by D N Meinster
LiAnne Keru looked nothing like her older sister. With freckled skin and pronounced cheeks, she bore much more resemblance to her parents than Leidess ever had. He never would’ve guessed his girlfriend had been adopted, but then Aros was not shocked that he’d missed such an obvious fact that had been staring him in the face for years.
LiAnne’s huge blue eyes gazed into his own. “Aros.” She lingered, on the verge of giving him a hug, but chose to run upstairs instead.
Aros wasn’t sure it was permissible for him to step inside, so he waited until Ambrose finally meandered over.
“Come in,” Ambrose flatly stated when he saw a guest at the front door.
Aros took a step inside the Keru household, his first since Leidess had passed.
LiAnne was looking down from him from the upstairs, while Ambrose beckoned him over to a couch towards the back of the house.
He kept moving, past the fine sculptures and expensive paintings.
Aros was still standing while Ambrose took a seat next to his wife, Naphliaj. They were an attractive couple, even in their middle age. Ambrose had curly red hair and a thick mustache, and was dressed from top to bottom in gray silk. Naphliaj had sleek brown hair, dark eyes emphasized by extensive eyelashes, and a purple and white dress that was clearly distinct from the black and pink that Leidess used to wear.
“I’m sorry,” Aros mumbled, meaning it in so many different ways. He was sorry he failed their daughter. He was sorry he missed the funeral. He was sorry he hadn’t stopped by in the season since it happened.
“Please sit,” Naphliaj requested, motioning to a chair across from them.
Aros sunk into its cushions and looked the Kerus straight in their eyes.
“We always knew she was special,” Ambrose said. “We took her in as a favor to the King. He said she needed parents and we could do wonders with her. It took many years for us to come to the same conclusion and have a child of our own.”
“Leidess never knew she was adopted,” Naphliaj said. “We never got the chance to tell her. We never wanted to tell her, really. Maybe if we had, she could’ve taken precautions. But we didn’t think…”
Tears were already dripping down Aros’ cheeks. “It’s not your fault. I watched her get kidnapped. I saw her die.”
Ambrose cleared his throat. “It’s not your fault either.”
“I know.” Aros hadn’t blamed himself for decks. He knew that he couldn’t have done more. He’d been outmatched. But it was still a personal failure.
“We never got the full story,” Ambrose said. “Halstrom told us it was because she was part Ifta and Hatswick’s magic relied on that. But we never heard much more than that.”
“You-you want to know the whole story?” Aros asked.
“We need to hear it all,” Naphliaj stated.
Aros had only come to apologize, not to recite the tale of her death. But he couldn’t deny Leidess’ parents their chance to learn everything that had led up to it. He took a deep breath and began. “It was a few days before the Celebration, and I was in Ratch’s shop.”
He went on to explain every detail that he could remember. From the thief, to her kidnapping and disappearance, to the Resurrected. It was the first time he’d ever spelled out every incident that had preceded her murder, and telling it all made him feel better just as hearing it satisfied the Kerus.
When he got to the moment Hatswick ripped her soul from her body and bound it to replica keys to try and open the Door, he didn’t stop. He explained why he’d missed the funeral and why he hadn’t been able to see them afterward. Then he went on to describe his trip to Faunli and the apparition of Leidess.
His story contained the resolution of the Faun civil war, the confusing marvel that was Belliore, and the tyranny in Terrastream. He lingered on Hatswick’s final moments and rushed to Neanthal’s demise.
For all of it, Ambrose and Naphliaj were enthralled. They never asked him to stop or got up to leave. He had their attention for the hours it took to tell it all.
By the time he wrapped up, the sun was setting and Ambrose excused himself to start cooking dinner.
Naphliaj remained seated, her eyes never leaving Aros’ face. Each time she wanted to say something, she bit her tongue and continued staring.
LiAnne wandered into the room and hopped onto the couch. “Did you really see Leidess after she died?” Apparently, she’d been eavesdropping.
Aros nodded. “Sure as you’re here, she was in front of me.”
That made LiAnne smile. “I’m glad she’s okay.”
“It’s time for Aros to go,” Naphliaj said, and she signaled Aros head for the front door.
He did as requested, and Ambrose joined his wife to see him out.
“You will always be welcome here, Aros,” Ambrose said. “Don’t feel bad about missing her funeral. If I could’ve stayed in bed mourning her, I would have.”
“Our daughter deserved better than to be used by wicked men,” Naphliaj grumbled. “But never think she deserved better than you. You did well by her in life and in death.”
Aros could feel his eyes welling up again.
“Thank you for the truth,” Ambrose said just as he closed the door.
Aros observed their house for a moment and then turned around. He had to decide which of his three homes he would be spending the night in.
It didn’t take long for him to realize where he wanted to be. But he had to make a stop before going there.
After a spin, he was inside Ratch’s shop. The place was a mess, with piles of swords, shields, and gauntlets spread throughout and, in most cases, reaching the ceiling.
Ratch was still there, taking inventory of the weaponry left over from the war. Once he decided what he wanted to keep, he would distribute the rest throughout the Five Kingdoms.
“My mom’s gonna be wondering why you’re late,” Aros said as he inched toward the back of the shop.
“She knows I’ve got thousands of pieces to count,” Ratch remarked. “Part of me wants to melt down all this Massku shit, but I don’ exactly have the manpower to do that, now that I’m down an apprentice.”
Aros rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry.”
“I tease. Don’ worry about it.”
Aros had accepted a position on Doren’s High Council, which meant forfeiting his apprenticeship in Ratch’s shop. It was not something he could’ve turned down, but he still felt bad leaving Ratch on his own.
“Next graduation’s a-coming. I’ll find someone else.”
“You taught me so much, Ratch,” Aros said. “Thank you.”
“Thank me?” Ratch seemed offended. “I owe you my life, Aros, dumb idiot that you are. Stopping in the middle of a war to get me help. A smarter warrior would’ve let me die.”
“I could never do that,” Aros replied.
“Cause ya got a big heart.” Ratch slapped a palm on his chest. “But a little empty up here.” He tapped his forehead.
Aros crossed his arms.
“I helped Hatswick with his keys. That led to her death. My fault. You should’ve let ‘em kill me.”
“It’s not your fault!” Aros shouted. “Leidess doesn’t blame any of us. If I let you die, she could’ve told you that when you got to the Bastion.”
“Maybe I need to hear her say it,” Ratch said, tossing a sword onto a pile.
Aros raced toward his former master and gave him a hug.
Ratch reluctantly returned the gesture.
“I’m not gonna be here to snap you from your self-pity,” Aros said. “So I’ll tell mom to do it.”
Ratch snorted. “She’s good at getting my mind onto other things.”
Aros let go and sought to change the subject. “Think you can clear a path to the cupboard?”
“Is that why you’re here?” Ratch reached out and pushed a huge pile to the side with a single arm.
“It’s that last thing I left here,” Aros said, sneaking through and retrieving an object from within the cupboard.
“That’s yours?” Ratch asked, staring at the silver bow in Aros’ hands. “I thought you might have a spare clawblade back there.”
“I’m sticking with one for now,” Aros said.
“You know where to come if you want another,” Ratch said. “There’s gonna be plenty of Ligold in the inventory.”
Aros nodded.
“What’s that for?”
“It was for Leidess,” Aros replied. “But I know someone else that needs it.”
“I bet,” Ratch said, winking at him.
“Take care, Ratch,” Aros said.
“So long, my boy.”
Aros cleared the shop and made a spin. When he’d completed shifting, the city was gone, replaced by a forest and tall grass.
Loraya Lette snuck up on him moments after he appeared. She wrapped her arms around him from behind, and he went tense until she spoke.
“Where is your sword? This is still a warzone.”
“I left it in the castle,” Aros noted.
Once she let go, he was able to finally face his current girlfriend. Her green hair was as wild as ever, and it didn’t seem that she’d washed in at least a day.
“How are you so dirty when there is a river right over there?” Aros asked as he pointed.
She shrugged and finally noticed the bow in his hand. “What’s that?”
“I’m not sure it will hold up against someone like Neanthal, but for your average human…” He held out the bow to her. “For you.”
Loraya ran a finger along the smooth metal surface. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Aros looked away as he said, “I made it for Leidess, originally. It was only for Splitting, but I never got the chance to give it to her.” He finally gazed into her eyes. “It’s yours, now.”
Loraya took full possession of the bow and started spinning it in her hands. She pulled at the string and finally slung it over her shoulder. “A bit heavy, but I like it. Could be lethal even if I run out of arrows.” She beamed at Aros. “Thank you.”
Aros gave her a shy smile. “I hear you might not get the chance to use it.”
Loraya rolled her eyes. “The Bellish insist they continue negotiations or they’ll take those away.” She motioned to a line of AGTs that were sitting in the grass. “As if Grayston Ghalor can be reasoned with. I tried, remember?”
“You didn’t have what the Bellish have,” Aros replied.
“Even if they get this truce to last, I don’t want to have to coexist with the monarchists,” she whined. “We died fighting them. What was the point if they get to stay in their keep and pretend to rule Terrastream?”
Aros knew she had a point, but he didn’t want to encourage a stance that Doren and the entire government of Ghumai opposed. “There are five kingdoms that have to coexist, even though they haven’t done so in three hundred years. They consider a resolution to your conflict to be easy since you’re all Streamers.”
“Proof that they’re all outsiders that don’t know us,” Loraya replied. “Meanwhile, I have to sit and do nothing while they attempt the impossible.”
“Do you really find peace to be impossible?” Aros asked. He figured that as long as the monarchists stayed in Valiant Keep and left the traditionalists alone, there could be peace. The Bellish were negotiating for a settlement exactly like that.
“I’d find it boring,” Loraya said.
Aros was worried that his gift might have encouraged her violent edge. “If you don’t get to shoot someone with that bow, we can always play Splitting.”
“Even if they achieve some peace, it will only be temporary,” Loraya said.
“But you’ll let your mages go to Castle Tornis even in a temporary peace?” Aros checked.
“Are you here because you’re my boyfriend or because you’re on the High Council?”
Aros contorted his face into a concerned scowl. “Both?”
Loraya smirked. “And I expect I’m to go to Kytheras tomorrow?”
“It is the Coronation,” Aros reminded her.
Loraya inched closer and cozied up to him. “But where are you staying tonight?”
Of his three options, which included his home and Castle Tornis, his third was right in front of him. “Here.”
She planted a kiss on his lips. “Good.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The Last King
Rikki watched the hands of the clock tick closer to the time when she’d no longer be able to hide in her room. She hadn’t much left it since her stay in the Healer’s Sanctuary ended.
When she’d returned to it, she’d been surprised by how little had changed. The walls were still swirls of red and pink. The carpet still maroon. The curtains still crimson. Even the tidy scarlet sheets had yet to be changed. All the wooden furniture, be it the desk where her clock sat, or the bookshelf, or the closet, was covered in a fine layer of dust. If someone had been cleaning after she’d left, they’d undoubtedly stopped once Neanthal had taken over.
None of the familiar sights provided much comfort, yet she couldn’t bring herself to abandon them. They were all she had. Everything else that had meant something was gone.
Amelia’s staff. A priceless heirloom that had parted the lands and locked away the Beast. It had disintegrated along with the matching necklace. No one else would inherit it. No one would display it. No one could claim to bury it with her.
Amelia’s cloak. A gift from the Roamers and the Bellish. It had been Yuurei’s, and she wore it in honor of him and the mission her great-grandmother had bestowed to him. It was lost; disintegrated like its former owner.
Worse than all of that was the empty feeling that pervaded Rikki. It was constant and overwhelming; its cause unexpected and possibly irrevocable. For, from the moment she awoke in the Healer’s Sanctuary, she had been unable to use her magic.
Healer Eruc had guessed that she had merely exhausted it in the battle and it would soon return. But it’d been decks, and she hadn’t even been able to light one of the candles on her desk.
Rikki had put her entire being into that last attack against Neanthal. She hadn’t considered the consequences, be they death or her current predicament. All that had mattered was defeating him, and at the very least, she’d accomplished that. She just didn’t get to enjoy the aftermath of her victory. She’d missed the celebrations that had taken place since Neanthal’s demise, and her loss had ruined any positive mood she might have been in once she left the Sanctuary.
Each morning she woke, she attempted some sort of magical feat. And when she failed, she simply returned to her bed and stayed there for the day.
Doren visited her often, trying to coax her from her room. She was grateful for his love and his effort, but he kept expecting to find a mage and left disappointed. That Rikki was dead. She was something else now, filled with grief over the loss of her former self.
Aros also called on her from time-to-time, providing updates on recent developments in Ghumai but not trying to coax her to act in a manner she was not yet ready for. He also told her that he had not heard Magenine’s voice since Neanthal’s destruction, and he quizzed her over whether there was a connection between that and the loss of Rikki’s abilities.
Had the Goddess left them after they’d done what She required of them? Rikki figured that made sense for Aros, as his connection had been a historical anomaly. But, there remained a couple of mages out there that still retained their abilities. Magenine hadn’t abandoned Ghumai; only Rikki.
She couldn’t figure the reason for her loss. Magic had not only defined who she was, but it defined her entire life. If she hadn’t been born a mage, she might have grown up out in the city with her actual parents. She would have never been kept prisoner for nineteen years. She would have never met Hatswick, Milo, or even Doren. What was she without it?
Doren insisted she keep the title of Grand Mage. She slightly despised him for it, as it seemed like a heartless joke, mocking her loss. However, he might have been
thinking ahead, as it was that title that was forcing her from her room on this day.
Rikki dragged herself over to her closet and gradually opened it. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror for the first time in decks, and she noted how much paler she looked than she remembered.
Rows of dresses were hanging within, many of them a shade of red, and others gray or white. One item stood out more than any other. A gift from her boyfriend, who had placed it inside during his last visit.
Rikki removed the black-and-white cloak and held it out at arm’s length. Doren insisted she have it, as it would allow her to shift even if she never got her magic back.
As Rikki slipped it on, she could at least be certain that she wouldn’t disintegrate this one. There were only two enchanted cloaks left in the world, and there was no one with magic capable of enchanting any more.
She examined herself in the mirror, feeling slightly awkward as she’d only ever seen it on her boyfriend and her boyfriend’s relative. It didn’t fit her nearly as well as the solid silver cloak had, but she was grateful to have something worthy of her title.
After patting down her magenta hair, Rikki shut the closet door and spun in place.
In a whirl, her room disappeared and the Throne Room took its place.
The throne atop the stairs sat empty in front of the colorful glass windows. Doren, the only other person in the room, was staring up at it so intently that he didn’t even notice when he was no longer alone.
Rikki sidled up to him and spoke. “You knew I’d have to leave my room for this, didn’t you?”
Doren glanced at her. “It is a Grand Mage’s duty.”
She shook her head. “I’m no Grand Mage.”
“Officially, you are.”
Rikki held up her empty hands. “No staff. No magic. When those other mages get here, you can end this charade.”
Doren put a hand to his chin. “I expect you’ll have a different title by then anyway.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What title would that be?”
“Queen.”
Rikki smiled for the first time in days. “Queen Rikki Nasem. A bit pompous, but I like it.”
“Not Queen Rikki Tunsev?” Doren asked, finally facing her.