"Come on," the healer had said, pale and swaying on her feet.
"What are you?" Molly asked in wonder, allowing her thunk-step thunk-step gait to follow Ghia to an unlikely freedom.
The healer didn't answer, just turned to Jester. "We're escaping."
One eye flickered open. "Yeah. Good luck with that."
"You're not coming?" They were already walking away, not wasting time.
"I'll just end up back here. Saves time this way."
They'd fled then, flying through the halls as fast as stealth allowed, not even stopping to say goodbye.
"Ghia," Molly dared to whisper as they got closer to the stables where horses awaited. "Why now? I thought Anala and Yarrow were going to finish it today, and then I'd be free."
"Yarrow's gone," Ghia said, cutting her off as they flew down the last stretch to the stables, "Zardria's Empress, and you're to be executed today."
Molly fell flat against Ghia's back then as the healer ran into something -- a wall?
Maybe it would have been better if they'd been caught only by guards, helpless peons taking orders. Maybe not. She didn't know.
They both looked up into the smiling face of Empress Zardria, who stood just inside the entrance to the stables, resplendent in a dark red silk peplos.
"Why, Healer Ghia," the Empress purred, "you wouldn't be depriving me of my post-birthday celebration, would you?" Then she'd hit Ghia across the face with her Sceptre.
Molly had flung herself at Zardria, but the time in the dungeons had weakened her, and from that moment she watched events unfold from her spot on the ground.
Ghia rose shakily to punch the Empress but Zardria caught the healer's hand in a vise-like grip and Molly heard bones crack audibly. Zardria's leg darted out from the slit in her peplos, then, fast as lightning, and kicked in Ghia's left knee, breaking more bones. As Ghia's other knee buckled in pain and she fell to the ground, Zardria drew back her other fist and and punched the healer square in the eye. Ghia went flying back with the force of the impact and landed on the stone floor with a thud, her head making a sickening crack against the rock.
The Empress' Guard stepped out of the shadows then and a few of them picked up Ghia's prone form. Zardria looked at Molly sharply. "I don't expect you'll resist now -- or are you as stupid as your friend?"
Molly shook her head and let them take her, not wanting to give Zardria an excuse to do any more damage.
The trip back to the dungeons had been much quicker than their flight to the stables, which seemed an insult, as if the very castle were laughing at their failed exploit.
Ghia had waked up soon after they'd been locked into their cells, and now the two women sat, looking at darkness.
"I said goodbye to my fiancé this morning," Ghia said, her voice slurred and cracking. "He didn't know that's what it was. I left before he woke."
Molly's finger brushed the band of metal on Ghia's crippled right hand and she felt like crying. "I'm sorry, friend."
A slight head movement. "It's an honour to die beside you. Even if I'd really rather put it off." To Molly's great surprise, Ghia giggled.
The laughter was infectious and Molly giggled too, and soon the women were giggling hysterically about nothing in particular, inciting looks of confusion from a guard or two.
"What are you two fools laughing about?" Jester asked from Molly's right.
"I don't know," Molly said, her laughs subsiding to breathless gasps, tears sliding down her cheeks. "But what else to do in the face of Muerta?"
Jester looked up sharply. "What are you talking about?" she asked, but before Molly could answer there was a small commotion at the dungeon's entrance.
A foppish man came down then and stood in front of Molly's cell. She thought she recognised him, vaguely, but couldn't place his face.
"Lares. No," came a gurgled noise from her left, and she turned to see a tear slide down Ghia's cheek.
Before any questions could be asked or speculations made, the man spoke. "Molly deRosie, you have been charged with counts of high treason, the penalty for which is death. Do you resist your fate?"
Molly shook her head, in a bit of a daze that this day was finally here, and she staggered to her feet, putting her hands out in front of her.
Her cell door opened and two guards came in to put leather cuffs on her wrists and ankles, and she was then slowly led out to follow the foppish man.
She turned to say her goodbyes to Jester, and saw the woman stood at her cell door, reaching for Molly. Her hand grasped the clothing of the condemned briefly before it was beat back by a guard's discipline stick.
"Sister!" she cried out, and Molly let herself cry at the family she'd never know.
"Stay strong," she said, and then was out of the dungeon, out of reach of her fellow doomed.
The walk to the Square was long and arduous, crippled as she was and hampered by cuffs. She was not beaten for her slowness: a small mercy, she supposed. There was a crowd -- probably all of Atherton -- a silent mass of people that watched as the cuffs were taken off her ankles; silent still as she awkwardly climbed the stairs; even quieter as she crossed the wooden platform to where a bare-chested woman with a black hood waited -- the executioner, said to represent Muerta Herself. A slow drum beat penetrated her numb senses, and she suddenly realised it had been going all this time, a beat that would end when she did.
She was led to the centre of the platform then and made to stand on a wooden box, which briefly gave her a nice view of the country beyond Atherton's walls. She took one last look at her home, breathed in the fresh air, drank in Athering in spring, and then the hood was dropped over her head. She felt them fit the noose around her neck, heard them take a step back. She heard a voice reading out her crimes over the drum beat that seemed more insistent now, though she knew the speed hadn't changed. An eagle cried out once, twice, and then there was a sudden drop in her stomach and in that moment between life and death she saw a brilliant flash of light behind her eyelids, and Luis' voice bid her welcome home.
Then a solid crack, and all was darkness forevermore.
Jester
She knew the exact moment Molly died. She couldn't hear the drums with her own ears but knew when they beat through Molly's; couldn't see the rope as it was placed around Molly's hooded head but felt the scratch of hemp as if it were around her own neck. She closed her eyes and her body went rigid as the rope that snatched the life from Molly's body, and then limp, so limp she may as well have been a corpse.
She was surprised she wasn't. She couldn't move. There was a great emptiness in her where something she'd felt for a lifetime was now gone. After eighteen years of feeling Molly's every emotion, every cut, scrape, scratch, and broken bone -- of living Molly's life with her but from across town, never speaking or playing with each other because their families would never allow it -- after two decades of being the other girl's echo chamber, she should be dead. Molly was dead. Why did she still live?
She'd spent so long hiding it. Maybe she'd killed the connection somehow. When Molly had lost the full function of her leg, Jester had had to cover up her own limp. During puberty she'd had to deal with her own body's changes and Molly's, and all the lovely emotional swings that went with it. When their foster brothers had died, the pain had been double for Jester, feeling her own loss and Molly's just as sharply.
It wasn't fair that she would not get the peace of death at the same time. Not fair that she had to live with what was now the absence of sound in her head, the absence of taste in her mouth, the absence of colour in her sight. Everything was now halved and it was as painful as living with nothing.
If she'd had the strength for anger, she would have blamed the twins' birth-mother, who'd given up each of the girls to different, childless families. Had it not been for this strange connection Jester had had with her sister, she never would have known -- never would have questioned her parents about her true origin and thus discovered what must be the never-said truth. A truth perhaps known
by no one else.
Whether Molly had ever felt what her twin had, Jester didn't know. It didn't matter. She'd now spend the rest of her life regretting not knowing the family she'd been too afraid to connect with -- too afraid to be truthful with.
That hurt more than anything else.
Slowly she curled up into a little ball on the floor, wrapping her arms around her legs. She tried to hold back the tears, but they didn't listen to her.
"Were you two close?" came a voice, hesitant and slurred, and followed by the sound of someone spitting.
She looked up and wiped her eyes. "Not so close as I would have liked," she said to the healer who regarded her from one eye. "You're injured for life, aren't you?" she asked, and a sudden rush of guilt flooded her empty self.
Ghia moved a little, a gesture that could have been interpreted as a shrug, and spit again as blood leaked from her mouth. "If I don't get to the hospitalis soon," was all she said.
Fresh tears sprung to Jester's eyes. "I'm sorry. I should have come with you two."
"What's done is done." There was no censure in her voice, only compassion, and Jester felt worse.
Her hand moved to the side she kept away from the guards and surreptitiously she fingered the hard shape hidden in her pant leg. She could have used this to free them. Fear had kept her sitting in her cell, allowing Ghia to get maimed and Molly killed when she could have freed them all.
When will I stop being a coward?
Ghia looked over her again and frowned, as if she saw into Jester's mind. Why not? She made the guards fall asleep and unlocked the cell doors with no apparent work. The healer moved her head slightly in a negating fashion, and she tried to smile, but it didn't work that well. She spit out another gob of blood before speaking. "We'll get out of here soon, Jester. Don't worry."
Jester leaned back against the wall and snorted, her face wet with tears. "Why would I worry?"
Ghia made a small "hmm" noise too tired to be a laugh. Jester stopped talking, letting the healer rest. She looked forward, and her eyes fell on the same guard who had been with them since Aeril. She didn't know his name. His face was a familiar sight, and he'd always been kind to them, so she had no hate for him. She let her eyes rest there as she tried to fall asleep against the wall, unwilling to get up and move to her cot.
Just as her eyes were closing, she thought she saw him look from Ghia to her and wink. With a start she woke up again, but when she took a closer look, he was just staring straight ahead.
Empress Zardria
The hallway was dark.
This was a good thing. The tower was closed off, so the hallway to it should be dark and unoccupied...yet it showed signs of recent use. There were fresh footprints in the thick layer of dust on the floor, and she could sense, with that part that was not wholly hers, that a certain young healer had come through here often.
Pleasure at her sound whipping of the young bitch flooded her again, and she allowed herself a large smile. Stretching that other-her's senses a bit more, she noticed other energies mingling with the healer's...something not wholly identifiable, though she knew what it was, and -- two bellicas? Yarrow was no surprise. But Anala -- what a pity. I'd thought she may be a bit more faithful.
In a while it wouldn't matter. Magea Rosa's help would be locked in a room, unreachable by anyone but her -- Empress of the Reiaume.
She would have done it sooner, for the psychic noise coming from this end of the castle had been unbearable. She lacked the power herself to lock the Magi in her tower. That would change someday, but for the moment she still needed help.
She fingered the ring on her hand.
Who would have thought that the greatest power in the reiaume was contained within the signet ring and sceptre of office? They were meant to be symbols, nothing more. They were both ancient magekal artifacts -- pieces of history that had been passed on down through the line of queens since the early Second Age. She thought the coronet was too, but she had so far found no information on it in her studies. Regardless, none of the items ever left her possession.
The information she had found had been relegated to myth or legend, but something -- no, someOne -- thanks be to Umbra -- had told her that it was true, and had given her the confidence to try to use the ring as it was intended.
It had five stones embedded in the copper, and she'd soon discovered that four of them were for the Towers, and the fifth for the Spire. The ring was the key to the whole castle. Heavens forbid it should ever fall into the wrong hands.
She smiled a little at that thought, and more at the memory of her testing the ring out. She'd gone to the West tower first, where she knew Yarrow kept that disgusting little shrine to their long-dead mother. She'd destroyed the shrine soundly and wrapped up the broken sword to be melted down by the metal-workers in the smithy. What a waste of recyclable material to have it sitting around in pointless homage! Then she'd used the ring to lock off the tower. Forever, so far as she was concerned -- unless she had a sudden need for more room in the future. She doubted it though.
The sword dropped off at the smithy, she'd hurried to the next tower she wanted to lock. The North.
She stopped as she reached the door and looked for where her hand should go. Around each Tower door was a bit of a mosaic with semi-precious stones, and hidden within that matrix of stones was a place to fit the ring so she could do the locking. She was working off instinct now, a sense heightened by her years-old deal with Umbra, and soon she found the spot. Turning the ring and placing her hand flat against it so the green stone matched its space on the wall, she closed her eyes and concentrated.
Umbra's sweet, dark, mad power filled her and she felt her other self flare to full strength, stoking her anger, making her lust for blood. Before she could regain control of it it moved through the Tower, using the ring's power to perform the sealing before rushing back into her body with a speed that knocked her back, off her feet and onto the ground.
A minute or so passed before her eyes opened, and when she sat up there was a slight ringing in her ears. She sat still and listened with all her senses, and it was as if there was a blanket over this part of the castle. Nothing but blissful quiet and no more Magi-chatter.
Getting to her feet gingerly she moved forward and tried the door. Locked.
Thank Umbra, she thought, another smile taking her features as she walked away, heading to her next task as Athering's new ruler.
Yarrow
True to Ghia's word they rode into Atton as night fell, their horses barely breaking into a sweat. The latest leg of their trip had been passed in silence, both ex-bellica and Chief Medical Officer deep in thought.
Yarrow reined in her horse as they reached the main street in town. She surveyed the surroundings, ignoring confused stares from townsfolk not yet gone home for the night. News hadn't reached them yet. She didn't want to be the one who told them the truth of her arrival.
She turned to Jules. "We need a place to stay. Preferably where we'll both get a night's sleep." He nodded, understanding her meaning. "It's your town, Jules. Lead the way."
The look on his face said it wouldn't be his town for long, but he urged Suki into a walk. Yarrow clicked her tongue and Pyrrhus followed medic and mare up the hilly streets. Up and up they went, until at each turn Yarrow had a spectacular view of the countryside. Her breath caught in her throat as she glimpsed the sparkle of the Spire in the fading light.
Athering truly was beautiful. Too bad it wouldn't stay that way. Not with Zardria holding the Sceptre.
She shook her head and continued to follow Jules up the hill, hoping there wouldn't be too many more. Soon they'd run out of Atton. Despite her bloodrights, she had no wish to stay at the Lihin Manor that overlooked the town.
Reaching the turn, they stayed on their course instead, Jules leading them up a small dirt road to a tavern that perched on a rocky outcropping of the hill, the back of it leaning against the cliff. Yarrow had seen its lights when they'd first arriv
ed in town and it was obviously a busy establishment. A large sign out front proclaimed the tavern's name in bold letters:
BACCHANALIA
Yarrow suppressed a groan. Not only was the place high class, it was famous, known across Athering as the best tavern to stay since the decadence of the Second Age. Tyvian, it was the reason to go to Atton at all!
"Jules," she said, unable to keep the growl out of her voice, "isn't this place a little conspicuous?"
He looked over his shoulder with his first real smile since the day before. "Exactly. They won't expect it. Besides, I know the people who run the place. Aurora and Dion will keep us safe for the night."
She glared at him, unwilling to concede although she couldn't argue with his logic.
"Look," he continued, "if they do catch up to us tonight there's not much we can do about it. We may as well enjoy what may be our last night, and Bacchanalia is the perfect place to do it."
Yarrow snorted. "You sure know how to hit me in my vices. Lead on, then. I want a bath, a meal, and a wench on my lap."
He smirked and turned back around. "Yes Ma'am."
Bacchanalia lived up to its reputation. As soon as they rode up, a servant came to take care of their horses, leading the beasts to a very large stable around the corner from the entrance. Impressed, Yarrow tossed the man a gold piece. He bowed low but said nothing; only gave her a piece of leather with a number etched on it. She raised her eyebrows at Jules.
"For claiming our horses later," he explained as they climbed the staircase to the grand doors. She merely grunted.
Upon entering the main doors, Yarrow gasped.
The foyer was as large as the one in Lihin Manor, with parquet flooring cut from the finest deathtree and polished to a high gloss. A golden chandelier wrought with a grapevine motif hung over the room, illuminating every corner. A grand staircase directly opposite them curved upwards to the second floor and, presumably, the rooms. To the right, a door led to what looked to be an equally gorgeous dining room. Before she could take a closer look, her attention was taken up by the man who now approached them.
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