she was buying time for, exactly, but there had to be something.
Abeille attacked in a sudden flurry, face wracked with desperation, and it was all Merle could do to keep dodging and blocking. She moved faster and harder, focused on the flash of Abeille's blade to the exclusion of all else until, when their blades collided one last time, instead of Merle's flying out of her hand, it was Abeille's that hit the floor.
It landed at a hard angle and spun out for a few feet, a loud scrape of metal on stone. Merle was left with her knife in her hand, shaking, staring at the unarmed Abeille, her heart pounding. Abeille stared back at her, then straightened, closing her eyes. Accepting her defeat.
Merle threw her knife on the ground.
She hadn't even thought about it. Abeille was unarmed and waiting for her to strike, and it felt like her entire body rejected her grip on the blade. Her knife clattered down next to Abeille's and Merle sucked in great gasps of air, exhausted and terrified. Abeille's eyes flew open again.
It felt good. Great. She couldn't imagine anything in the world better than stopping this fight.
Merle was still shaking with exhaustion and adrenaline, but she wasn't afraid anymore.
"Maybe I am stupid," she told Abeille triumphantly. "But I can't do it. So go ahead and take both those knives and kill me. I… I'd rather that happen than that I have to fight you any
more."
Slowly, Abeille knelt where the knives were. Her right hand closed around Merle's knife, which was closer. Her gaze was fixed on Merle's the whole time, still too-wide. Despite her decision, despite her confidence in it, Merle felt a dizzying chill at what was about to happen.
Once Abeille had curled her fingers around the knife hilt, however, her gaze wrenched itself from Merle's to Vehr, who was still watching with some curiosity. Even her palms were open and facing out to get a better view.
"Please," Abeille said. "Please don't punish her for this."
"Is that a concern?" Vehr asked mildly.
"It's still a show. Isn't it? This type of drama. I… I'll give you a show. A better show." Abeille slowly raised the knife and put it to her own throat. "This is what you like, isn't it? And then Merle will have to live with her choice not to do it herself. Won't that please you? I'll do it, but you have to promise first. Promise not to punish her or harm her in any way—"
Merle's heart began hammering again. She spun around immediately; she didn't dare let Vehr speak, make a binding promise to Abeille. She flung herself at Vehr, pulling at her dress with grasping hands.
"No! No," Merle begged. "Don't let Abeille do that! I'm ready to die—it has to be me. Please don't, please don't—"
A look of irritation crossed Vehr's face. She swept out an arm, catching Merle across the midsection. It was like being hit by an enormous iron bar. Merle was flung off her feet and backward from the relaxed arc of Vehr's arm, sprawling behind the chair that Vehr was in.
For a moment, she was winded, stunned, unable to move.
"Do you think I'll make that promise, little Abeille?" Vehr asked softly. "Perhaps I want to keep you around. A pet killer, forced to wield iron when you wish to create with silver. Perhaps I feel like that's your fate."
"I won't," Abeille said. Her voice sounded perfectly calm. "You can't force me to kill Merle. You can kill her, of course, but that won't make me obedient. I'll never kill for you again. My life is rapidly becoming valueless to me, and killing Merle will guarantee that. So will you accept the deal while it still has value, so that its sacrifice is meaningful?"
Hair to the Throne Page 7