Broken in Twilight

by Kim ten Tusscher

  “Good,” she heard the master say as he took away the flask. His voice sounded distant.

  Lilith dizzily collapsed to the ground. She tried to sit but failed. The world around her became blurred. She didn’t even notice that the servus dragged her back into the water.

  4

  Having closed the door behind him, Ferhdessar stood still. It was nice to be back in Nadesh. He put his bags down and walked to the window overlooking the small villages to the east. This was his favourite spot to sit and think. The city’s altitude created a distance to the world that helped him clarify his thoughts.

  He stretched his back, because it was hurting from the long ride. He still hadn’t completely recovered from the fight with Kasimirh. Afifa had insisted on another treatment, but Ferhdessar had refused. More than that, he was pretty aggravated that the sorceress had dared to use her diabolical tricks on him. His body had been itching for days after that first treatment: a clear sign that she had done something bad. Afifa, of course, hadn’t agreed with that interpretation. She said the itching was a sign that his body was healing.

  The door opened, and Ferhdessar turned around. Ghalatea entered the room. She apologized.

  “I hadn’t expected you back so soon, so I haven’t completely finished here.” She pulled the blankets off the bed and used clean bedding to make it up. “I haven’t had time for Lilith’s room, either.”

  Ferhdessar sighed and turned to face the window. “There’ll be no need for that. Lilith hasn’t returned with me.”

  The rustle of the sheets stopped. Ferhdessar felt Ghalatea’s eyes piercing his back, but he didn’t turn around.

  “Where is she? Is she all right?” Ghalatea’s voice was a mixture of hope and fear.

  “Ferhdessar shrugged. “I don’t know how she’s doing. She’s back with Kasimirh,” he said reluctantly.

  A few seconds went by in silence before he heard her footsteps. From the corner of his eye he saw the Ancilla Princeps walk up to him.

  “He managed to capture her again,” she stammered.

  “No, she returned to him of her own accord.”

  Ferhdessar turned around to face her. Ghalatea looked doubtful. “What happened? How is that possible?”

  Ferhdessar told her what had happened in Havv’n after he had made Lilith fight without her consent. When he had finished, the Ancilla Princeps stared at him and smacked him in the face. Shocked by what she had done, she started back.

  Both surprised and angry, Ferhdessar brought his hand to his burning cheek. He opened his mouth but didn’t get a chance to say anything.

  “How could you be so stupid?” Ghalatea ranted as she walked back to the bed to finish her work as quickly as possible. “How could you chase her away like that? Maybe all you had to do was ask. She hates the servi so much that she would have jumped at the chance to attack them.”

  “That’s why I don’t understand her anger. It was necessary, and there was no time to ask her. She longed for that moment.”

  Ghalatea shook her head in disapproval. “Are you really that bad at empathizing with other people? Lilith trusted you and you betrayed her.”

  Ferhdessar decided that there was no point trying to explain. He could somewhat imagine why Lilith had been livid when she found out what he had done, especially since, at the same time, she had discovered that she was responsible for Chrys’s death. But it was beyond his comprehension as to why she had returned to Kasimirh.

  Silence hung over the room as Ghalatea replaced the pillows. She grabbed the blankets by their ends and released them over the bed in one fluid motion. They billowed before landing gracefully on the bed. With a few resolute movements she tucked them in, until there were no wrinkles left. Finally, she draped the dark-blue coverlet on the bed, tightening it until it was crease free as well.

  Lost for words, Ghalatea looked at the sorcerer again. Thinking better of it, she turned around and walked to the door. Once there she spoke, but not the words that had been on the tip of her tongue. This was a professional message. “Lord Yvar wants to see you immediately. I think you’ll find him in the treasury.”

  Ferhdessar nodded at the two guards who were guarding the treasury, and stepped inside. Yvar stood next to a display case with its door open. The king had his back to Ferhdessar, but started speaking anyway.

  “I was displeased by your reports about the battle of Havv’n.”

  Ferhdessar hesitated and checked his step. “We ousted Kasimirh, Yvar,” he said piqued.

  “For now, perhaps. Why isn’t Lilith here?”

  “She chose to rejoin forces with the prophet.”

  Yvar still hadn’t turned around. Ferhdessar walked up to him and saw the gold sceptre in his hands.

  “I thought I ordered you to kill her if a situation like that was to present itself.” Yvar’s voice was hoarse with suppressed anger, and his eyes blazed with rage as he looked at Ferhdessar. “Why didn’t you kill her?”

  “Kasimirh was too strong. And when I fought him again later, I couldn’t beat him either. He uses a kind of magic that is immensely more powerful than mine.”

  “Worthless sorcerer,” hissed Yvar.

  “That’s unfair. I know you’re worried, but I don’t deserve to be called that,” Ferhdessar grumbled.

  The attempt on the king’s life hadn’t been that long ago and had almost immediately been followed by the attack on Havv’n. It was clear that Merzia was about to be dragged into a war, and it was up to Yvar to take the next step.

  “We chased after him to finish the job. We even found the island where Lilith was reunited with him. But unfortunately, it was deserted by the time we arrived,” Ferhdessar tried.

  “You might well have ruined our only chance to end this,” Yvar said, shaking his head. “And now the danger for Merzia is even bigger, because Kasimirh has Lilith back. He sees Nadesh as the centre of a world that believes in Jakob. What on earth will stop him from sending her to Nadesh to destroy everything?”

  Nothing, Ferhdessar knew. Lilith’s stories about her past had made it abundantly clear that she was a merciless enemy once she was carrying out Kasimirh’s orders. Ferhdessar had felt it himself when he had been connected to her during the defence of Havv’n. “I’m sure she can be defeated. We’ll bring you to a safe place that no one knows about. General Zander will prepare a hearty welcome for Kasimirh…”

  “I’ve already put things in motion,” Yvar interrupted.

  “You should have discussed that with me first.”

  “Why?”

  “King Ingemar…”

  Yvar spun around and pressed the tip of the sceptre against Ferhdessar’s chest. “I am king now, and I’m not my father! Merzia is mine to protect. When I need your advice, I’ll ask for it, but there are others who can advise me just as well. At the recommendation of my generals, I sent envoys to the pontifices. Zuzeca is bound to arrive in Nadesh any day now.”

  Ferhdessar flinched and carefully pushed the sceptre aside. “Why would you want that? What can Margal’s high priests possibly offer you?”

  “A safe passage. My generals convinced me that we should attack Kasimirh on his own territory. That means that my army has to cross through the lands of the pontifices. It doesn’t seem wise to attempt that without their consent.

  And there is another reason to look for support from the Naftalians; Kasimirh is their enemy as well. Together, we can beat the sorcerer. Zuzeca is coming this way to negotiate an alliance.”

  “You are making a huge mistake! Letting him into our country will only increase the unrest in Merzia.” Ferhdessar pointed at the sceptre. The twisted rod was as long as an arm and ended in a spherical shape. On its top rested a dragon with its wings wrapped protectively around the sphere. It dated back to the time when Yvar’s royal ancestors still ruled the entire known world. The first dragonshifter had even held it in his hands. “Not so long ago, this object would have been reason enough to pour acid over your head. I would probably not have been a
round to witness that, because I simply would have been dead.”

  Ferhdessar’s words faded into the silence. Yvar was nowhere near the only half-blood in Merzia. At the time of the Purifications, many people had sought refuge in Merzia. They undoubtedly remembered the ideologies that a pontifex stood for.

  The silence lingered. Yvar didn’t respond immediately. He stroked the sceptre with his fingers.

  He sighed. All of a sudden he looked much older. “That’s exactly why I wouldn’t choose to venture into Naftalia without an alliance with one of the pontifices. I don’t like doing this, but I can’t see another way.”

  “That’s why I would have preferred that you consulted with me first,” Ferhdessar whispered.

  “And then what?” Yvar asked, heated. “What would have been your solution?”

  Ferhdessar couldn’t answer his question. Yvar calmed down and carefully put the sceptre back on its stand. “It’s such a beautiful object. When I hold it, it’s like I can feel all of the previous kings inside me. It gives me strength.”

  Then he left the treasury. Ferhdessar followed him. The two guards stood motionless to each side of the door. They stared straight ahead, pretending not to have heard anything that had gone on inside.

  5

  Every now and then a collective shout cut through the silence, as thirty members of the Royal Guard performed their exercises in fluid, synchronous movements. Like a wave they slowly danced to the rhythm of their own breathing. The swords that served as extensions of their arms reflected the light, like water reflecting sunlight. They continued dancing in slow-motion until the tips of their swords briefly touched the ground. Without a sign or a signal, all the guards spun around, their clothes flaring out. Their movements became increasingly fast and powerful.

  Yvar observed them from a distance. He turned around when Ferhdessar walked up to him. “It pleases me that my Guard operates as a team. That will be indispensable during the upcoming battle.”

  Ferhdessar nodded. Once again it struck him that, during his absence, the king had turned years older. The lines in his forehead were now ever present, whereas before they had only appeared when the king had been deep in thought.

  Their fight in the treasury hadn’t been their last. For evenings on end, Kasimirh had been the topic of their discussions. Ferhdessar had eventually reconciled himself with the king’s decision. What else could he do?

  They watched the guards in silence for a while. Then Yvar asked, “Have you come to tell me that the pontifex has arrived?”

  “He’s bound to ride into the square any minute now.”

  Yvar sighed and shouted something at the guards. They immediately ceased their exercise and gathered around the king. As one, they moved to the entrance of the palace. Yvar stood at the top of the stairs. Ferhdessar walked to the side.

  Only a small crowd had gathered to welcome the high priest. Further to the back stood a group of Purified people. Soldiers were lined up close to them. Ferhdessar wondered if there was anyone among the Purified people who understood the king’s decision. Yvar was taking a huge risk; the visit of the pontifex could result in an uprising against the king.

  There were no cheers when the first soldiers appeared from between the buildings. Naftalian warriors in yellow uniforms walked side by side with their Merzian counterparts whose task was to make sure that the pontifex could travel safely through the country. A few moments later Zuzeca’s standard loomed up. The gold thread glittered in the sun. Next came three white coaches. The horses’ halters were also embellished with gold.

  Trumpets sounded when the coaches stopped. A soldier opened the door. A man, completely clad in white, got out. He glanced around and his gaze rested briefly on the group of Purified people before he ascended the stairs.

  Meanwhile, eight women got out of the other coaches. One of them was clearly with child. They were all well-dressed and hung with jewellery. Nevertheless, one of the women drew more attention than the others. Threads of gold were plaited into her dark hair, and her body was tightly laced up in a corset. Two younger women arranged her train and whispered something to her. She nodded, though the look in here eyes betrayed fear.

  Zuzeca stopped a few steps below Yvar. For a short time nothing happened. Neither man bowed. At long last, Yvar was the one to break the silence.

  “Welcome to Nadesh. I hope you’ve had a pleasant journey.”

  The pontifex nodded in response.

  Ferhdessar was on his guard. It was an insult for the pontifex not to pay honour to the king, but it was unlikely that Yvar was going to comment on it. It would jeopardize the alliance.

  The women did curtsy, and the king addressed them: “My Ancilla Princeps will show you the rooms that have been readied for you.”

  “Thank you, lord Yvar,” the oldest woman answered.

  “Let’s continue our conversation inside,” Yvar suggested as he beckoned Ferhdessar. “Are these all your wives or have some of them remained behind?”

  “One of them is in the last stages of pregnancy, and two have just given birth, so they didn’t come on our journey. Three other wives have stayed behind to take care of them.” Meanwhile, he pulled the most lavishly dressed woman forward by her arm. “This is my daughter, Nigesanla.”

  Yvar faced her and kissed the back of her hand. “I hope you’ll feel at home here, my lady.”

  The woman curtsied and humbly bowed her head, wiping her hand clean on her skirts at the same time. She looked over her shoulder at the other women. Ghalatea was waiting nearby to show the women their rooms.

  Yvar had decided to have his talks with the pontifex in the Round Room. As for size, the room – which was often used for official occasions – might as well have been called a hall, but the name and its shape emphasized a certain equality among those present. As a result, talks in this room were usually constructive and led to treaties that were fully endorsed by all parties.

  The rich decorations on the wall in blue and gold leaf, however, provided a constant reminder to everyone that they were the guests of a king.

  Once the king was seated in his chair at the round table, it became clear that all paintings reinforced his standing. The rays of the sun formed a crown of light around his head, and where ever you looked, your eyes were automatically drawn back to him.

  The guards took their place along the wall, but Ferhdessar sat down at the table. Yvar and he had agreed upon this beforehand.

  “Pontifex Zuzeca, this is Ferhdessar, my personal advisor.”

  The pontifex’s light eyes slowly scrutinized the sorcerer. Ferhdessar stared back, bracing himself for a snide remark. Zuzeca, however, smiled.

  “I think these times call for new choices in our own faith. The days when we prosecuted sorcerers in Margal’s name are over, as far as I’m concerned. Unfortunately, these decisions aren’t up to me. Not yet.”

  Ferhdessar nodded and looked at Yvar. This wasn’t what he had expected. A servant entered with a bowl and a jug of water.

  “I’d like to ask you to join in this ritual,” Yvar explained. “It…”

  “I know the custom, and I’ll respect it,” Zuzeca said.

  Ferhdessar was surprised by his impatience. In Merzia it was customary to take your time, explore the situation, and proceed with caution. Meetings like these could last for days. The pontifex, however, seemed to want to get to business as quickly as possible.

  Yvar held his hands over the bowl, and a servant poured water over them. The king rubbed his hands clean and took a sip. Then the servant walked to the Pontifex, and the ritual was repeated. Finally, it was Ferhdessar’s turn.

  “You had heard about Kasimirh before?” the king asked as soon as the servant had left the room.

  “The presence of a dragon doesn’t stay a secret very long, especially when it attacks villages. I suspected the involvement of this Kasimirh, but I never imagined his plans to reach this far or that he’d pose such a danger. In that sense, your letter took me by surprise.�
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  Yvar nodded. “This man won’t stop until he dominates the entire world. In his mind, anyone who isn’t prepared to convert to Jakob has to die. He is obsessed and must be stopped. I’m convinced that Kasimirh will turn to Merzia now, so I have to fight him. I’m going to need your help to do this.”

  Zuzeca nodded.

  “Why are you interested in becoming my ally?” asked Yvar.

  “Isn’t it obvious? Naftalia has had to make do without a Pontifex Maximus for a long time. The pontifices are fighting each other to seize the power. Lately, I’ve had a few small victories, which have improved my chances of becoming the new leader, but defeating a man – a sorcerer no less – who wants to oust Margal, will be extremely profitable for me. If I do, no one can deny me.”

  “And what happens once you’re appointed Maximus?” Ferhdessar asked.

  Zuzeca turned around. There was a condescending smile on his lips. “Just like lord Yvar has no intentions to interfere in Naftalia, I have no interest in Merzia.” Zuzeca beckoned one of his soldiers with a casual gesture. “I took the liberty to draw up an agreement beforehand. I suggest you sign it as quickly as possible, so that we can discuss our next moves.”

  Yvar briefly glanced at the piece of paper before he passed it on to Ferhdessar. “I’d like to take my time to read this and discuss the contents with my advisor. I’m sure you’ll understand.”

  Ferhdessar skimmed over the text. On his guard because of the speed with which the pontifex wanted to conclude the treaty, he searched for the catch. At first glance, however, there didn’t seem to be one.

  Zuzeca seemed aware of what Ferhdessar was looking for. “There’s no fine print in this treaty that says that Merzia will be mine once Kasimirh is defeated. Nor do I demand the king to convert to Margal. But if he wishes to do so of his own accord, I’ll be glad to Purify him. My intentions are as simple as yours: victory through cooperation.”