Remnants of Atonement (True paths Book 1)

by G. P McKenna

  It was the earliest hours of the morning before I was finally able to untangle myself from the clutches of that swan, leaving Amicia snoring away in the most unladylike of manners and sneaking out to freedom. Most everybody but the most determined of physicians and rowdiest of troops had retreated to the privacy of their tents to sleep and mourn. The uniform in my arms felt light as I clutched it to my chest, burying my face in the strange material. It smelt clean. Fresh, like the earliest rays of light peeking over the treetops, though the usual early risers lay dormant; no bakers baking the morning bread, no groomers tending to mounts. Only the ever increasingly crude song about a missing rooster the drunkest residents were singing assured me that despite Lord Deniliquin’s best efforts the camp was alive, spirit intact. Where, oh, where did my rooster go? I’ve lost my cock and it will not show…

  Inside the Infirmary twin foghorns battled it out for supremacy, and I couldn’t keep the smile from my face at the sound as I tiptoed into the side-room. Our room. Two figures occupied the bed, one silent while the other yodelled, and I went to the side of the still lump to pull the blanket up higher, only for groggy red eyes to blink up at me, “Kilco?”

  “Sorry,” I whispered, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “It’s okay,” Ilya mumbled, “what time is it?”

  “Too early. Go back to sleep.”

  Ilya looked at me a moment longer before turning away. The snores were the only sound as I waited for Ilya’s breathing to deepen once more. Only then did I move to the card table, his bed in view from where I sat. I sniffed the sleeve of his uniform before hugging it against my chest. It was a new day for everybody.

  Thirty One

  Sygenesophobia

  Fear of relatives

  Oh shit. I’m paralysed.

  In my sleep deprived state it took an embarrassingly long time to push through that panic and realize my inability to move was down to a severe case of muscle soreness rather than injury, but honestly, what’s the difference when my eyelids felt glued shut? Deities, it wasn’t like I’d been trampled by a dozen draft horses, all that had happened was-

  My eyelids sprung open as the events of the previous day flooded back. Surely it was a dream. A bad, horrible, no good dream. Ilya couldn’t be dead, and we certainly couldn’t have brought him back. He was in his bed, sleeping. He had to be.

  Except he wasn’t.

  A quiet laugh came from the left. Ilya and Pogue were lying beside one another on my bed. Mine. Facing one another, it was like there was nobody else in the world, let alone in the room. It was awkward, watching as Pogue’s strong arms wrapped around Ilya’s waist and drew him close, their lips meeting in a passionate embrace, but I couldn’t look away. Part of me knew that I should respect their privacy, slither out on my belly like a snake in the grass, but a more vocal part refused. And so all respect was shoved back into that rarely explored corner of my mind as I gawked at the two openly, both in fascination and relief, because Ilya didn’t know. Thank the Deities, he didn’t know. Pogue had used his brain for once, and not a moment too soon. The guilt that haunted us both would fade, but the happiness before me wouldn’t. The way they laughed, whispered sweet nothing, Pogue’s hand giving Ilya’s right buttock a sly squeeze.

  Instantly the younger boy was airborne, springing from the bed without his usual airs of grace and composure, cheeks burning magenta as a sound reminiscent of a stray kitten escaped his lips. Any chance of remaining undetected flew with him as I dissolved into laughter. Pogue sat up in the bed, his eyes wide as he searched the room before spotting me.

  “Kilco, what are-” he broke off as our eyes met, his barking laugh joining in my giggles.

  “Are you done?” Ilya huffed as he replaced his mask with haste. It didn’t hide the red of his ears though.

  “You just meowed,” I rasped.

  “I most certainly did not meow. I’m not a cat,” Ilya said.

  “You did,” Pogue exclaimed, “you meowed. That’s the cutest thing you’ve done yet.”

  Ilya turned to glare at him, his red eyes narrowing with the severity that only an Ilvarjo could muster. Keep talking and we’ll see who will be meowing that look promised, and Pogue received the message loud and clear, his laugh dying in his throat upon conception to be expelled as a choking whistle. Ilya crossed his arms tightly, “You’re mistaken, Shield,” he said slowly, “you’re obviously still exhausted. Maybe you should go back to sleep.”

  Pogue and Ilya stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, Pogue’s brow furrowing slightly before relaxing as he shrugged, “okay,” he said and flopped onto his stomach. His snoring filled the infirmary once more.

  “Unbelievable,” I said.

  Ilya hummed and rubbed at his eyes before looking at me, “do you have the time?”

  “I’d say around eight,” I pointed at the skylight, “why?”

  Ilya held out his hand. I stared intently, wondering what it meant. Did he want me to take it? Did he know? No, he couldn’t have known. He wouldn’t have been that intimate with Pogue if he did. Ilya sighed and stepped forward, “you have my uniform.”

  Oh, right. I held the bundle out and he took it gingerly, as if it was still mud-encrusted,

  “What’s wrong?”

  Ilya traced his finger over the eye of the one true path sigil engraved on the button of his hood before clutching it tightly, “my clothing should’ve been burned after my death to ensure there was no lingering essence. That’s tradition. That nobody bothered to do that explains a few things,” he glanced at Pogue before refolding the tabard I’d used as a blanket, “will you walk me to the Command tent? We didn’t finish our conversation last night.”

  Something was wrong. It was clear in his tone, his uncharacteristic fidgeting. I tried to catch his eye, but it was impossible as he slowly rolled the button between two fingers. “Okay.”

  “Thank you,” he said, still not looking up, “I’ll change, and then we’ll leave.”

  “Good plan,” I said and sat back in the chair. A moment of silence passed before Ilya finally looked up with a huff, red eyes irritated as they bore into mine, “what?’

  “Can you please leave so that I can dress?”

  Right. I stood, stretching my arms above my head, “I’ll wait outside.”

  “Good plan.”

  The breeze was cool as it played with my hair, the final dregs of Winter clawing for their moment against the fast-approaching sweltering sun of Summer, yet inside I was already burning. It was a different kind of burn than the ever present and familiar volcano that pumped my insides raw. This heat sat in my chest, simmering in hibernation from a source I didn’t know. It made me almost as uncomfortable as Ilya’s odd mood. He was never the most talkative or direct of people, but he’d always been dignified and polite. Never to my knowledge had been so short, so preoccupied with something unspoken. It only added to the weight plaguing my heart, and by the time he joined me in front of the infirmary my nails had been bitten raw.

  If Ilya noticed, he didn’t say as he stood by my side, crossing his arms tightly as he glanced back towards the entrance with distaste in his eyes, “the Warlock is an awfully loud sleeper.”

  “That’s Pierous,” I said, looking at my poor bloody fingers. I would’ve tried to hide them from view, but my dress was still coated in all kinds of foul fluids. What I wouldn’t have given for Princess Amicia’s bathhouse at that moment. I sucked them clean, “loud and obnoxious.”

  “Do you believe him trustworthy?” Ilya asked.

  What a question. I wouldn’t trust that Warlock as far as I could throw him, but that wasn’t saying much considering I couldn’t even throw an infant very far. Sighing, I clasped my hands together, “he saved your life, didn’t he? I don’t like him as a person, but that hardly qualifies him as one of the bad guys.”

  “Unless he only saved my life in an attempt to infiltrate Her Highnesses inner circle,” Ilya shifted his weight from foot to foot. Yet another thing I
’d never seen him do before, “we cannot allow him around her again until we can know for certain that he isn’t planning anything. I will need to interrogate him thoroughly.”

  “Wouldn’t expect anything less,” I said and squinted at his bloodshot eyes, “are you okay?”

  Ilya sighed and looked towards the path that led to the command tent, “I was already in deep trouble, and now I’m also late.”

  “So teleport,” I said, “we can continue our conversation later.”

  “No,” Ilya said sharply, “I need you to come with me. I-” he broke off, taking a deep breath before continuing in a calmer voice, “I want to tell you about Erebus.”

  I wasn’t an idiot. There was another reason he wanted me along with him, something he wasn’t telling me, but whatever the reason I didn’t particularly care. I wanted to be alone with him, the true reasoning didn’t matter, and so I started walking, “spill.”

  Ilya fell into pace beside me and nodded, “imagine a hypothetical future.”

  “Imagining.”

  “Now imagine in that future Lord Deniliquin is defeated. The enemy nations have surrendered, vanquishing all evil from Ascot. During all this, I do not succumb to any disease or battle. I live happily ever after-”

  “Are we still friends?” I asked.

  Ilya looked at me, brows deeply furrowed, “I beg your pardon?”

  “Are we still friends in this hypothetical future of yours?” I expanded.

  “I… suppose so. Yes.”

  Hmm. Interesting. “Continue.”

  Ilya blinked, but the creasing of his forehead didn’t lessen, “under normal circumstances, if I don’t die by disease or battle then I should live until old age, correct?”

  “Sure,” I replied, knowing it was never truly that simple. Death was always lingering two feet behind, ready to take you home at the mere loss of a hand. Yet it felt wrong pointing that out when he’d been dead that time yesterday morning, then stolen right from beneath Death’s nose when the deal had already been sealed. And nobody hated being cheated more so than Death.

  Ilya sighed wearily, rubbing at his eyes once more, “that’s no longer true for me. Even with perfect health Erebus claims it will be miraculous if I survive another fifteen years.”

  “Oh,” his words took root in my mind and I shrugged, “that’s okay.”

  Ilya grabbed my hand in his, but I didn’t slow down despite his pulling, “how is my premature death okay?”

  “Because you’re already dead,” I said, swapping my grip to hold his hand when he tried to rip it away. I massaged the joint of his wrist through the glove, “well, should be. Look around. Many of these tents are filled with people mourning, praying to any Deity who will listen to gift their loved ones just one extra day, one extra hour. You’ve been given fifteen years. That’s something to be grateful for, not upset because it isn’t more, ” I snorted and released his hand, “however, if I had to endure the Shield’s snoring for fifteen years, I’d be upset too.”

  “This isn’t funny,” Ilya said.

  “I know. You just look so serious that I can’t help laughing.”

  “I am serious,” Ilya said, “and why are you so surprised? I thought you knew-” he stopped talking and grabbed my hand again, squeezing tight enough to cut off circulation. I squeezed back, glancing at his face for a clue at what was wrong. His eyes were locked upon the Command tent and I followed his gaze, my heart speeding at the sight.

  With her silky pale hair clasped back in a delicately braided bun that would’ve appeared more appropriate when paired with a debutante gown than a traveling coat, Lady Ilana’s beauty was like an extra-terrestrial firelight. Even the natural beauty around her faded in comparison. Deities, I hated her. Commander Ramsey didn’t appear too fond either, or perhaps he was just stressed. It was difficult to tell with the frantic hand movements, his scarred lip stretching unnaturally as his mouth moved rapidly. His panic didn’t appear to have much effect on Lady Ilana, her pillowy lips set in a straight line as her eyes scanned the field, remaining unchanged even as they settled on our clasped hands. I was eternally grateful that Ilya’s gloves prevented him from feeling the moisture of my palms as we approached her.

  “Lana, I’m begging you. Make her see reason,” Ramsey was pleading when we came to a stop before them, “you’re chances of success are higher than mine will be with the guards.”

  “I’ll speak with her, but it is ultimately her decision to make,” Ilana replied, her stoic eyes remaining trained on our clasped hands.

  Ramsey’s frown deepened, and he turned to look at us, blushing ever so slightly before he cleared his throat, “good morning, children,” he greeted with as much awkwardness as one would expect before turning back to Ilana, “I’ll fetch her. Please do this for me.”

  Ilana gave an almost undetectable nod, and Ramsey sighed before marching into the command tent, trailed closely by several agitated looking Royal guards. That was strange in itself. Like members of a weird cult, the guards usually appeared indifferent to everybody and everything that wasn’t their beloved Princess. No amount of chocolate, booze or krona could crack a smile on their faces. I’d tried more than once for reasons that will remain unspecified. Still, there wasn’t time to ask questions, and who would I ask anyway? Certainly not Lady Ilana, whose beautiful bored face was somehow more frightening than Doctor Kira’s loudest screams.

  Several torturous moments of silence passed before she spoke, “where were you?” she looked Ilya in the eye, “I came by your tent to collect you, but your bed was empty. The others said you’ve yet to return.”

  “I was in the infirmary,” Ilya replied quietly. His anxiety felt wrong to me. Despite our differences, had I been separated from the good doc for weeks, during which I had literally died, there would’ve been a little bit more enthusiasm upon our reunification.

  “Why?” Ilana’s voice was utterly devoid of emotion.

  “I…,” Ilya paused and turned to look around the corral as if the answer his mother sought would be hiding there. Perhaps it was, for his eyes fell on my gnarly dress and he turned back to Ilana, “I threw up.”

  “You threw up.” Despite the lack of emotion in her voice, Ilana somehow made that statement sound accusatory. Ilya straightened his back to the point that it looked unnatural, and I looked between mother and son, uncomfortable yet painfully curious to the scene that was unfolding. A familiar laugh boomed from within the tent, and Ilana finally tore her gaze away from Ilya, but not before saying something short in that language I could never understand. Ilya sunk slightly as a fresh-faced Amicia all but bounced outside, lunging herself at Ilana.

  “Sir Edward informed me you’d returned,” the Princess laughed as she buried her face into Ilana’s chest, “I wasn’t expecting your return for another week. What are you doing here?”

  Ilana returned Amicia’s hug without hesitation, “is it so unusual that I should desire to ensure your safety here? Do you forget who tendered to you as a child?”

  “I do not forget,” Amicia’s voice was muffled by the leather of Ilana’s armour, “but you showed more concern back than too.”

  Ilana pushed Amicia away and looked down at her face for a moment before stroking the Princesses cheek with unexpected tenderness, “times change, and children grow. You no longer require a nanny, you require a mentor, and if that’s what you require, that is the role I will play. Now, and until you take the throne.”

  “And for long after, I should hope,” Amicia frowned, “don’t you dare sit me upon it and then disappear, leaving me only my ambassadors and knight jesters for guidance.”

  Ilana glanced at Ilya for a brief second before smiling, a beautiful smile that reached nowhere near her eyes, “Your Highness flatters me, but these are conversations for the future. In the present there are more pressing matters that must be attended.”

  “Certainly,” Amicia said. Her posture straightening in a way that could only be achieved through hours of holding a t
hick book on your head, and promptly flinging herself at Ilya, ignoring the way his entire body went rigid as she hid her face into his neck, “how are you?”

  “Fine, thank you,” Ilya looked between his mother and the gawking guards on duty, “Your Highness, I apologize for asking, but if it isn’t too much trouble, please can you stop hugging me?”

  Amicia huffed, but after one final tight squeeze around his neck, let go. She turned to me and smiled, “good morning, Kilco. I’d like to thank you for last night, I had a lot of fun. We’ll have to do it again sometimes,” sweet Deities, she didn’t have to say it like that, “in fact, if you would like to stop by for afternoon tea-”

  “Your Highness, I’d like the girl to accompany us now,” Ilana interrupted.

  “Mother, I don’t-” Ilya began, but stopped abruptly, flinching as Amicia shoved her hand in front of his face before lowering it to gently take mine. I could see it in Ilya’s eyes at that moment; there would be no escape. What royalty wants; royalty gets.

  Deities help me.

  “What news is there from Swannanoa?” Amicia asked as we moved through the halls. Her hand was still tightly clasped in my right, Ilya’s in my left, leaving me feeling like a naughty child being led by their parents. I could feel Ilana’s fire red gaze on me with every step, made bearable only by the icy glares the guards shot her way as we passed, “any word of my father?”

  “The King appears well,” Ilana replied simply, “Lord Deniliquin dares not harm in fear of a populace uprising. The citizens themselves are doing as well as can be expected. As long as they abide by the rebel regime, Deniliquin treats them well enough, but things are not perfect. There are increasing food shortages and rumours of a blacklung outbreak in the lower wings. Those caught opposing the regime either vanish during the night or are dragged away from the market midmorning, depending upon which message is desired to be sent. The families of deserters are then assigned to less than desirable servitude. As a result, the populace is distrustful. Most ask simply to be left alone.”