They were attended by Empyreans. This was a race Illsa accepted despite never knowing more than passing information about. That they were very ancient was apparent. Most could measure their life in centuries; millennia even. None of them looked a day older than their mid-twenties, no matter their actual age. And all, every last one, had red hair, tinged with chrome and silver.
Some seemed to even possess powers unknown to humans. She was positive, at a minimum, a few were reading her mind.
She also did not question, or wonder, why an ancient race would bother with mortal creatures, who were imperfect in so many ways. Who aged, when they did not.
There were many, many curious things about her life that Illsa chose to keep steeped in deep mystery.
Illsa sat in the elongated tub, the lavender water reaching the tops of her shoulders. She inhaled the pleasing scents, as she had every evening, thinking of her beautiful Vakkar.
Her attendant, Selia, paused. “Illsa, you mustn’t entertain such thoughts,” she hissed, in a low, fearful tone.
“Selia, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she gambled. “My thoughts here are eternally pleasant.”
“You do know,” Selia replied. “And you know I know. I’ll say nothing more about it, but consider this your warning. I’d like to continue to tend your baths for years to come.”
With a dutiful smile, Illsa recorded a mental note to not allow Vakkar to grace her thoughts while in the presence of her attendants.
“I leave in the morning,” Vakkar told her, several days later. With a mingling of relief and painful longing, she’d watched for him the past few nights, disappointed in his absence.
She couldn’t ask where he’d been. Couldn’t consider whatever traitorous thoughts might reside in his head, which might, deep down even, match some of hers.
“Do you know where you’ll go?” Illsa asked cordially, plucking a blue cherry from the tree to their left. She did her utmost to look casual, as if her heart was not ready to beat clear out of her chest.
Vakkar paused. There seemed to be another topic on his mind, one that didn’t include her. Then he said, “Africa, I think. There are people I can learn warfare from.”
“Africa! What need do you have of warfare? I am to believe yours is a peaceful race, no?”
“What race could ever truthfully claim such a thing? Where there is power, and a ruling body, there will never be peace. And without those things, the world would fall into chaos. War is at the heart of every civilization. The alpha and the omega.”
Illsa continued her waltz through the garden with Vakkar in tow, careful to not seem too friendly. “Are you a philosopher then, or a warrior, Vakkar?”
“I didn’t come here to speak of such things.”
“Then what did you come to speak of?” Illsa coquetted, a cleverness she’d learned from the other pets as they practiced their skills in the harem.
Behind her, Vakkar stopped. Illsa’s breath caught, for she understood implicitly, and altogether too late, where this conversation was headed.
His breath was hot at her ear. “I can secret you out of here, Hanna. Not easy, but it can be done. There are tunnels under Farjhem. Many, no longer in use, some which lead very near to here. I’ll say no more on that, as I don’t want your attendants plucking it from your head. But if you agree to meet me at dawn, I’ll take you anywhere. Africa be damned.”
Yes, he’d done it. He’d offered Illsa the singular temptation that had been presented in her short tenure at The Menagerie. A hundred years old, but his heart as young and unmarred as her own. His declarations of love over the past two weeks had been as real as either of them could envision the expanse of the heart to be. No guile existed in her Vakkar. His words came as if set matter-of-fact upon his sleeve, for her to do with as she pleased.
But, for all their youth, what could the world offer them? Illsa would eventually grow old, and he would remain as he was now, for always. And if he tired of her before then? She’d be left to a fate worse than the one she’d been rescued from.
“I would never abandon you,” Vakkar said gently. His hand fell upon her arm, but went no further. So, he’d also detected the watchful eyes of the duchess.
“You can’t make that promise. Only she can.”
“She?” Vakkar laughed, a cold, hollow sound. “By creating deceptions? By keeping you here under whatever pretense necessary to cause you to see yourself as free rather than slave? Look around you, Hanna. What do you think happens when these pets of hers grow old and unsightly? When they are no longer desirable to her patrons? The Menagerie has existed for centuries! Think on that.”
No, she would not. She would not think on that! To do so would cause her to step over the precipice of the building denial in the back of her mind, one which had been lauded by her father for being keener than most. No, she could not risk the rose filter being dropped from her new, wonderful world. She couldn’t bear it!
Vakkar lowered his gaze. His words came in a breathless flow. “I am no more experienced in love than you are, Hanna. But I know I can love you. I do love you. And whatever that means, I’ll take that until the end of your days. I’ll not ever leave you, no matter how old and gray you grow. When your skin sags and your health grows infirm, it is I who will hold you as the last of your breaths leave your body. My vow means more to me than my own life. You must know this.”
Hanna could scarcely believe the words granted her. What he offered… it was real. As real as the world she now inhabited, and perhaps more so. He offered her nothing as pretty as this, but the foundations were solid enough to give her comfort the rest of her days.
From over Vakkar’s shoulder, Selia’s stern gaze burned a hole in her soul. One warning, she’d said. This would be either their goodbye of the evening, or her last ever.
“Dawn, then,” she whispered in a hurried tone. “Quick, tell me where!”
XII
Cyler paced the stone floors of his dormitory, listening to the stern ticking of the ceiling-to-floor clock.
Moments slipped by. Minutes, then hours.
His small knapsack had taken no time to pack. He owned very little. Aside from some clothing and practical items, he had the sizable sum of money granted him upon graduation. The money all Empyreans were given when they matured and were sent out into the world.
They’d been trained to pass as Children of Men. With that knowledge, he could make a life for himself and Hanna. Not, perhaps, the one he’d always dreamed of at the side of his idol, but the threads of fate had gripped hard upon his heart and there was no turning back now.
The tunnels under Farjhem were, as he’d told Hanna, very seldom used. Many now overgrown or even caved in, their practical use had outlived itself as their world grew. Now relics to a time long past.
Cyler came to know of them upon overhearing some gossip of Agripin’s youth, where he’d apparently traversed the tunnels at length, searching for some curious or strategic advantage in the event of a siege (much to the chagrin of the Scholars). Evidently finding none, he’d abandoned the cause.
Though Cyler had come to the same conclusion, his knowledge of the terrain would now prove invaluable.
He’d whispered the location to his Hanna. Her response had been to nod furiously and look past him, toward anything to draw attention off them.
For once, Cyler wished he’d paid more attention when his peers prattled on about the nature of love. He knew nothing about the illogical state, either from an ideological sense or an emotional one. Whatever he suffered from now… whatever pushed him toward the vine-covered tunnels leading to the eastern edge of The Menagerie, passing by the pets’ harem... it had to at least be in the neighborhood of love.
No, he realized. For him to give up his dreams of quests and glory, love it must be.
Whatever that meant, he could not guess. But he drew immense comfort in the realization they would make this discovery together.
Cyler said no goodbyes. Though he’d spent the last hun
dred years with them, he harbored no particular sentimentalities towards his peers or the Scholars. They were part of the wheel propelling him through the means to an end. And now the wheel would turn without him.
The last evening of graduation celebrations had come and gone, absent Cyler. And when dawn emerged, that magical time when The Menagerie finally slept, he began his meandering trek under the glacier.
With each careful step, his heart flipped and fluttered, causing him to question every last detail of his plan. This unnerved him even more than the act, as it was not in his nature to second-guess himself.
Sweat dripped down his temples as the light dimmed, while he disappeared further from the outside world. He was close now. Not much further.
At last he rounded a small bend, and in the darkness, he spotted the shape of her. Cloaked and hooded, she stood, awaiting him.
Indulging in a deep, relieved breath, he said nothing. Too much risk to voice anything until they were far away. Instead, he quickly approached and moved to wrap his arms around her.
Her arm shot forth with an unexpected force, knocking him back.
Before he could query on this odd behavior, her hood fell.
It was not Hanna gazing back at him, but the Duchess Oriana.
Her smile spread into a cruel and unnatural smirk. “How did you think we managed to bring our human pets into The Menagerie to begin with, my Vakkar?”
His heart, previously alive with emotion, sunk clear to the floor. “I… Duchess….”
“You’ve done a very, very dangerous thing, Vakkar. Do you understand the gamble you’ve made? It isn’t your life you’ve risked.”
“If you harm her!”
Oriana tossed her hair over her shoulder with a cold laugh. “You’ll do nothing. Nothing except leave Farjhem with your Scholar’s gifts and your foolish heart.”
“You said they could leave of their own free will,” he protested. “What other lies did you ply them with?”
“No lies at all,” the duchess replied, unaffected. “They were given a choice. Illsa was given a choice. But no choice in life is free. It so happens this was a choice she could only make once. And not even you, with your hubristic heart, can change that.”
Cyler shifted, wondering, if he overpowered her, what further guards would rush to take him down. “And the story of her betrothed? The so-called slave speculator?”
“Also no fallacy. Whether he would have sold her, I cannot say, though she would not have been his first betrothed to start with a promise and end in the hands of a cruel master. But Vakkar, these are not the questions you really want to ask. And I grow weary. So, get on with it. For I haven’t yet decided whether to have you killed.”
Cyler glanced toward the small passage. Somewhere beyond, Hanna lay. Had she told Oriana? Or had the duchess gleaned it herself?
“What have you done with her? I demand to know at least that.”
Oriana’s jeweled hair sparkled in the dim light as she pulled a torch from the wall. Her pale face no longer looked beautiful when pulled from her concourse, but vile. Evil. “Any other in her place would have been executed. I refrained only because I suspect your influence may have removed her better judgment. Should she try anything like this again… or, should you again attempt to come for her, I’ll rectify that kindness. Promptly.”
“I’ll raise an army,” Cyler protested, standing straighter. In that moment, he even believed the words. “I’ll storm The Menagerie with a thousand strong, Men and Empyrean both. I’ll tear down these walls, Duchess, and destroy everything you’ve built. Everything. Is that all worth it, for the life of one girl?”
Oriana’s placid expression angered him further. “You’ll do no such thing. Not because you cannot, but because you will not. And would you like a prediction? Why, I’ll give you one whether you would or not.
“One day you’ll return to Farjhem. Your life much changed. Your anger distilled. You’ll find your way down the winding steps, and proceed once again at a leisurely pace. You’ll speak the passcode, and, this time, you’ll sample my delights as they were always meant to be enjoyed. You’ll have forgotten all about the ludicrous notion of attachment to a poor girl who won’t live another decade. A girl who came to me, of her own accord, to tell me of your foolish plan to kidnap her.”
Oriana’s disappearance was so quick, Cyler thought he’d lost a minute or two. Looking around, he accepted she was truly gone. And he, dismissed.
Cyler stumbled from the tunnels in a blind daze. His thoughts were no longer his own. His desire tied up in something intangible. Oriana was right. He would not raise an army. He would not threaten her precious Menagerie.
Hanna wouldn’t want that.
Hanna’s desire to stay, in a paradise built on a foundation of illusion, exceeded her desire to be with him. And while he may have discovered a chivalrous side in his final days in Farjhem, he would be no lovesick fool, pining for a creature who would be dust in the earth before his next return home.
But Oriana was wrong on one point.
He would never, not ever, step foot in that den of hedonism as long as he had days upon the Earth. His fractured heart would mend, but it would never forgive the duchess her wrongs.
He started down the hill toward Farjhem’s exit, determined to continue without allowing his thoughts and emotions to get the better of him, lest he forget his purpose.
As he turned past the baker’s shop, inhaling his favorite scent in all his homeland, a figure stepped before him with an unusually pronounced swagger.
Looking up, Cyler gazed into the eyes of Grand Duke Agripin.
“You were going to sneak out of Farjhem without seeing me,” the duke accused.
Cyler’s words caught in his throat. Here his hero stood, before him. Addressing him. “I… was I supposed to see you?”
“You’ve been hoping to get my attention since graduation, no?”
“Yes, but… how did you know?”
Agripin tapped his head with his forefinger. “I caught your attention the evening of graduation. I’ll remember to note the art of subtlety is not one of your strong suits.”
“Pardon me for coming right to it, but why are you here?”
“To give you what you’ve wanted all along,” Agripin replied with a sly but gracious smile. “As it happens, you’ve caught me in a generous mood. And I’ve had a falling out with my second-in-command, so there’s an opening.”
Cyler wanted to respond, but couldn’t speak past the bale of cotton shoved between his gaping lips.
“Come,” said the duke, his idol, the one and only being who could help him forget all he’d been through in the past fortnight. “I have much to teach you.”
For all my readers who have asked for more on Colleen
I
AUGUST 1974
Dearest Evangeline,
Pray for me, dear sister, for my future begins tomorrow!
Ahh, Edinburgh. If there was ever a city where Deschanels truly belonged (aside from New Orleans, of course), this lovely Scottish haven of gothic and romance is it. I thought I’d be homesick. Instead, I feel as if I’ve arrived home after a long absence.
I walked the Royal Mile this evening. My flat sits at the end, only two blocks from Edinburgh Castle, a monstrous thing resting atop a prehistoric volcanic rise. Beautiful, although the strategic high ground and improbability of enemy breach was more than likely the top concern of the original architects.
Sorry. You know I can’t turn off the scholar, even when I want to. It’s a sickness, I tell you. And one I know you understand all too well, little sister.
Only to you, could I ever confess how nervous I am to start at the university tomorrow. While Mama brags to complete strangers at the grocer about how her eldest daughter was one of ten selected from the country for the University of Edinburgh’s Neuroscience program, the thoughts running through my head are more along the lines of how disappointed she’ll be should I fail.
My mind is ru
nning so many different directions that I can’t focus on anything except my hopes and fears. They whirl to the brim as I fear collapse. Will I become the next successful Deschanel or a complete embarrassment to my bloodline? Stay tuned.
Hugs to Mama, Charles, Augie, Maureen, and dear Elizabeth.
Love,
Colleen
Dad,
I know it’s been a while, and I’m sorry for that. Time gets away when you’re elbows-deep in labs and grading papers. If you assumed, like me, that being an aide gives you a reprieve on your other course work, you would be wrong. McDougal is relentless, and I’m a glutton for his punishment.
No news on my acceptance into UofE’s Ph.D. program. I’m told it takes a while… even for us fourth years who are already established on campus. I wish I’d inherited your patience so I could resist the temptation to burst into their office and demand an answer.
I know you hate short letters from me, but there’s not much else to tell. Studying is a round-the-clock job. I can’t remember the last time I had a date, or enjoyed an ale other than the stink-brew Joshua makes in the basement. No, it hasn’t gotten any better.
Oh, there’s one more thing. A NOLA girl in the first-year neuroscience program here. Small world, huh? We didn’t go to school together—she was one of those Sacred Heart girls, silver spoons, and whatnot—but she’s a Deschanel. All the way up here in Scotland. That family really is trying to ruin my life. The girl seems stuck up. No surprise there, given my memories of another member of that family. I know you’re reading this and scolding me about passing judgment, but you’re not here to give me “the look.”
Give Bones a piece of bacon for me. I can’t say I miss much about New Orleans, but boy do I miss my dog!
Love,
Noah
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