by S D Simper
“Be on alert tonight, in case there are others.” Casvir continued ascending the stairs, and Flowridia followed close behind. “Demitri would detour anyone foolish enough to accost you, but stay aware of your surroundings.”
An obvious solution presented itself, but Flowridia hesitated before voicing it. “Would it be safer for me to stay with you?”
Casvir stopped at the top of the staircase. “For your physical health, yes, but not for your reputation.”
He continued toward his room, but once on level footing, Flowridia darted ahead. “What about my reputation?” she said, placing her hands on her hips. Her small physique blocked the door, but were Casvir determined he would have no trouble shoving past her. Atia’s words ran through her head, though, as did the man’s at the desk. “Really? All of Nox’Kartha thinks—”
“Yes.” Casvir crossed his enormous arms in front of his chest. No anger in his stance, however. Instead . . . hesitation? “And forgive me, Lady Flowridia, but the idea is deeply troubling.”
Flowridia nodded, his words confirming what she had suspected. Her arms fell to her side, her expression with it. “I’m sorry.”
“Do not be,” he said as he stepped around her. “Rest assured, though, while I do think highly of you, my intentions for you are innocent.”
“As innocent as anyone grooming the heir to the Theocracy with dark, forbidden magic?” Flowridia replied, suppressing a grin as she fluttered her eyelashes.
A smile cracked Casvir’s stoicism, as mischievous a glint as she had ever seen from him. “Precisely.”
Flowridia grinned. “Goodnight, Casvir,” she said, a strange relief settling into her lungs.
Casvir nodded politely. “Goodnight, Flowridia.”
The door shut, and Flowridia returned to her own room. On the floor, Demitri snoozed contentedly on his side, an enormous, empty platter by his mouth. She stepped past him and knelt beside the bed, peering underneath. “Ana, you can come out.”
The skeletal canine bolted into her arms, shooting up into her chest. Flowridia hugged her tight and kissed her skull. When she stood, she plopped Ana onto the bed before climbing in beside her and settling into the soft sheets.
As expected, sleep eluded her. Instead, her memories mocked her with images of horror.
* * *
Knocking pulled her from vain attempts at sleep.
Flowridia sat up, surprised to find it was still night, and saw Demitri sniffing at the door. “Who’s out there?” she whispered.
I smell De’Sindai, I smell female . . . Demitri kept his nose to the ground. I think she’s young.
Whoever the culprit, Flowridia doubted she was a threat. “Ana, stay,” she commanded. Her bare feet touched the cold floor, and clad in her nightclothes, Flowridia cracked open the door.
She recognized Atia, who held a lantern up to light the dim hallway. “Lady Flowridia, I’m sorry to disturb you. I didn’t want to ask in front of Imperator Casvir, but—”
Flowridia beckoned her inside, putting a finger in front of her lips. Once the door had shut, she whispered. “Casvir doesn’t sleep. If you don’t want to be overheard, it’s better to be in here.”
“My Lady, I know you’re a diplomat, but rumors have spread among my people about your talents as a witch. Is it true you can heal?”
De’Sindai, of course, would have no quandary over whether one was a witch or a priestess. They were demon-descended themselves. “I can, yes.”
The lantern flickered eerie light across Atia’s face, but Flowridia still saw fear. “My mother was too afraid to ask, but I feel I can trust you. My sister is ill, and I fear she’ll die if—”
Another knock, and then the door ripped open. Casvir stood in the doorframe. “I heard a disturbance.” His glowing red eyes settled on Atia, who withered under the gaze. “I told you—”
“Casvir,” Flowridia said, stepping in front of the cowering child. But she remembered his warning and tried again. “Imperator Casvir, she knocked on my door seeking help. And I’ve agreed to give it.” She hadn’t yet, but if it pacified the Tyrant of Nox’Kartha, she would lie.
“Go, then,” he said, a threat in his tone. “I will follow.”
Flowridia turned to Atia, as reassuring a smile as she could muster at her lips. “Take me to your sister,” she said, and Atia led them downstairs—she, Casvir, and Demitri.
To the first floor and near the kitchen, but instead they were diverted to a doorway beyond. Perhaps this was where the family slept, Flowridia reasoned, and when Atia opened the door, it led to a small bedroom, one with a cot and a De’Sindai woman kneeling before it. The woman turned. “Atia, I could hear you coming from—” She stopped, eyes wide when she saw who accompanied the girl. Flowridia, yes, but Imperator Casvir stood behind, and the woman bowed in his presence.
Flowridia, however, stepped inside and went for the cot, where a small girl, no older than three, rested fitfully. Atia stood behind with the lantern.
Flowridia knelt beside the bed, daring to touch the woman’s shoulder. She trembled, her breath catching. “Ma’am,” she said softly, “I am Lady Flowridia of Staelash. Atia has entreated me to heal your daughter.” The woman looked up, eyes still blown wide with fear. She matched Atia in physique, with auburn hair and gangly limbs. “Will you let me look at her?”
The woman managed a nod. Flowridia turned to the girl and touched her arm, letting her senses expand and read what the child’s body craved. Her stomach was distended, bloated, yet no true sickness ravaged her young body.
With Ana, there had been no cause, simply corruption from the land. But here, she felt a disturbance from inside. Another entity existed within the small girl’s body, an intruder poisoning her from within.
Flowridia gently moved the covers aside and coaxed her arms under the girl’s form. A heavy weight with her limp, sleepy limbs, but the girl’s eyes opened, delirium facing back. Cradled against her chest, Flowridia placed a hand on the girl’s forehead and let a stream of healing magic flow through. The room glowed with soft, golden light, and the girl gasped, though not from pain. Strength filled her, but the sickness remained, and Flowridia hoped her silent words would be heard. You have no place here, she commanded the intruder. Leave.
The girl suddenly writhed, pained cries escaping her throat. Her mother moved to sit behind them, tears welling in her eyes, looking helpless at the sight of her trembling daughter. Flowridia stopped but let the healing magic still move freely through her. A new approach then, and she moved her hand from the girl’s face to her stomach, keeping a tight hold on her small body. She braced herself, knowing what perfect precision she would need, realizing one misstep might kill the sickly girl.
Purple mist emanated from her fingers. A slight crackling of lightning, and then it vanished. The girl still breathed. She sobbed, but she breathed, and Flowridia felt relief.
A different spell passed her lips, and with her hand still on the girl’s stomach, she beckoned undeath back into the parasitic intruder. The girl whimpered, pitiful as she clutched Flowridia’s form. You have no place here, Flowridia silently commanded. Leave.
The girl began convulsing. Fear gripped Flowridia, but she maintained her healing, repeating her command over and over. LEAVE.
When the girl buckled over, Flowridia let her. Vomit and bile streamed onto the floor, and with it a rounded, tentacled creature. Moist and eerie, it twitched in the open air. Flowridia held the girl tight in her arms, away from the parasite, just as Atia came forward and smashed it under her shoe.
A grotesque, black stain might scar the floor forever after, but the life Flowridia had given it seeped away.
Exhaustion struck her, but she kept her spell. The little girl breathed easy; though fatigued, relief threatened to expel her own tears. The girl would live.
She smiled, letting her spell finally cease. When she stroked the hair from the young girl’s face, damp from sweat and tears, color returned to her features. Flowridia placed a kiss on
her brow, then looked up at her mother. “She will live,” Flowridia said, and she offered the toddler forward.
The De’Sindai mother accepted, hugging the girl tight to her chest as she cried. “Thank you,” she said. “Lady Flowridia, I am forever in your debt. Whatever we can do to repay you—”
“No, no” Flowridia said, shaking her head. “It’s a duty I’m happy to—” She was cut off by Atia, who plopped beside her and hugged her tight. Flowridia returned the gesture, smiling at the soft revelry of ‘thank you,’ she heard from the girl’s mouth.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered, savoring the loving embrace. Exhausted by her efforts, she felt sleep tugging at her eyelids. “For now, I need sleep. But if anything happens, don’t hesitate to find me.”
She left the joyous women, and once she’d shut the door, she remembered Casvir’s looming presence. “You should return to bed,” he said, though not unkindly. Odd amusement rested on his face, and Flowridia wondered until—
His clawed hand descended onto her head. Bracing herself, Flowridia stiffened as the hand ruffled her hair. “Excellent work,” he said simply, and then he stepped away, heading alone toward the staircase.
Stunned, Flowridia glanced between the stairs and Demitri. “What was that?” she whispered.
I think you impressed him.
“He ruffled my hair.”
I noticed.
“What does this mean?”
No idea. But you look like you might collapse.
Flowridia followed Demitri close as they ascended the staircase.
She fell back asleep in seconds.
* * *
The morning light peeked uncomfortably through the window, warming Flowridia’s sleeping face. As consciousness floated down upon her, she realized she had actually slept through the night. Mother’s cackling laughter echoed in her memory, but she shoved those thoughts aside, just as she shoved Ana off her chest.
She sat up, pulling the excitable creature into her arms, and turned to see Demitri watching her with one sleepy eye. Look who slept.
“Well enough,” she mumbled, scrunching her nose at Demitri. “For once.”
He stood and placed his nose against her cheek. Good.
Flowridia yawned as she rubbed her eyes, then noticed the tray of food by the door. “What’s that?”
Breakfast. It’s nearly noon.
Flowridia ripped aside the covers and jumped from her bed. “This is so embarrassing.”
Casvir doesn’t care. He came by to make sure you hadn’t been kidnapped, but I think he’s happy you slept.
“Still embarrassing.” Ignoring the food, Flowridia stepped around and into the hallway. The next door was Casvir’s, and she politely knocked. “Casvir? I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”
She pushed the door open, revealing a room identical to her own. Casvir sat on the otherwise untouched bed, a book in his hand. “Did you sleep well?”
She nodded. “Are we going to stay another night?”
“I see no reason to.”
“I can be packed in a few minutes.”
“Find me when you’re ready.”
Flowridia ran back to her room, nearly tripping over the food placed by her door. She shoved her clothing into her bag, packed within a minute. “Demitri, are you ready to go?”
Demitri, to her surprise, plopped in front of the door. I’ll be ready as soon as the food is gone from that tray.
Flowridia frowned but knew better than to argue. She set her supplies aside and sat on the ground to eat the room-temperature offering of fruit.
I think Casvir only did this to keep me locked inside.
“I doubt it was personal,” she said between bites. But The Coming Dawn crossed her mind, as well as Casvir’s plot to draw her out. “Or aimed toward you, at least.”
Once she had eaten, Ana skittered around her feet and darted out when the door opened. She ran past Flowridia’s feet, stumbling over her skirt and toward the precarious stairs.
“Stop!” Flowridia commanded, and the tiny skeleton froze in place. “Come here.” Ana, on her unstable little feet, darted back to her and planted her bottom on the ground, wagging her tail as she watched Flowridia expectantly. “Good girl.”
Casvir watched them, his befuddled expression humorous on his nightmarish figure. His own scarce supplies were tucked under his arm, and without comment he stole the bedroll and spear from Flowridia, leaving her with only her light bag.
“The horses should be waiting for us,” he said before descending the stairs. Flowridia followed, with Ana at her ankles and Demitri close behind.
In the lobby, few patrons lingered, but those who did barely hid their curious glances. Knowing their suspicions caused a pit to expand in Flowridia’s stomach, but she kept her eyes fixed solely ahead.
Winter’s chill cut through her coat, the breeze icy. Their skeletal mounts waited outside, along with Atia who nervously held the reins of the undead monsters. At the sight of Casvir, the girl bowed low. Casvir took the reins without a word and quickly strapped their supplies to the saddles.
But Flowridia placed a hand on her shoulder and said, “How is your sister?”
“Leddie ate for the first time in days this morning. She’s as happy as I’ve ever seen.”
Flowridia smiled. “Good.”
Atia nearly leapt into her arms, her gangly frame cushioned by a coat. “Thank you, Lady Flowridia.”
“You’re welcome.”
“My mother wishes she had something to give you. She says you’re always welcome here, though, and that you can stay for free.”
When Flowridia pulled back, she slipped a few coins from her pouch and placed them into Atia’s hands. “Give these to your mother,” she whispered. “I hope to see you again someday.”
Atia left with a smile and a wave.
She placed Ana in her bag, not wishing to push Casvir’s patience more than necessary, though his stoicism suggested simply that. “You enjoy disregarding my command to stop befriending my populace,” he muttered as he watched her mount her skeletal horse. No anger marred his tone, but curiosity. “Murishani does as well, and he is far more beloved than I.” He mounted his horse; Flowridia wondered at his meaning.
All around, the town swarmed with life, despite the falling snow. The well-kept road held carriages, horses, and all sorts of walking travelers. Yelling in the distance drew her ear, and Flowridia could see the edge of a bustling market. Immediately surrounding them, like a strange bubble, those who passed slowed, paused, then bowed, some lingering on their knee for minutes, not moving until Casvir passed out of sight.
The market drew closer, and the sea of people parted to let them pass—a strange juxtaposition to what she had experienced in Staelash. There, the children danced at Marielle’s side, the soldiers freely jested with their late general, and Etolié had been known to host parties devoted to Eionei’s glory for the populace. Perhaps they simply inspired a different sort of respect.
Here in Nox’Kartha, no such comradery existed between the people and the ruling class. The people respected Casvir, but it was clear to Flowridia that respect and fear remained strongly intertwined.
The town faded away, the houses becoming more scattered until only mountainous terrain met her gaze. Despite the chill, the open air filled Flowridia with a brewing sense of joy and freedom, and she smiled at the sun basking on her face.
Casvir spoke to fill the quiet day. “To wield the powers of light and dark in tandem bespeaks an impressive amount of finesse. Your power will grow with time, but the ability to act with the care of threading a needle is nothing to dismiss.”
Flowridia blushed. Their conversation drifted to talk of magic and its nuances.
The terrain sloped downward for a time, the weather becoming warmer as they descended from the mountain. The trees grew dense as the days passed, the snow steadily disappearing, becoming nothing but patches before it vanished entirely.
Sparring with Casvir continue
d to be grueling work, but not nearly so difficult as verbally sparring with Demitri to get him to watch Ana.
Just tell her to sit.
“That’s terrible parenting.”
And, one night, after successfully raising an ensemble of birds and coercing them to fly, sleep evaded Flowridia’s tired mind.
Stars glittered high above, dimmed by the full moon. Flowridia lay with her back against Demitri’s sleeping form, Ana tucked under her arm.
What would Ayla have thought of her new odd companion? Perhaps an undead pet was what Ayla needed, a creature who would love her even in death. She recalled watching Ayla long ago, of her kneeling in the kitchen before a tiny Demitri, tentative in her actions, unused to affection.
Flowridia turned over, pain tightening in her chest at the mere thought of Ayla. Ayla was dead. Ayla would stay dead.
The stars glittered like fangs, and Flowridia shut her eyes, hating the blush she felt blossom across her cheeks.
* * *
“Accept my name, and know I mean everything by it . . .”
Flowridia awoke before dawn, the tender images of the night already fading from her memory. The tighter she clung to the gentle brushing of doll lips against her own, the silken, embroidered gown against her skin, the sweet whispers in the dark, the faster they vanished.
Like Ayla herself, whose face slowly became a shadow in her mind.
The vision came not from some ghost destined to haunt her but her own betraying mind. Exhaustion beat against her eyelids as she sat up. Immediately, her head fell into her hands, furious emotion spiking when tears brimmed in her eyes.
“Flowridia?”
Flowridia dared to face Casvir, watched as he set aside his book—Great Composers of the Millennia—then shook her head, hiding her face behind her thick, autumn locks. She clenched her hands, willing away tears.
Ayla was dead. Ayla would stay dead.
“Be mine forever, darling . . .”