Talystasia: A Faerytale
Page 32
"He doesn't want to spend the rest of his life separated from her. And she wants to go back—and it's not as if he trusts us either. And no. I don't plan to wager my regime on a bid to save an unimportant girl—I plan to wager my regime on a bid to save myself and save this city—because he is right and I know you know it. Generations have failed to bring us peace—because generations have failed to do something different, to question their circumstances. They became so caught up in their politics that they set aside their humanity. Is that really so different from being possessed?”
To this, Costellic said nothing. His face, as ever, was a rigid mask, but she could see the fight going out of his eyes.
“Whether he’s right or wrong about the circlets, ideas can possess us too. If I let ignorance possess me … if I give up who I am for this throne, I may as well be ordered around by a piece of metal. You heard what that Sovin person said this morning. When I said ‘This state will never substantiate murder,’ he said, ‘It already does.’ Well, he’s right about that. His real-and-present god may as well be our own hate. Lord Telyra has identified our true enemy.”
She realized then why her gaze kept drifting to the library window and her nighttime reflection. The light from the chandeliers highlighted the contours of her face, blazed brightly along the rim of the circlet, but the rest of her face and body, where the light didn’t reach …
There was nothing there. Nothing but the nighttime sky and the courtyard beyond the window, rain falling through emptiness.
It’s like I’m disintegrating, melting away.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said turning back. “What you said the other day … that with time, I can become somebody new. But I don’t want to lose who I am either. Is that so wrong? Maybe there is no greater good that can be saved by sacrificing myself. I don’t want to end up like Andreas Telyra, ten or twenty years down the road … wondering what happened to my life, what happened to my peace—what happened to me. I don’t want to sacrifice myself to Adar Sovin’s god.”
"... You're doing this on ... intuition!" Costellic stammered, shoving his palm into the table and upsetting a stack of records. "Such a female tendency!"
"Oh, don't be so hard, Corin. You can't tell me you haven't been relying on it too. Every step we’ve taken together. Intuition. Tomorrow morning I will meet with Telyra. And if I am satisfied that I see sincerity in his eyes, I will depart. I want the truth. I don’t want to make decisions based on the belief that I’m a free agent. I certainly don’t feel free.”
In the window, her reflection smiled back at her, a half-smile. Maybe what was left of Telyra could become her missing half—and what was left of her could become his. Together, they could be whole.
“Not two people in a thousand years get this chance."
“What …?” Costellic demanded.
“… Finding each other. An ally, a shared madness … the readiness to share a risk. I don't want to end up like my father. Believing I am good—and ending up responsible for so much death and suffering.”
Costellic averted his eyes, flinching. "Are you sending back the girl tonight then?" he asked coldly.
"No, I'm keeping her as a bargaining chip. I want him to leave first—there’s my healthy mistrust. I'll dispatch another messenger to tell him my decision."
"Your relations will betray you. They’ll undo all your reforms in an afternoon. If you put one of them in charge ... your journey will become exile, and there will be no peace. Telyra’s not thinking of your situation. He has men he can trust, but tell me ... who do you think you can trust with your throne?”
"You, Costellic!" she said, laughing. "Who else?"
~~~
The journey down the mountainside was spent in stony silence.
Rose stared sightlessly at the russet neck of her mare so as to avoid looking anywhere in Costellic’s general direction. Riding at her side through the cool, misty forest, the nominal lieutenant stared straight ahead, his face blanched of colour, his jaw set. She had pulled her veil over her face earlier in the ride as much to foist off his taciturn rage as to fend off the constant drizzle.
Absently, she fingered the hilt of her knife. Touching the cold handle gave her courage—it reminded her of the stakes, and everything she had to lose if she didn’t do this.
… Hard choices. This was a hard choice. But it might be a forgiving one.
"Can't you at least take someone with you?" he snapped.
Beside her ambled a small grey pack horse called Stormcloud. The grey’s packs were brimming with food, money and attire. Soon the pack horse and the brown mare, Alexis, would be the only company she would have.
"No. As both you and Lord Telyra have pointed out, I can't trust anyone. Except for you, and that's why I need you here."
"Why don't I leave someone here—"
"I don't know your officers, only you. Besides, our last general couldn't count on them. Or on you, but …"
"Right," he cut her off, turning his face away. “You’re right. I don’t really trust most of them either.”
"…We're going down the mountain,” interrupted somebody from behind. “We’re almost at the bottom!”
"Hmm?"
Julia drew up alongside them on her little black and threw them both a dirty look. "Why are we going down the mountain?” she repeated. “I thought I was going home … I’m gonna bolt.”
"—You are going home," Rose answered, forestalling her, the ground levelling out even as she spoke, the light brightening as they emerged from the trees. “We’re meeting Lord Telyra.”
To the left, a rough stone wall cut a path across the fields, stretching south toward a dark distant contour on the horizon. The low rustic wall was a formality only, a marker of the territory line, far too rundown to serve as an effective barrier. Barley rippled cheerlessly in the damp wind, bleached by dirt and rain and grey morning desolation. Beneath the rustling of the stalks, she could make out the lonesome chatter of voices on the breeze, but the men, including Costellic, had fallen back at the tree line, leaving her alone with Julia.
A small cluster of excited-looking sentries was flitting around the gap in the wall a short distance away, drab blue and scarlet casually intermixed. They broke off their talk as she approached, one scarlet soldier detaching to meet her.
"Did you know I was coming?" she asked in surprise, dismounting into the wet field.
"… No Milady. I mean, yes, Milady. He's already here, you see."
The sentry gestured emphatically through the gap.
Her breath caught in her throat. A lone man was pacing through the muddy crops across the field, a glimmer of gold against his forehead. He seemed oblivious to his surroundings, the reins of his massive chestnut trailing loosely in his hand, his head bent against the wind and drizzle.
Before she could do anything to stop him, one of the blue-garbed sentries raced off briskly across the field.
Lord Telyra raised his head abruptly, not at the sentry but at her. He did it as if on instinct, like he knew exactly where she was standing, as if there were some psychic connection between them. His eyes, even across this distance, were electric.
Her heart racing, she shrank back against the wall. Uncontrollably, she began to tremble.
How could she be such a fool? Did she really think she would be able to walk right up to her father’s old nemesis and just … talk?
… Costellic's hidden in the trees, she reminded herself, breathing hard. He can be here in seconds.
Now she could hear the stalks whispering against his legs. Still some yards away, he halted. She saw his mouth move, but whatever he said was drowned out by the wind and the rain and the roaring in her head.
"… Are we going to talk?" he called out again.
She glanced at the imposing warhorse at his side, saddlebags heavy. He had left his sword fastened to the saddle. A fur-lined cloak overflowed from one of the voluminous packs.
This is real … He really means to do this.
>
"... Yes," she stammered.
Telyra stepped forward, his mouth stretching into a wicked grin. "… I can't quite hear you. You could come over here, you know. Or I could go over there. Which do you prefer?"
"… Over here?" she proposed unenthusiastically, amazed he could hear her at all. The words sounded like they came from a mouse.
"Fine," he called. “Clear off,” he shouted to the sentries.
They didn’t hesitate. The blue-liveried men shot off as if they’d been lit on fire. Her own patrolmen turned to stare, seeking her permission—but she didn’t miss the fright beneath their military discipline.
Nodding them away, she turned to face the man who’d killed Father and Alix—and now held all her hopes.
His lackluster blue tunic, trousers and cloak were utilitarian and well-worn, almost threadbare in places. Her eyes were drawn unavoidably to his rust-stained circlet, the twin of her own. Austere eyes flicked impassively over Julia at her side, who had dismounted and stood clasping her bare arms. Rose had all but forgotten her; the dishevelled girl started to say something and then sucked in her breath as Telyra spoke.
"Rose Loren.” He held out his hand, and a gentle smile crossed his lips. "I'm sorry about your father and brother."
Julia shifted antsily. Pushing her veil back, Rose inspected the lines on his calloused palm.
... The hand that murdered them. She didn't take it.
"You should watch yourself on the road," he said, shrugging and dropping it. "I was assaulted the other night."
"Assaulted?" she asked expressionlessly.
… At least he's not covered in blood this time.
…The blood of my family.
He enjoyed killing them.
"By some shady little order called the Shadowfire Cult."
"Oh … really? They just talked to me yesterday,” she heard herself babbling as if from a hundred miles away. Her voice sounded like it belonged to somebody else, like some unfamiliar woman had seized control of her vocal cords. “They said—"
"—That they couldn't get a hold of me?" He smiled.
"Right."
"Well ..." His smile thinned but stayed a smile. "They couldn't. What did they want?"
"To open some mission ..." she answered distantly, “… for a … god who feasts on blood.”
Lord Telyra snorted and shrugged. "I hope you got rid of them."
"I did."
They watched each other awkwardly. Lord Telyra was, she had to admit, an attractive man—not tall, dark and handsome, but certainly tall, fiery and arresting. Though he dressed like a soldier, aristocracy seemed to emanate from his skin. It marked his stern face in scars and careworn lines of age, ghosts of time and conflict carried without shame.
“Do you know who Margarita Loren was?”
She shook her head.
“Your ancestor, dead more than four centuries. Salanoe Telyra?”
“No …” she avowed, still lost.
“They were almost children—not sixteen and seventeen according to their death records. Salanoe was part of an invasion that penetrated the Loren palace, not long, I think, after the city was constructed. Somewhere in that fray, he met Margarita Loren … He was, to my understanding, as terrified that night as she was. So she hid him.”
“Hid him?”
“They became lovers that night, secreted in Margarita’s old nursery. They communicated in secret for months after. When they were found out, Margarita was put to death. Salanoe locked himself in his room for half a year, then hung himself.”
Rose stared at him uncomfortably. Her imagination, not knowing what else to grasp at, had presented her with younger versions of themselves as their star-crossed ancestors, tragically executed for their clandestine love affair.
“They had the right idea. I see you packed," he noted, nodding at Stormcloud and Alexis.
"—Can I see it?" she broke in. "Your circlet?"
Wordlessly he removed it, holding it out to her, and stiffened.
"… It doesn't like that," he grunted, and smirked. "I don't suppose any of us have ever offered the enemy our crown before."
"Let go," she whispered.
Andreas Telyra opened his hand. The circlet hung suspended against his open palm, scorning gravity. Closing his fist, he flung it through the gap in the barrier. She watched anxiously as it vanished into the tall crops.
Moments later, it rolled back along the dirt, then sprang into his hand. She’d known it would, but actually seeing it was a vindication.
Eyes wide she said, "Mine does the same thing, but Father never told me. And he said that yours didn’t do anything. He lied."
"Most people lie. But you don't have to show me. I believe you.”
His smile captivated her. It reached his eyes, but carried a weight of sadness behind it. But with that sadness came the kind of gentle affirmation that could only come out of suffering. The kindness was a declaration made in spite of it: assurance born from strength and confrontation, not the false promise of ease or comfort, not the lie she’d built her broken life on.
“Why can’t we—that is, don’t you think that this is a bit drastic? Leaving—”
“I haven’t been drastic enough. Nothing I’ve done has ever made a damn bit of difference.”
“But I’m different,” she insisted.
“Your family has a shit track record. So does mine. And like I said …” He trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. “I have other problems, problems that won’t be solved by remaining here, holding onto desperation, waiting for this city to eat away at us until there’s nothing left. You’re alive, speaking to me now, because I gave you your life … Consider paying me back for my kindness.”
“But … there’s going to be issues. On my end. I have these relatives—”
“Do you have someone you can trust?”
“Well, yes, I—”
“So, are we doing this thing?"
She didn't answer, her mouth dry.
“You’ve tried the obvious, right?” she asked at last. “Breaking it, melting it? I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Like I said … Father told me nothing.”
“Of course. It was damn hard to keep it in the fire; I had to chain it down to the forge. Eventually it broke the chain clean through. No oxidization, no distortion, nothing.”
“And yet … it rusts,” she pointed out.
“Yes. I noticed that and wondered. So I put it in a cage and tried submerging it in a lake. That was many years ago—pissed the Elders right off. It eventually banged its way out and came right back. The Elders fished the cage out and gave it back to me …. the bars were a mangled wreck. Steel bars. It’s no use. I’d guess it takes centuries of rain to put any tarnish on the fucking things. I don’t have centuries to live.”
“… Oh!” she gasped abruptly. “I was going to tell you, the thing the Elders said to you, I think I understand a little more than you do.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s a garden … in one of the courtyards at home, with an inscription on the wall: ‘Let No Evil Enter Here.’ It isn’t a decree like you thought, or a prayer, it’s a traditional evocation. The powers of the Elders are said to protect the forest; the inscription on the garden wall is meant to protect the garden. I don’t think it works in the garden because the magic isn’t for humans.” She paused. “The Elders weren’t trying to remind you of a decree; it was a warning. Their protective magic is failing them.”
“I thought it was a law from centuries past. A treaty.”
“No, no, it isn’t. The maxim is supposed to be a statement of fact. They weren’t admonishing you for breaking a law, they were telling you that a law of nature has been broken.”
“… Human blood doesn’t just suddenly become toxic.”
“Exactly. Do you understand now? The Elders have been dying off and disappearing for a very long time. Maybe this … whatever it is … has always been the root cause, but now, it’s getting stronger.”
“And if it’s growing …” she reasoned, “it may soon overwhelm us as well.”
“It’s how I feel. Like I’m losing the power to rein in my emotions. Like I’m … soul-sick. How do you know all this anyway? About the Elders? I can count on one hand the number of times I've actually seen them.”
She shrugged. “I read a lot.”
"I've left two men in charge. They'll carry out my orders, however strange. I’ve told them to work with your people to keep the peace and hunt for answers, and I assume you’ve done the same."
"My man's Costellic."
Telyra snickered, glancing meaningfully toward the trees.
"Which direction do you want? North, south, east or west—? West and we'll hit the ocean. I'll go north," he volunteered. "Unless you want it." He glanced her up and down, taking in her gown. "You don't really look prepared for mountaineering."
"I guess ... south," she said, looking down the road.
"South it is then," he said quietly.
"You're leaving first."
It was supposed to be a demand, but it emerged as little more than an aggrieved whimper.
Her gaze had drifted to the sword affixed to his saddle, and she wondered whether it was the blade that had cleaved through Alix’s body, had taken off her father’s head. She hadn’t seen their bodies, hadn’t been able to bear it. She wanted to remember them only as she’d known them.