Lady of Drith
Page 39
“To what? Kill you?”
Drea nodded.
Lord Syphen laughed, and it was a harsh, wheezing laugh. “Why would I do that? Killing you would put one less Syphen in Drith. One less member of our family to secure our place of power. And I couldn’t return even if I wanted to, for everyone saw Phaedos Syphen die in the arena.”
Drea stared at him mistrustfully, feeling her hands start to shake.
“You played the game admirably, and I’m used to these setbacks,” he went on. “Killing you now would accomplish nothing, especially since you and Daedron are doing so well on your own. Perhaps it’s even for the best. What you and he work out now, the foundations of power you solidify for House Syphen, will be there waiting for me when I return to take the reins.”
He walked around her, limping along down the road.
Drea called out to him. “You plan to return?”
“You haven’t read the Nineteenth Precept yet, have you?”
Drea marched after him. “Do you plan to return?” she repeated.
“In time, yes,” the old man said over his shoulder. “Say, twenty or forty years? That should be sufficient time for everyone to forget about the face of Phaedos Syphen. You’ll probably be dead by then, or, at least, too old to fight me. Same for Daedron. By that time, the emergence of a mysterious new Syphen from the north—say, a long lost cousin who’s been fighting the war in Mathysia?—will be met with open arms. And he will take over.” He stopped, turned to face her, and smiled pleasantly. “But for now, I’m content that our House is in good hands.”
“Your House?” Drea said, following after him. “Is that all you care about?”
“It’s all I’ve ever cared about, Drea. I thought that would’ve been clear by now. By the way, good thinking sending the pigeons and the sparrows to do your work. A wonderful interpretation of the Fifteenth Precept. You’ve destroyed much of the infrastructure I created with the Hidden Door. An elegant solution for setting back all your enemies all at once.”
He kept walking away. Drea followed him for a moment longer, wanting to ask him more, wanting to demand some sort of apology for the games he’d played with her life, with everyone’s lives. But soon, she stopped in her tracks, for she knew it was useless.
The last thing Drea heard him say was, “You know, they have it all wrong. The Dritheans, I mean. There isn’t still a Kalder in Drith. The Kalderus are all dead. Now, there is only Syphen. There’s a Syphen in Drith. You’ve helped see to that. You’ve followed my Way. You’ve become it. And I’m so proud of you. I’m proud there’s still a Syphen in Drith. Thank you for that, Drea.”
Drea watched him go, and as she did, she felt her grip on reality crumbling. All the strides she’d made, all the struggles she’d gone through to establish control, seemed to pale in comparison to the machinations of the old man walking away from her. Just some old stranger walking down a road in shabby clothes. The people walking past him had no idea that he alone had control over the history of Drith, and thus the Empire.
He alone had control. He, and the shadow she saw walking behind him. It was a pale apparition, and it merged seamlessly with the shadow the old man was dragging at his feet. But Drea saw Ziir’s molten eyes staring back at her, and despair cupped her heart.
The old man and his vehl, forever holding sway over the Empire. They alone had control.
Or do they? she thought. Why can I not begin building the same infrastructure as he did with the Hidden Door? Why can Daedron and I not also establish a legacy, one that prepares our children and our grandchildren for the return of one such as he? If there can be a cabal to wrest control of Drith, why can I not establish a counter-cabal?
The more she thought about it, the less it seemed like an absurd idea.
“Drea!” she heard Daedron cry. He came jogging up behind her, with Lord Hiss stomping along beside. “Drea, what is it? Why did you run off like that?”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“Who was that old man?” asked Lord Hiss.
“It’s no one,” she said, taking his hand. “Come. We have work to do.”
That night, they stayed at an inn along the road. A crackling fire was going strong in a fireplace, and it reminded her of the night in her cottage when she and Thryis and slept in front of the fire.
There was the distant growl of thunder—the fellstorm’s approach, perhaps? Drea sat by her window with her sketch journal open and quill in hand. She was searching for inspiration, but none could be found.
She thought about the old man on the road. Then, on impulse, she rummaged through her bags until she found The Way. She opened it up, and turned to its last chapter. She sat there, rereading the first lines over and over.
The Nineteenth Precept, the book said. Understand that you will eventually fail. The time will come when all that you have built upon with the previous Precepts will come crashing down. Perhaps an old rival returns, perhaps a new enemy emerges. You will often find yourself unprepared, and when you are defeated, just know that it’s time to start over. Do not be afraid of fresh beginnings. Merely turn to the front of this book, and begin anew with the First Precept.
It was what the old man on the road—whatever his real name was—had been hinting at. Just because a person finds themselves defeated, does not mean they are permanently defeated.
“Control is not permanent, then,” Drea said aloud. “Neither is power. Rather, they are both an ongoing process.” She smiled, realizing that she had unwittingly stumbled upon a statement that might meet Taja Osween’s requirement for an unassailable truth.
There came a knock at her door. “Come in.”
Daedron stepped inside. “I hope your room is comfortable.”
“Did you really just come to check on me?”
He smiled. “No. I just remembered that I forgot to give you this.” He handed her a letter, which was sealed with wax. “It came by messenger before we left Drith. I’m sorry if its contents are too late.”
Drea looked at the letter, and recognized Thryis’s handwriting immediately. “Thank you, Daedron,” she said.
“Of course. Good night.” He left and closed the door behind him.
Drea looked down at the letter. She wondered what was in it, what Thryis could possibly have to say after so long saying nothing. Was it an apology? Was it forgiveness? She started to open it, then stopped.
Drea recalled the words of the old man on the road, and how someday he would return. And she thought about how surely her ploy with the pigeons and sparrows hadn’t destroyed all of her enemies in the Hidden Door. And she knew that the games she and Daedron were playing would only attract more enemies, but if Drea didn’t play them, if she didn’t follow through with her and Daedron’s plans, she would be without political protection.
But Thryis obviously did not like these games. She did not like that Drea was forced to participate in such skullduggery.
You cannot have both, she thought.
Drea held the letter in her hand a moment longer. Then, with a tear cascading down her cheek, she walked over to the fireplace and tossed it into the flames.
She wiped her eyes and prepared herself for bed. After fighting off the sobs, Drea pulled the sheets over her, and sat staring into the fire until she went to sleep.
She drifted off.
When she opened her eyes again, she was standing in a field of whispering grass and reeds. The sun was shining. She turned towards the Charred Temple and looked up at the top window, where the Host stood, looking down at her.
His hands came together sharply, the clapping carrying across the silent fields.
He was applauding her.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chad Huskins is the EVVY Award-winning author of Khan in Rasputin’s Shadow, and has been writing short fiction, horror, fantasy, and science fiction since his teenage years. He’s an instructor of Filipino martial arts and jeet kune do. He lives outside of Atlanta, Georgia.
Chad Huskins, Lady of Drith