by Talis Jones
“Pathetic. You were always but a pathetic fawning puppy at my feet, Eli.” She never shortened his name and the shift, rather than reflect closeness was, in her grasp, a stinging slight.
“I thought you loved me,” he moaned as he felt his heart break like a rock slammed into a lake of ice. “I thought–”
Cassandra cut him off with more scathing words that broke each piece of his heart smaller and he could listen no longer, his voice only able to offer half-hearted protests. She threatened to kill him and toss his body into the river that ran beneath the castle so it would never be found and he could not stop the scene from flashing vividly in his head. He could only stand and lose his mind to the agony. How could he have deluded himself so fully? How? She had been this beautiful, impossible angel reaching out with promises he'd so desperately needed to cling to. Rage at himself, at her rang loudly in his head yet another accusation slowly drifted into the storm: How could everyone have seen, for surely they had, and not said a word? They had let him make a fool of himself, humiliate himself, and they had let her abuse him all this time. He was a fool deserving blame, but where were the others for surely they were at fault just as much.
With a sigh at his prolonged silence, her lips twitched in cruel amusement as she grasped his gaze as surely as if she'd wrapped her hands around his throat and squeezed.
“What–” he cut himself off and took a steadying breath. “What exactly are you telling me, Cassandra?”
She delicately stroked the side of his face with her finger and even now Eli couldn't stop his desire for more. Until she opened her mouth and poison poured out. “I'm saying that I used you over and over and over again. I'm declaring, Elijah, that I never loved you.”
No thought filled his head, only pure instinctual hatred and adrenaline that rose to the call. With a roar he slammed her against the wall, pinning her by the throat.
“You kill me,” she gasped, “and you'll never find yourself again.” A warning in words though her eyes were taunting, almost encouraging.
Hesitance caused his hold to loosen. He was no killer, no matter how betrayed. The moment his weakness showed she screamed causing him to trip backwards in shock. Like a wild creature with hatred in her eyes she attacked him leaving claw marks across his face, shoving him over the edge. A sudden gasp blew from her lips almost amusing in its stark contrast to the hellish queen she'd been just a breath before. Looking down he saw he'd drawn his dagger and she now hung on its blade.
In that moment there was only pain. Her gown growing hot with her blood while her body turned cold. There was only pain and fractured thoughts...and then at last there was nothing. As the life abandoned its shell, Eli sobbed.
Clutching Cassandra's body to his chest he rocked back and forth unable to hold back his desperate cries. He did not know that Whispers could not be killed, that she had lied that day so long ago. Holding her lifeless form he believed his heart had meant it and he hated himself even more for it.
As her blood pooled around them a dark viscous substance poured out with it and so absorbed by his heartbreak he did not notice it cling to his clothes until it clutched at his throat. It sunk into his flesh like a curse and little whispers like needles in his mind began their torment and he let them. Guilt and shame surpassed all reason, all fear, all suspicion, and instead of fighting this darkness sinking its claws into his sanity, he relinquished his will and grabbed hold of these prickling whispers to stab them deeper into his heart.
Cassandra, of course, was not dead. Or at least she wasn't for very long. Her life rekindled in Eli's shaking arms and it was a slow, mysterious thing. She did not rush back towards life with a sudden surge of energy or a desperate gasp of air. She faded back to the world, gently and quietly, with her last memory returning first and her first memory forming last. Cassandra knew precisely where she was and what she'd done and Eli did not notice her impossible return.
Lying limp in his arms, she waited until at last he could stand the scene no longer and fled. Feigning a lifeless posture upon the cold stone floor she waited as heavy footsteps entered the room, a curse hissed from shocked lips then strong arms lifted her and her head swayed like a doll's. Hastened steps drifted down, down, down to the palace dungeons, past rows of cells and further down until they'd reached the gate where the river ran beneath.
“Are you sure?” the man she now realized was Mikael asked quietly.
“It is the only way,” Elijah confirmed. “No one can know how she died and this way her body will never be found. We will hold a grand funeral, but the truth must remain between us.”
Mikael's fingers tightened around her body as if reluctant to let her go. “I'm sorry, Cassandra,” he murmured only for her. “I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you.” She could practically hear his glare, feel his angry accusation slashing at Elijah. “I will keep your secret for the sake of preserving all that she created, but I will never forget this and I will never forgive you.”
“Nor will I,” Elijah replied so softly she almost missed it.
With a resigned grunt, Mikael kneeled then gently tossed her body into the churning water and it took every ounce of Cassandra's willpower to swallow her scream at the cold plunge. The men only waited until she drifted out of sight, carried by the river towards the sea. Her head had slipped under and she held herself beneath the surface until finally they turned their backs.
Lungs burning she slowly rose up out of the water, only until her nose could gasp and her eyes could pierce their backs. Glancing up she saw the moon, whole and glowing brightly. One hand clutched the talisman she'd crafted through experiments, her own scraps of magic, and the magic of an Ailillish traveller who'd wanted the coin. Softly she uttered a few careful words.
By the time they returned to her chambers they would forget just enough. Eli would only remember bestowing the killing blow and Mikael would stare bewildered where her cursed blood had pooled yet no body remained behind. Let her death be a mystery. Let everyone wonder and fear. Let the whisperings use it as fuel on the fool who would take up the Crown.
The deed was done, the prophecy set forth, there was nothing left for her here. Only then did she dive deeper, cutting through the current to a shore she knew grew thick with plants to conceal her. She'd been lucky they chose the river, she hadn't been certain what might occur after her death though she’d casually planted the suggestion over time. It was a gamble she’d had to accept blindly and hope a plan would present itself otherwise when the time came.
Shivering she slipped and clawed her way up the riverbank never stopping until cloaked in the Quidelish woods. Cassandra could feel the pulse of power from the border of Silvanus nearby, despite trapping her magic in the curse until it could be returned to her, and steered clear of it. Let the Whispers believe her dead, let them believe her defeated and tired. Or if they were not to be so naive as to think such things, then let them wonder in fear where she might be and what move she might plan to strike next. Let them go mad with the unknown.
As for her, she would discard Cassandra as a snake sheds its skin. She would become someone new, she would hide in the shadows until time demanded her return. In the meantime, all she needed was a spy in the palace and a child who might grow up believing themselves a heroic rebel fit for a crown, for with the Crown's Curse rooted within Elijah, a revolution was sure to come.
Chapter 38
Cassandra's reign had been short and violent, a bloody revolution to set the game into motion, and from the shadows the players waited for the last to arrive: the prophesied twin that would at last tip the scales either into light or into darkness. The anticipation gnawed at them all, but they could do nothing but watch and wait.
Years Later
Eli jolted awake in his bed, the night deep in its reign, from the unsettling feeling of being watched. Rubbing his tired eyes he sat up then at once his blood froze. Just out of arm's reach stood Cassandra leaning against his bed post. At first he dared not move a muscle, his mind
in battle at what his eyes insisted lurked before him, then he could take it no longer.
“How?” he breathed in shock, all sleepiness torn from his being. She looked just as he remembered. Was it because she was a Whisper or did this make her an apparition? Had the voices at last shoved him into the fateful arms of insanity?
“Did you really think you could kill me? Someone with magic?” she taunted quietly in the midnight hush.
“But...I saw...” he shook his head. “I don't understand. I thought I'd killed you, Cassandra.” Shame and heartache shone in his eyes right alongside a yearning for forgiveness and hope that this was real.
Cassandra remained silent, her watchful gaze a dim glow in the moonlight. Whether figment or corporeal, even now she would not give him this peace of mind he so yearned for.
At last he voiced a much more pressing question. One that had his heart beating too hard for his chest. “Why are you here, Cassandra?”
With that familiar predatory tilt of her head she answered simply, “To take what is mine. Your blood spilled and the crown upon my head.”
“Nyet! Stay back!” he recoiled sharply, his eyes wild with the inner battle against the hungry whispers in his mind taunting him, chanting yes yes YES. “My blood,” he shuddered and a tear trickled down his cheek. “You mustn't touch it. Porfabór. Stay away from the throne, Cassandra. The Crown's blood is cursed.”
With a sweet smile sharp enough to slice his heart all over again she bent down to meet his eyes. “I know,” she murmured. “Who do you think put it there?”
“NO!”
Eli woke with a jolt. Sunlight from his window gently warmed his room yet his bones remained cold. Frantically he clutched his chest where she'd pierced him through, where he'd felt the blade of ice cut through flesh and heart. His fingers remained dry, his heart continued beating, and a quick glance told him no blood stained his shirt. Pushing aside the growing torment of voices in his head he grasped onto relief. It had been a dream. Naught but a dream.
Hadn't it?
Cassandra laughed.
Decades Later
A lot had come and gone in the past few decades for the children of Oneiroi to endure, but for Cassandra it had been nothing more than a waiting game. Patience had not always been her forte however when it came to this singular goal she managed to somehow weather the agony. Even so, with each dawn that rose her blood would hum with an electricity that nigh drove her to madness as it whispered, Perhaps today...
Not even the Whispers knew for certain whether Cassandra lived or died. She had not been bound to them through Abel's magic. Though they remained good to their oath to withdraw from the Jourdies, a few slipped to the surface from time to time as if testing her threats, testing the truth of her death. She let them and in turn kept her ear close to glean any hint or flicker of suspicion. They never even uttered her name, like it was a curse to be kept buried. Better still, as the years passed, the new Whispers did not even know her true nature. Cassandra was the first Crown of Oneiroi and a terrible villain, yes. But a Whisper, a rumor haunting the Island like the Sword of Damocles until her death could be confirmed? No, the young did not even suspect.
Cassandra watched from the shadows, never settling into a town for too long. She witnessed Elijah's coronation with confidence and his execution with satisfaction. She growled and swore vengeance upon the Crown when Aztlan fell to his successor's greedy clutches and watched as her empire began to crumble from the poison of politics and fools. Through it all it were the inventions, the progress, that kept each day new. Ideas and trinkets carried over from the Outer World, little scraps of news from those who cared to let them slip. Though new arrivals had lessened and grown scarce since her own return to the Island. A curious side-effect Titus had not mentioned and she did not fully understand.
She often wondered what had become of her twin, confident that Titus would have ensured their return one way or another. Would they be her mirror or her opposite? Would they prove worthy or disappointing? And what of this companion traveller the prophecy mentioned? She knew she'd dislike them most of all. What if–
A newcomer stepped into the tavern and Cassandra quickly slid her boots from the table where she hid in the corner. Taking a careful sip of her cider she drank in the girl fresh from the road by the looks of her. She'd heard rumors of the long lost princess of Aztlan, rumors she'd known long to be true. Knowledge was power and when she took back her throne she would know their every dirty secret even better than their heirs.
Sarai was an orphan and had been raised in a small coastal village by an older woman of the name Helena Jinton. The scandal surrounding Sarai's orphancy was simply another tool to be used, Cassandra knew.
At last of age to serve her two-year conscription in the Crown's Army, Cassandra had known the girl would pass through the busy city of Olanta and follow the main roads to Mordréda. As far as she'd gathered, Sarai Morrigan was not much of an adventurer. It was also a safe guess that she would choose lodgings that looked within her means as well as the most clean. All Cassandra had had to do was wait.
So she did just that. Tilting back in her chair, she lazily strummed her lute with a relaxed facade, all the while keenly aware of the girl's presence. Time to fell the third Crown, she hummed sweetly to herself.
As the girl bargained– No, Cassandra almost laughed when she agreed to the Keep's opening price. Of course she hadn't been bold enough to bargain. Cassandra had watched her grow up, an arduous task as the girl had proved far too boring a subject to study, but she'd managed to keep close tabs and learn enough to slowly build a replica within herself. They shared the same coloring, though Cassandra's hair was a pale gold rather than dirty blonde and her eyes sharper than this lamb's. Sarai was rather gangly and a few inches taller, but it wasn't anything anyone would care to remember. People were easily conned and very few would think to disbelieve that little Sarai had managed to grow into a beauty after two years tucked away in the training barracks.
Of all the angles to get her back onto her throne, she'd chosen this heiress. She could have been anyone, but why be a peasant when one could be royalty? The moment she'd discovered their rough similarities, she'd chosen and as the moment arrived she knew she'd chosen well. No magic would be needed to take on this persona, just tenacity.
Sarai took her bowl of stew from the counter and turned, looking helpless as to where to sit. Cassandra softened her gaze allowing an innocent smile to curve her lips while she strummed music lazily into the air. Sarai's attention paused on her friendliness and approached her hopefully.
“May I sit down?” she asked nervously. “Everywhere else is taken.”
There were quite a few open seats actually, but none beside someone who looked as if they bathed often nor someone who seemed so harmless as she. “Of course,” Cassandra answered brightly. “Are you on your way to conscription?”
Sarai's eyes widened in surprise as she took the seat Cassandra nudged with her boot. “Why yes, I am.”
“Me as well,” Cassandra nodded companionably. “Care to travel together? It isn't safe to wander the road alone.”
Relief literally sagged Sarai's body. “Ja, please I would be so grateful.”
Cassandra tilted her head. “Are you always this trusting of strangers?”
Sarai's nose scrunched and her cheeks warmed in embarrassment. “I am not an idiot,” she murmured.
“Never said you were,” Cassandra shrugged, though she certainly said it in her thoughts. “Say, what's your name? If we are to be friends, I should have something to call you.”
“My name is Sarai Ji–” Sarai bit her lip then seemed to come to some sort of a decision. Lifting her chin proudly she declared, “My name is Sarai Morrigan.”
Cassandra's eyes grew hungry. “Pleasure to meet you at last, princess. My name is Cassandra Böcklin.”
Epilogue
Cassandra stood on the Quidelish shore, jagged rocks and soft sifting sand beneath her boots. The ocean t
ide rolled in with a roar and retreated with a sigh...she could not help but understand for it felt as if it perfectly surmised her life. She had crossed Oneiroi's shore as a storm, all ambition and rage, now at last she stood on the very same shore and felt ready to depart with a sigh. None had come to capture her yet she knew they must be on the hunt for her missing body. She felt ready to go and yet with each breath her heart tore and she clung stubbornly, desperately to life. Exhaustion weighed her soul. It was time to go. Yet the loneliness of her end drowned her and she could not yet yield.
Emotions she'd long locked away raged within her chest as fiercely as the tides and she let them. She stood and took it, forcing herself to feel everything denied for longer than a lifetime.
We live in a world plagued by humans both good and terrible who do not know how to take responsibility for their actions, she reflected. It is no longer in their nature, if it ever was. The seductive dance of rationalization and the sour siren song of innocence is one rehearsed from infancy. And when one ear listens so will another and so on and so forth until the Devil's case is won. Live free and wild for life is short, the Devil urges. Angry tears brimmed in her eyes, the crisp wind stealing them before they could fall. Somehow this made her angrier. That one deserves anything at all is the oldest lie since the invention of time, she spat to no one but her own mind.
She did not want to go alone. She was afraid. Cassandra knew precisely whom she wished could stand by her side in these final moments, yet she'd betrayed them all. She was alone and she had no one to blame but herself. She knew this. She knew this and yet...why could no one love her? Why could no one ever truly understand? They'd tried to change her, they'd tried to ignore or cut out the bits they did not like, they'd held out promises and snatched them away yet when she bit back they acted as if she had made the first strike. Perhaps she was the one who was blind. After all, no one else seemed to have such problems. No one else was standing on an empty beach facing the unknown and doing so completely and utterly alone.