Stain

by A. G. Howard

  Luce tipped his head in acknowledgement, absently tugging at the talisman around his neck. “It was in fact our Queen Lyra who gave me the idea, when she shamed Sir Erwan into confessing everyone’s crimes in Eldoria. If only we’d had influential witnesses to overhear him, we could’ve forgone the princess test altogether.”

  Vesper shrugged. “I rather like the way it played out. Watching my wily thief become the queen she was meant to be while bringing her cousin to her knees. It was a thing of beauty.” He grinned at Lyra and she smiled back, feeling a rush of pride. Vesper reached for the vial and held it up to a slant of moonlight. The contents illuminated, glittering like black diamonds. “So, this is what the regent used? For Lustacia’s fraudulent shadows?”

  Dyadia nodded. “Though this one is less potent. Fool woman had no business dabbling in such things. All it takes is a drop of the moonlit essence for the apparitional effect. By using an excess, she damned those miserable goblins to a half-light state forever—bound to her daughter. Though they still have some of their innate characteristics, they must do whatever she demands. They’ve no choice . . . no freedom to think on their own.” She gestured toward the vial. “Whoever serves this will have the same power over their recipient. However, this diluted dose will last no more than two years, then the victim can return to their original form, while still remembering all they experienced as a half-light.”

  It didn’t hurt the stags, did it? To make more? Lyra signed the question.

  Dyadia, having lived as long as Crony, easily deciphered her gestures. “Not at all. Since such a small amount was required, I drained it from the edge of their antlers, still intact upon their head. No different than pricking a fingertip for a droplet of blood. And I awarded the donor stag with extra nutrients.” She held up her own finger, revealing a miniscule hole. “It is a tradeoff. One must always give back what they take, or both parties suffer.”

  Lyra furrowed her brow. What is the trade-off for me to receive my voice again?

  Vesper set the vial down, intent upon hearing Dyadia’s answer himself.

  “There’s no trade-off for something that is rightfully yours. You shall have it back, but exactly as it was. You weren’t able to talk with your voice before, and you shan’t be able to now. It will be nothing more or less than it was in the beginning—a blessing for its beauty and the power to inspire peace and happiness in others. But also a curse, for it will never inure itself to words. Do you still desire it?”

  Yes, Lyra answered. A part of her had hoped that since Lustacia had managed to mold her voice into speech, there might be some residual effect to help Lyra talk. But it didn’t matter. Being able to emote through sound . . . to laugh aloud or yelp in surprise . . . to sing with a jubilation and joy that would make others happy upon hearing it—that was enough.

  “Then you shall have it. First, I must make a trip to Eldoria for Crony’s grimoire. It contains the transference recipe I’ll need.”

  As if on cue, Luce lifted the talisman from around his neck. He pulled a few strands of hair free from the braided pendant. “So you can find her quickly.”

  Lyra now understood why the determinate elixir had carried Dregs to the Rigamort. Apparently, Dregs had used an icicle growth his cousin once lost in a game of cards for his elixir’s personal ingredient. Since Slush had already become a half-light apparition when Dregs went looking for him, the magic carried him to the last place it remembered the icicle growth being.

  As Luce handed over Crony’s hair, a look passed between him and Dyadia—something indecipherable, but decidedly somber.

  You’ll be visiting Crony? Lyra asked. Please convince her to come to the nuptials. Tell her she has an honored place in both kingdoms, protected by myself and the king. I want her to see us wed, to be with us when the skies unite. Tell her I still need her . . . she’s the only mother I can remember.

  Madame Dyadia studied her palm where the strands of hair trembled on her every breath. “Do not worry, Highness. I will speak to her. And she will bear witness to everything; I vow it.” She wrapped the hairs within a cloth, then pushed the memory box toward Lyra. “On the note of mothers, it is time you are reacquainted with Queen Arael and your place in Eldoria.”

  Lyra’s heartbeat skipped as she reached up to touch her crown, the weight of it foreign upon a mane of lustrous hair to which she had yet to acclimate. As foreign as the mother she would never know.

  She brought her fingers down and signed: I don’t expect any memories of Queen Arael in that box. She died giving birth to me.

  Luce, having had a pained expression on his face already, looked beyond miserable now. It was as if he wished to slip into his ethereal form and vanish altogether. Instead, he kept his lips clamped over pointed teeth and stared at the pendant between his fingers.

  Vesper leaned around the sylph to catch Lyra’s gaze, his crown’s silver-tipped spikes warming to pinkish-orange in the candlelight, like black thorns dotted with morning dew. “There will be memories of your father telling you of your mother. I never met him, but I know how much he loved you. Enough to stop a war and sign a blood oath to win his daughter the nightsky she needed to be happy. Like my father, yours accepted you from the beginning as his own, even though you were different from him. A man like that would never let you forget where you came from. Who you came from.”

  Thank you, Lyra mimed. She’d learned many things about her kingdom’s history from Prime Minister Albous at the luncheon feast, the most unsettling of which was that her father had a hand in King Orion’s death through the panacea roses, however unintentional. She loved Vesper even more for forgiving her father and offering such kind sentiments.

  Dyadia opened the box’s lid and lifted out a stack of glass that jingled like chimes. Glowing magical threads bound the spine, forming a book of sorts. Lyra had watched Crony use the spinnerets in her horns to tie two or three memories together at a time. However, she’d never seen so many memories. And each one belonged to her . . . an entire past waiting dormant within these pages.

  The sorceress turned her unnerving gaze to Lyra. “You said you wished me to animate it before the imprint, so our king can view the pages?”

  Lyra nodded. She wanted to share her background with Vesper, just as he’d shared his in his notes. To intimately experience one another’s pasts would perhaps awaken the magic that could bring the moon and sun together. As it stood, she felt nothing inside of her powerful enough to enact such a monumental, earth-shattering feat.

  Luce started to rise but Lyra caught his wrist, asking him to stay without speaking.

  He nodded and sat again.

  The sorceress sipped from a cup. Steam curled over the brim’s edge, smelling foul and putrid. When asked what it was, she replied, “Decomposing leaves gathered from a boneyard, a raven’s skull ground to powder, and a mourner’s tears.” Having drank it all, she fogged the pages with her breath of death, one after another, animating a multitude of colorful shapes across the enchanted tableaus—stained-glass images coming alive.

  Lyra flipped through, choosing which scenes to share . . .

  Together, the three of them watched blissful moments. She cried upon her first memory, of her father’s own tears upon her face as a newborn, giving her the taste of comfort. Then fury burned dark and deep upon remembering he’d died at the hand of his sister. While watching the scene when Lyra first met Crony in the dungeon, Luce’s hands tensed around the talisman that he’d returned to his neck.

  At last came the final memory . . . being dropped within a coffin at Bartley’s and Erwan’s hands. Vesper twitched like a predator waiting to pounce, his fingers clawing the table, knuckles bulging beneath his rich, lovely skin. He sat there long enough to witness the two knights dropping in the cadaver brambles and scorpions, making her writhe and scream until her voice was gone.

  Choking back a growl, he shoved out of his chair, knocking it over. He knelt in front of Lyra. “My queen, your family belongs to you alone.” His low
rumbling voice, paired with flaring nostrils and embers in his eyes, was more unsettling than a roar. “But grant me one favor. Give me Bartley.”

  Lyra stroked his hand and nodded.

  Kissing her forehead, he turned to Luce. “After the memory weave is done, see that she gets back to her chambers. She’ll need to rest before we visit the infirmary.”

  “Of course,” Luce answered.

  Vesper left the chamber without another word.

  Lyra’s hands shook as she asked Luce if she’d made a mistake.

  The barely contained fury on his face mirrored Vesper’s. “No. He has been affected by this, too. And considering I got the pleasure of snapping Erwan’s neck, it’s only right your king has his turn. He grew up killing monsters. Let him put that talent to use.”

  Lyra looked back to the glass book. She was done viewing her memories like a distant bystander. She wanted to experience them, wanted them ingrained—fused to her mind and body with every emotion and sensory element that made them distinctly her own—no matter how painful.

  She asked the sorceress to explain the procedure.

  “Your part is simple.” Madame Dyadia tugged at the glowing threads binding the book and drew them out into one long string that drifted in the air. Catching it, she spun and spun the strand until it frayed into pale, smoky mist. White sparks blinked within, like lightning trapped in a cloud. She guided the flashing mist to settle over Lyra’s head and face. “These are the breaths of your resurrection. Close your eyes, and inhale.”

  31

  The Spectacular Spectacle of Merciful Doom

  Queen Lyra was accompanied by Selena to the castle’s infirmary, as her king had been detained by his appointment with Bartley and was to meet them there.

  Inside the humid ballroom, the scent of panacea petals simmering in water overwhelmed, along with the sounds of coughing and choked gasps. This demonstration of Nerezeth’s desperate need for sunlight weighed heavy on Lyra’s crown. She walked alongside Selena between cots and looked at each face—whether sleeping or awake in their torment. Those who looked back she acknowledged with a dip of the head, an assuring smile, and a pat on the hand. Hearing the words “The stars bless you, Majesty” and seeing patients’ eyes light up with awe and anticipation fed an all-consuming sense of duty—and the hope that she and Vesper could live up to such faith.

  A few rows down, her king came into sight alongside Cyprian. The two men crouched next to a cot that held a small occupant. Selena caught Lyra’s arm so they could watch and listen from a distance, unseen.

  “Oh, please! Again, Sir Nocturne!” the boy on the cot pleaded with a groggy voice. “Start where his Majesty dragged the prisoner through the Grim. But more gore this time.”

  Vesper shook his head, the tips of his crown glinting gray in the lantern-light. “Now, Nyx, we must be gallant. There’s a lady present.”

  The boy huffed, his feet wriggling beneath his sheet. “Where?”

  “Me, you knob-head,” a little girl in the adjacent cot answered.

  The boy snorted. “Elsa’s no lady! She’s my sister.”

  The girl scowled at her brother then turned to Vesper. “Oh please, Majesty. I’m strong like our new queen. One day, I’ll face the Grim and ride brumal stags, and wear scars prettier than diamond necklaces. I’m not wobbly kneed at all!”

  Lyra and Selena exchanged smiles.

  “All right,” Vesper said with a laugh in his voice. “But after this, you both need to rest.”

  The girl tossed off her sheet and scrambled onto Nyx’s cot, knees drawn to her chest.

  “First,” Cyprian began, “our brave king dragged Bartley outside the Grim to a snowy plot known to harbor a pack of cadaver brambles. A handful of groundsmen and guards followed to watch.”

  “I’ve been there!” Nyx nodded.

  “You lie like a frog on a log,” his sister scoffed.

  “Shhh.” Cyprian held a finger to his lips. “Next, His Majesty ordered everyone to stand back and not interfere, no matter the outcome. Then he loosened the prisoner’s binds and gave the scoundrel the opportunity to fight for his freedom—hand-to-hand combat.”

  Vesper boxed the air and tottered about on his knees, demonstrating. His crown slid askew and he had to straighten it. The children giggled. Lyra’s love kindled bright, to see how deeply he cared, how deftly he distracted the little ones from their drab surroundings and illness.

  “They were well matched in their skills,” Cyprian nudged Vesper with an elbow. “But our king had brute strength and fierce instincts driving him. Not to mention justice for his beloved betrothed.”

  Upon hearing this, Elsa cooed and stared moon-eyed at Vesper.

  “After wrestling about in the snow, our king tricked Bartley into thinking he was tiring out, all to lure him to the tallest drift. He tackled him there, rolling them into a bramble. They were both captured by the spiny monster at one point, and it took all I had to hold the spectators back.”

  Vesper wrapped his royal robe around himself, as if he were tangled up.

  “But they needn’t have worried.”

  Vesper stretched his arms, the robe flapping open like giant wings.

  “’Cause he broke free!” Nyx’s sleepy eyes widened. “We know how to fight monsters here . . .”

  Vesper and Cyprian exchanged somber glances.

  “That we do. Our Majesty defeated his bramble and escaped. But Bartley didn’t fare so well. By the time King Vesper freed him from the spikes, the prisoner was mangled and broken. So, his majesty drew the royal broadsword and put him out of his misery in one fell swoop.”

  “Then you dragged his bloody bag of bones and lopped-off head back here so Eldoria’s regent could get a good long look!” Nyx added, before having to cover his mouth on a cough.

  “We did,” Cyprian assured. “She’s well and duly primed for the sentencing now.”

  The story wound down as Vesper spotted Lyra. She waved, and he motioned her over to meet the children before they tucked them in again.

  As they left for the throne room, Lyra held Vesper back so Cyprian and Selena moved a few steps ahead. Studying the fresh bruises, welts, and lacerations and cuts along her king’s face, neck, hands, and wrists, she could only imagine the damage his royal robe, stockings, boots, and tunic were hiding. Though wildness shimmered hot in his eyes, there was a satisfaction that hadn’t been there since this all began.

  She squeezed his hand and he lifted hers to kiss her wrist. You were wonderful with those children, she said between them.

  He looked into her eyes. I want to be a good king.

  You already are. She smiled. To see the bounce in his step despite the bruised face and battered hands was like watching Scorch prance around in smoky circles with pointed shafts stuck in his hide after he’d blazed and trampled his way out of a rain of arrows. Just as Luce had said, Vesper had needed this victory, for his honor as much as hers. By meting out justice at the hand . . . or barbs . . . of the same beast Bartley had used to torment an innocent child, he had reinforced his reputation as a fair and assertive ruler capable of protecting and defending his people.

  Also, I happen to know from my own experiences, Lyra told him, that the best kings make the best fathers.

  His jaw dropped in remembrance of her monumental appointment with Dyadia. “Of course! Your memories.” He brought her hand to his chest. “Tell me everything . . .”

  Later, she promised as Luce came into view. They caught up to him, then to Selena and Cyprian.

  Upon Luce’s request, the first knight regaled him with the details of Bartley’s demise. During the telling, Vesper slanted Luce a sly glance, waggling his brows. Luce rolled his eyes, though his lips twitched on what Lyra recognized as a rare smile of approval.

  Once they arrived outside the throne room, Vesper sent Cyprian for something Lyra had specifically requested to aid in the sentencing.

  Luce parted from the group and blended into the crowd as Selena, Vesper, and
Lyra followed a fragrant trail of lavender panacea rose petals leading to the dais. Catching sight of their king and queen, the audience bowed their heads in welcome.

  Lyra balked at the sheer number of people. Strangers’ faces stretched wall to wall. Even the balconies were packed. The memories she’d absorbed only hours earlier had brought along with them old fears and insecurities. A distrust of crowds and accolades. But all it took was one look at the dais where her wicked relatives—Griselda, Lustacia, Wrathalyne, and Avaricette, hands tied behind their backs and guards stationed beside them—had been forced to kneel before the empty thrones, and the courage and fortitude she’d gained over the past five years while running with a witch, a sylph, and a Pegasus, came flooding back.

  Lifting her chin high, Lyra led the way to the thrones. Prime Minister Albous joined the procession, walking alongside Queen Nova. Vesper held Lyra’s hand as they climbed the stairs. He helped her sit, with Selena gathering her robe’s train underneath and around the sides of the throne.

  Selena, Prime Minister Albous, and Queen Nova took their respective places, standing next to the new queen or beside the king, their backs to the wall behind them. Lyra met Lustacia’s gaze, and her cousin broke down into tears. Wrathalyne and Avaricette couldn’t even look up, too overwhelmed by fear.

  When Lyra met Griselda’s belligerent glare, it didn’t surprise her that her aunt had no remorse. During her memory transference in the Star Turret, Lyra recovered her aunt’s confession: that she’d given away her conscience. As it stood, all of Griselda’s final words were seared into Lyra’s brain; she could still hear them ringing in her head, as clearly as she’d heard them through the closed lid of a coffin:

  I suppose I should thank you. By freeing the witch while we still had her staff in custody, you made this entire setup possible. So, I’ll return the favor and tell you how it all ends, since you won’t be here to see for yourself. After you give up your voice, you’ll become drowsy and your breath will slow. You won’t be able to stay awake. And once you sleep, you will slip away. Give no thought to your faithful subjects. Any who become too curious or concerned will be cut down one by one. Mia will be first. Someone will attempt to poison our fare and she’ll die a hero, proving her loyalty to Eldoria once and for all. As for the kingdom, Lustacia and I have it well in hand. You can slumber in eternal peace knowing this, little perfect princess. That is my gift to you.