The Sting of Victory

by S D Simper

  “I think I’d like that,” Flowridia said, still looking up. Even from here, she could feel the radiating power, not unlike the cold that emanated from her lover.

  “So, Ayla’s alive.”

  Etolié’s voice drew her back to earth. Flowridia whirled around to face her. “She is.”

  “I’ll have to apologize for popping off her head.” Etolié mused, still staring at the crystal.

  “She has no grudge. It was part of her game: our kingdom will go down in history as the ones who killed The Endless Night . . .” She trailed off, shrinking when Etolié slowly turned and glared.

  “Forgive me,” Etolié said pointedly. “Game?”

  Flowridia nodded warily. “Politics are a game-”

  “Genocide of an entire civilization isn’t a game, Flowers. It’s not funny. It’s not clever.” Etolié tore her gaze away, but Flowridia still felt its sting. “The symbol she wrote was The Endless Night, but I’ve seen demons. That was-” Etolié stopped, shaking her head. “Forget it. I don’t want to give that bitch more credit than she deserves.”

  “I know it sounds insane,” Flowridia said tentatively, “but she’s been nothing but kind-”

  “Bullshit, Flowers!” Etolié’s gaze bounced back to her. Flowridia flinched. “Kissing you better doesn’t mean she didn’t rip you open in the first place. Don’t forget that.”

  Anger welled in Flowridia’s chest, but with it brewed the harsh knowledge that Etolié was right.

  “I’ll accept that it’s Ayla’s nature to cause destruction,” Etolié continued, more subdued. “You can’t fault a cat for killing birds and mice.” A pause, and then Etolié lowered her voice. “Cats play with their food before they strike. Be careful, Flowers.”

  Her words burned, and Flowridia stepped back, turning quickly before Etolié could see the hot tears welling in her eyes.

  “Flowers-”

  Flowridia whirled around.

  Etolié stood tall, stubborn in her pale, sickened state. “Tea would be nice.”

  Blinking heavily, Flowridia nodded, managing to run from the library before the first of her tears fell.

  * * *

  A letter arrived later that day stating that Lady Ayla Darkleaf of Nox’Kartha would personally be overseeing the completion of the embassy. In two weeks’ time, she would come.

  That morning, the news would have brought butterflies to Flowridia’s stomach. Now, she felt only dread, especially when Marielle responded with an affirmative.

  She knew the council’s true feelings. She feared they were right.

  When she entered her room that night, Ayla sat at the foot of her bed, the beautiful half of her visage turned toward the door. Flowridia paused, stunned, but when Demitri began to back away, Ayla shook her head, revealing the burn marring her features. “He can stay. I won’t be here long.” She stood, though it did little to increase her height. “Casvir was quite unhappy with my disappearance.”

  Flowridia shut the door, never moving her stare away from Ayla’s face. “I’m sorry,” she began to say, but Ayla shook her head.

  “It was my doing, staying the night. But you should know he is now aware of the two of us,” she said, a grimace in her tone. Her expression steadily fell, until only a sneer tugged at her lip. “I’m good at lying. He’s better at discerning.”

  Panic coursed through Flowridia’s veins. “What will this mean for us?”

  “Presumably nothing,” Ayla replied, though chagrin seemed permanently etched into her mouth. “He seemed concerned for your well-being, amusingly enough.”

  Flowridia would be a rich woman if she had a gold piece for every person who expressed concern about her and Ayla.

  “I came to tell you that,” Ayla continued, “and to inform you that you won’t be seeing me again until my official visit. No more gifts. No more stolen kisses.”

  Was it disappointment that flashed across Ayla’s face? Flowridia reached forward to take her hand. “Has Casvir forbidden it?”

  “No.” Ayla brought Flowridia’s hand up. “But I am more than simply his diplomat. I have a bit of espionage to embark on, and it will take all my focus.” Thin lips kissed the back of her hand, and Ayla let it linger by her face, breathing in the scent.

  The gesture unnerved her. Flowridia drew her hand back. “Ayla, be careful.”

  Ayla grinned, vicious and predatory. “I’m the best at many things, my Sweet Flowra.” She laughed, but Flowridia shook her head.

  “Ayla, they know you’ve been visiting me.”

  Ayla’s expression immediately turned dark. “Oh?”

  “Someone heard singing last night.”

  “Odd, that they would assume it was me.”

  Flowridia stepped forward, settling her arms around Ayla’s waist, nervous at the accusatory tone. “I didn’t tell them anything, Ayla. Sora heard you singing and knew it was an elven tune.”

  “Oh, did she?” Ayla mused, and though Flowridia wondered at the suspicious tone, she reached up to cup Ayla’s cheek.

  “My point is, please be careful.” Flowridia looked down at her beautiful face, one marred by a hateful sneer. “Is this a dangerous mission? What sort of-”

  Ayla interrupted. “Who is Sora, anyway?”

  “Sora is our stablemaster. Ayla, what I’m trying to say is-”

  “You have an elven stablemaster?”

  “She’s a half-elf. Ayla-”

  “What sort of half-breed knows ancient elven music?”

  “Ayla Darkleaf, listen!”

  Ayla finally focused, a glare souring her features. “Yes, Lady Flowridia . . .” Her eyes narrowed, though not from anger. “What’s your surname?”

  Incredulous, Flowridia nearly balked at how distractible her elven companion proved to be. “I don’t have one.”

  “Makes it difficult to petulantly call you by your full name if you don’t have one.”

  “Ayla, please,” Flowridia said, exasperation leaking into her tone. “Listen for a moment.”

  Ayla stared, raising an expectant eyebrow when Flowridia didn’t immediately continue.

  “Swear to me you’ll be careful,” Flowridia said softly. “Don’t let your pride get you killed.”

  “There’s very little danger of me getting killed, Flowra.”

  Flowridia’s hold on Ayla grew tight, her fingers gripping the thin, soft fabric of her dress. “I’ll still worry while you’re gone.”

  Ayla watched her with no tension, despite the silence. She stood on her toes to plant a light kiss onto Flowridia’s mouth. “In two weeks, I’ll be sleeping by your side, I swear it. Casvir and the world be damned.” She rocked back onto her heels, smiling faintly.

  A knock interrupted Ayla’s speech. When Flowridia tried to turn, Ayla’s grip tightened possessively.

  “Flowridia?”

  Sora’s voice. Flowridia whispered, “I’ll get rid of her. Give me a moment.”

  Murderous intent stared back, but Ayla loosened her hold. She stepped to the side of the door, invisible in the shadow.

  Flowridia opened the door and saw Sora waiting, hands on her hips. “Can I help you, Sora?”

  “I wanted to apologize,” Sora said, leaning against the doorframe. “I didn’t mean to call you out during the meeting.”

  “I can’t fault you for telling the truth.”

  “You seemed-” Sora suddenly stopped, eyes growing wide as she stared past Flowridia’s shoulder.

  Flowridia turned and gasped when Ayla’s leering grin waited only inches behind her. “I’ve heard you’ve been creeping around my Flowra’s room. Tell me, what kind of bastard elf knows elven music?”

  The terror in Sora’s visage surprised Flowridia. She placed a hand on Ayla’s shoulder, feeling tension beneath the thin skin. “Ayla, I don’t think she meant any harm.”

  “I’m sure not,” Ayla replied, haughty as she straightened her pose. “What’s your name, Stablemaster Sora? Perhaps I killed some of your pure-blooded ancestors.”
>
  Sora stepped back, still maintaining eye contact.

  “There aren’t many blunt-eared bastards in the world, Sora Fireborn.” Ayla let the word trace obscenely off her tongue. At the use of her full name, or perhaps the slur, Sora flinched, and Ayla laughed. “You are a Fireborn, right?”

  Sora quickly shook her head. “You have me mistaken-”

  “A bit of human swine in your blood does nothing to mask the taint of your scent. You’re a Fireborn.” Ayla’s grin grew wide and toothy. Flowridia didn’t presume to imagine the lengthening of her fangs. “Finding a census was trivial. I made certain to check the whereabouts of as many of you gnoll-benders as I could.”

  Sora simply stared, either stunned by the insult or incapacitated by fear.

  “I have no wish to murder in front of my sweet lady, but give me a reason, and you’ll be a smear on the walls.” Ayla pushed past Flowridia and placed a hand on the door. “Give my regards to Mereen.” The door slammed. Ayla turned around. “Watch that blunt-eared tart.”

  Flowridia stared, jaw agape. “Ayla, what was all that?”

  “Why did I threaten Sora Fireborn? Amusement, pitiful as it is.” Any humor in Ayla’s grin seeped away, leaving nothing but menace. “Fireborns have a habit of locking me in coffins.”

  Flowridia stared down, unsure of what to say. “I forget I know nothing about you,” she finally whispered.

  “Next time you see me, I’ll answer of a few of your questions.”

  Ayla turned as if to leave, but Flowridia reached out to grab her hand. “Answer me one now? Please?”

  Ayla turned as she raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  “If I find out there’s any sort of danger to you, what do I do?”

  Ayla stepped forward, her lithe hands suddenly at Flowridia’s waist and then skimming up her bodice. Her fingers lightly cupped Flowridia’s breasts, barely touching. Flowridia’s breath hitched as one of Ayla’s hands dipped into her cleavage and withdrew the ear. “Whisper with intent, and I’ll hear everything you say.” Ayla let it drop. It fell against the fabric outside her gown.

  Ayla’s mouth pressed against hers. “I’ll give you a sign, Flowra. No need for panic.”

  Flowridia shut her eyes, basking in those lips brushing against her own. “Safe travels, Ayla.”

  This time, the kiss held more urgency. Ayla held the back of her neck, crushing their lips together. Flowridia savored the contact, letting her hand stroke Ayla’s hair, until the small woman pulled back quite suddenly.

  Something unreadable settled onto Ayla’s tense expression, the furrowing of her brow, the twitch at her lip. But then she smiled and planted a kiss at the back of Flowridia’s hand. “Farewell, Flowra.”

  She disappeared out the window.

  “Demitri, stay here,” Flowridia said, stuffing the ear back into her bodice. She immediately went to the door. Ayla was gone, and that meant she was free to pursue answers on her own.

  No sign of Sora. Flowridia ran down the stairs, avoiding eye contact with all she passed. The half-elf was a near zealot to the Goddess, and Flowridia had only one guess to where she might try and hide.

  Outside, a warm breeze swept Flowridia’s hair across her face. Her bare feet tapped along the stones, toward the enormous iron gate outlining the perimeter of the manor. Flowridia ran to the entrance, seeing the gate slightly ajar-

  A knife appeared at Flowridia’s throat.

  She gasped, prepared to scream, but just as quickly the knife withdrew. Sora stood at the other side of the gate, eyes wide, breath hitched. She tucked the knife into the sheath at her belt. “I’m sorry. I thought you were her,” Sora said, releasing a long breath. “I suppose if she wants me dead, I won’t hear it coming.”

  Flowridia still hadn’t breathed, but she managed to speak a few nervous words. “I want to know what you know.”

  “Not out here,” Sora replied, her stance still prepared to fight. She glanced about, twitching at every shadow. “I’m going to the Temple of Sol Kareena. If you join me, she won’t be able to listen. Vampires can’t enter holy places.”

  Flowridia nodded, keeping her skepticism to herself.

  Lamps burned bright outside shop doors, the sun having long set. The sparse streets made little noise, and Flowridia followed Sora through the winding, dusty roads toward the temple. Not nearly as ostentatious as the cathedral in the Theocracy, it still harbored its own subtle beauty. Flowridia had only ever seen the outside, built from rough stone and smaller than the enormous manor housing the royal council, but beautiful stained glass windows depicted images of angels, of Sol Kareena and her pantheon.

  Inside, it appeared as a smaller version of the cathedral, with pews and an altar at the front. Sora shut the door behind them and quickly approached the statue before the altar. It stood smaller than Flowridia, but placed upon a pedestal, it managed to tower above them all the same. The half-elf knelt and gestured with her hands, silently mouthing a prayer to the statue staring down.

  When Sora opened her eyes, she asked, “Have you pledged your heart to Sol Kareena, yet?”

  Flowridia shook her head.

  “She’s claimed you. Choose her, and you’ll be protected from evil.”

  Flowridia would be a fool to not hear the condemnation in Sora’s words, the implications rampant in the word ‘evil.’ “That wasn’t my plan for the night,” Flowridia said as she stood beside Sora. “I wanted to apologize for what Ayla said. She doesn’t mean you harm. She asked me to give you her best and admitted that she may have been harsh.”

  Sora stood, her full height several inches taller than Flowridia, and stared up, studying the hooded image of Sol Kareena. “I’m somewhat of a pariah among my extended family. But I grew up on stories of the monster my grandfather managed to lock into a shadow-less coffin underground. I don’t know if Ayla is impossible to kill, but despite a thousand years of war, no one could. He only managed to lock her away.”

  Flowridia’s hand moved up to cover her mouth. “Why though?”

  Quiet a moment, Sora looked down to the plaque at the Goddess’ feet, one bearing the phrase: The light will burn away all your fears. “Elves cling to old ways of life. Most still pledge to the Old Gods, Chaos in particular. But we Sun Elves swore allegiance to Sol Kareena, and The Endless Night became the monster my people came to fear above all else. What happened to the Skalmites and the dwarves was a tragedy, but their deaths are drops in a tidal wave. Forgive me – for you to say she doesn’t mean me harm is a blatant lie, whether you realize it or not. I’ll be keeping my distance.”

  It stirred a thought, one that sat unwell in Flowridia’s stomach. “You’ve known this all along,” she said, stifling her slow-brewing anger. “You’ve known who Ayla was, but you encouraged me to pursue her. Why?”

  Sora’s fists clenched. “You’re a cute kid. I thought you would be good for her-”

  “You don’t lie well when you’re cornered.”

  Sora turned, one hand drifting toward her belt, and Flowridia watched her grip the hilt of her dagger, prepared to run if the half-elf turned on her. “I didn’t know what she was, not until she manifested as The Endless Night. But I had suspicions, and if she was sweet on you, I could keep an eye on her.”

  Sora said nothing more, but Flowridia felt her own fury begin to simmer. The gentle caress of leather against metal sang across the walls of the cathedral. Sora’s dagger glinted silver. True silver – a bane to most undead creatures.

  “You’ve meant to kill her,” Flowridia said, and she glanced from Sora’s dagger to her face, watching for any shift in demeanor. Sora glared, the hunter cornered by her own prey. “If you, the pariah of the Fireborn family, brought the head of Ayla Darkleaf, why wouldn’t you be welcome with open arms?”

  “My motives aren’t so petty,” Sora said, her knuckles white against the hilt. “You could help me. You’d be doing the world a service.”

  Flowridia spat on the ground at Sora’s feet. “Never.”

 
Sora could do many things, but slay Flowridia on Sol Kareena’s altar was not one of them, so what had she to fear? The half-elf slipped the dagger back into her belt. “Watch yourself, diplomat. She’ll ruin you, and you’ll never see it coming.”

  Flowridia made no move to stop Sora when the half-elf stepped past her. She froze, watching until the door slammed shut, the sound echoing across the vacant cathedral. She turned back, studying the altar, and stepped forward, each bare footstep a quiet mar on the silence of night.

  Sol Kareena gazed down, her pupil-less eyes an eerie sight. A whisper in Flowridia’s soul beckoned her forward, and Flowridia wondered if this was what Meira experienced when the Goddess tried to speak. Underneath her sightless shadow, Flowridia knelt and shut her eyes.

  A whisper said, “Do you want me to kill her?”

  Shocked, Flowridia opened her eyes. Peering upward, she gasped when she saw Ayla’s face beside the Goddess’.

  She grinned viciously, showing her teeth, and slid down with ease. Her feet touched the floor without a sound. “I ask again – do you want me to kill her? All you need do is wish it, and I’ll receive no reprimand from Nox’Kartha.”

  Flowridia shook her head. “I don’t want anyone to die.”

  A wicked chuckle echoed in her ears. “Flowra, you are too good and innocent for this world.” A pale hand extended; Ayla helped her to rise. “Let me escort you home. It wouldn’t do well for a lady to be caught alone on a dark night.”

  When Flowridia nodded, Ayla’s fingers interlaced with her own. With Sol Kareena at her back, Flowridia walked forward with Ayla and felt her worried heart begin to speed, though not from fear. It fluttered; it burned.

  Flowridia didn’t know what it meant, for Ayla to hold the door open and escort her, hand in hand, but she followed, her steps unhurried.

  Chill night air stung her face, the breeze whipping her hair. “I thought you’d gone,” Flowridia said softly.

  “And leave you alone with that Fireborn tart? I wished to see what you would do.” Ayla chuckled, something wicked in the sound, but brought Flowridia’s hand to her lips and placed a kiss on her knuckle.