Tranquility's Grief Page 20

  They sat in silence like that for a time, the two remaining daughters of Apexia. Bethany no longer considered Sarissa one of them; the Sarissa they knew was long gone. Lendra whimpered for a few more minutes before exhaustion seemed to overtake her. She looked up at Bethany, eyes red and swollen, and said, “I’m sorry.”

  Bethany shifted closer to her sister to put a strong arm around her, a gesture that felt completely foreign to her. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

  “I destroyed their minds,” Lendra whispered. “I didn’t mean to. I just wanted them to not hurt you.”

  A lump formed in Bethany’s throat, but she forced her words out. “I know how you feel, my love.”

  And they sat there, sisters. Bethany kissed Lendra’s head and pulled her tight. She’d been so concerned with death and grief that she’d forgotten there was still someone left for her to live for.

  “There’s more, Bethany.”

  “Hmm?”

  Lendra gulped before she whispered out, “One of them had a memory of a shorter human who was coming to betray you to Daniel.”

  Bethany growled under her breath, but gave Lendra a smile. “Then we’ll just have to be ready, won’t we?”

  ****

  Sarissa collapsed on the floor, weeping. Snakes wound their way around her limbs. Black water beetles crawled up her bare legs. Hair caught in their sticky feet, pulling and yanking as they crawled over her shins and calves. Flies buzzed around her, flying in one ear and shooting out through a nostril, trickles of blood and snot pooling on her upper lip and seeping into her mouth.

  She closed her eyes, hoping to block out the screaming torments. She only found more nightmares. Her mind painted her landscapes of skin covered in welts. Maggots oozed from wounds, bringing with them yellow-greenish pus. Rotting flesh as far as the eye could see.

  Tears screamed down Sarissa’s cheeks, a burning oil against her tender skin. She felt blisters form where the tears had touched her. She could not escape the waking nightmare.

  “What is happening?” Quentin asked, his voice tight with concern and, perhaps, just a little touch of annoyance.

  She shook her head. She’d been unable to crawl out of the tent in days, not since the last time they’d tried a ritual. Even the hint of Magic raked at her eyes and made her tip on the edge of insanity.

  “Sarissa, tell us what is wrong. You need to speak,” Quentin urged.

  Sarissa forced open her mouth and a fly flew in, sticking to the back of her throat. She gagged on the apparition. “It isn’t real, it isn’t real.” She pulled her knees closer to her chest.

  “What isn’t real?” Robert asked.

  “There was a price for the barrier,” Sarissa said through sobs and the choking retching to detach the imaginary fly from her throat.

  “What was the price?”

  “I cannot be around people who do Magic,” Sarissa whispered and broke into tears once more. More blistering pain. “I can’t be around you anymore.”

  There was silence before Quentin said, “You cannot do Magic? Any?”

  “Oh, no,” Sarissa said, her voice bitter, “I can still do Magic. Far more than I could before. I just cannot do it with others now.” She gritted her teeth as wasps stung her ankles over and over, the flesh swelling and reddening before her eyes. “In fact, when I cast a spell or call a ritual, the nightmares leave me alone. All I want to do is sit naked in entrails and conjure up rocks so that this will leave me alone.”

  The fly in her throat dislodged and she coughed at the release. Even talking about Magic helped clear her mind.

  “It’s making me crazy,” she said, breaking into more sobs.

  “What happens when you do Magic alone?” Quentin asked.

  “Peace,” Sarissa answered. “Quiet.” She looked down at her hands. Hungry mouths opened on her skin, nipping at the snakes that slithered over her flesh. “Sanity.”

  Robert crouched down next to her and ran a hand along her knee. She shivered as his hand crushed several bugs and their guts splattered to the floor. “What do you see when you look at me?”

  Though it took significant energy, Sarissa lifted her head. She let out a sigh of relief. Her eyesight was gone, true, but this new spiritual vision she possessed wasn’t all full of nightmares. She reached out and touched Robert’s blood-stained, dirty face. She brushed away the dust and the crusted blood. Underneath was the man she’d fallen in love with. The man who had done everything she’d ever asked of him. His love towards her radiated light and peace, like the sun on a warm day.

  “I see a stained man, but one untainted by Magic.”

  Quentin asked, “What do you see when you look at me?”

  “Please don’t make me look,” she whispered. “Please don’t.”

  “Sarissa,” Quentin said, his voice stern, “you have to tell me what you see. We can’t fix it if we don’t understand it.”

  Bile rose inside her, and even that she didn’t have much left. Too much vomiting, too little food. “Rot,” she said through dry heaves. “Your flesh, rotting.” Gagging drowned out her voice and Sarissa leaned forward, vomiting up bile spit. She shuddered from the taste and pain.

  “When was the last time you ate?” Robert demanded, holding her hair back.

  “I can’t eat. Every time it’s handed to me, it’s covered in maggots.”

  “But you said things are normal when you do Magic?”

  “Yes,” Sarissa said, more tears streaming down her face. How long could she handle these images before she descended into full lunacy? How long could she stay sane when the world was altered? Was this what they meant by Magic insanity?

  “Is there a simple spell she can do? A long one, so that she can eat and get some sleep?” Robert asked.

  “It’s not that simple. Sarissa’s strength is massive, but it requires a lot of energy. It would be a foolish waste to kill people for her to perform a good weather spell,” Quentin said.

  “I don’t care about killing people. I care about my wife living.” Robert growled, “Do something.”

  Apexia is a liar.

  “Whispers,” Sarissa said. Where were they coming from?

  Apexia stole her Power. Power that was ours.

  “What, my love?”

  You can stop her. You can return the glory to Magic.

  “Whispers,” Sarissa repeated. “I hear whispers. Oh, Robert. I think I am losing my mind.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Viper will come. The Diamond must be ready. She is the pawn of the balance. If she falls, so too will the light.

  -Prophecy of the Diamond, First Tablet

  Arrago moved the last of his belongings into the temple, a three-story building in the center of town. The priests had volunteered the property to Bethany but, stubborn wench that she was, she refused and stayed in her tent. However, a united front by the Knight elite, plus her sister and Amber finally broke down her resistant and they all moved in.

  Arrago was surprised that he’d been asked to move into Bethany’s “command tower”, as Jovan called it, but he accepted the offer to be out of the cold graciously. He had his own room on the third floor, little more than a closet, but it had a comfortable bed and a fireplace with a hook and small pot, so he could make himself tea or a pottage without having to bother anyone.

  War leader.

  Arrago let out a derisive snort. He, a war leader. How the mind of Apexia worked was well beyond his comprehension.

  Arrago pulled his prayer pouch from off his belt and neatly arranged the items he used for meditation and reflection on the small table next to his bed. A tiny row boat, carved by his father, the length of a finger joint. A walnut shell, from his mother’s favorite food and the last thing she ate before going to Apexia’s embrace. A scrap of leather from the carrier pouch Father Arragous used to dispatch Arrago’s admittance papers to the Silver Knights.

  The last item gave Arrago pause, as it always did. A scarlet curl of hair, neatly tied with
a blue ribbon. He’d cut it from Bethany’s long tresses, while she’d slept next to him, a lifetime ago. The night he’d realized there was no other woman for him. The night the temple crumpled around them.

  He’d kept the pouch with him, as many of the priests had, so that Apexia could be honored wherever he went. It wasn’t until after the fight at the temple that he’d even realized the small pouch of his most precious items was still attached to his trousers. Apexia had protected the only tokens he had of those he’d loved.

  Every day as he meditated and talked to Apexia and his dead parents, he’d stared at the red curl, just as he did tonight. Arrago let out a long sigh. That last night they were together, he had been practicing his speech to ask Bethany to join with him, to ask her to make a marriage vow. She might have said no, but she might have eventually relented.

  Of course, that was before he’d seen her true nature, vengeful and powerful and terrifying. Her unleashed will struck down Magi and turned them into a smoldering heap of bone and ash and little more than smears of black blood on the stone courtyard.

  His Bethany did that.

  And still, he sat on the edge of his bed, caressing the curl he’d stolen that night. She’d never be his again, but she’d never stopped being his, either. No woman would ever replace the spot she held in his heart, not even Apexia herself.

  A knock came to his door and it swung open before the thought to put away the hair could register. Bethany, in full mail and the hilts of both Blessed Blades poking above her shoulders, stepped into the room. “Arrago, we need—” She stopped, staring at the hair.

  Arrago felt the heat rise in his face, but he gave her what he hoped was a lazy grin. He put the curl down on the table, his altar of worship now finished. Even she would not dare challenge him on that.

  “Yes?” Arrago asked, and he took a childish glee in seeing her off-balanced.

  She stared at the lock of hair. “Where did you get that?” Bethany ran a self-conscious hand through her jagged locks. “Not lately,” she added, and her voice held a nervous laugh to it.

  “The night before the temple.” Arrago didn’t need to finish. Anyone who’d survived that night knew what the statement meant.

  Bethany frowned, but eventually looked away from the reminder of the past. “I want you downstairs.”

  There had been a time when Arrago hopped to her every command, but not tonight. He let the lazy grin creep back on his face and said, “Say please.”

  Bethany did not smile back. “Now. Please.”

  He gave her a toothy grin and stood to wrap his sword belt around his waist. “There. That didn’t kill you.”

  “Arrago,” Bethany said, still not smiling, not bantering.

  “What is it?”

  Bethany licked her lips before saying, “We have captured a spy.”

  “The one the Magi were talking about? Good.” He stepped toward her. “What?”

  “I really need you to be calm.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at that. “What’s wrong?”

  “Just come downstairs, please.” She inhaled. “And, please, be calm.”

  Merciful Apexia. Who had she caught?

  ****

  Bound and gagged, Sir Eli sat in a wooden chair at a long table that took up most of the main floor room. A protective urge rushed through Arrago and he shouted, “Untie this man! This is Edmund’s father!”

  “I know who he is,” Bethany said and pulled a chair out to sit on. She nodded at one of the guards, a wiry man in his prime, and he removed the gag in Sir Eli’s mouth.

  “And the ropes,” Arrago demanded.

  The guard looked at Bethany, who drew one of her blades and placed it on the table within easy reach. She nodded, and the man undid Sir Eli’s bonds.

  “Arrago, sit,” Bethany ordered. Then, in a softer voice, she added, “Please.”

  Arrago sat, still staring at Sir Eli, and recognized the expression on the old man’s face: shame. “Sir Eli?”

  His old mentor did not look up.

  “Wait!” Jovan shouted, but Edmund Greyfeather burst through the doors, snow and cold entering the room in a rush. “For Apexia’s sake, wait, kid.”

  “I am not a kid!” Edmund bellowed, pushing his way through the room. He marched to Bethany, sword drawn. “Release my father.”

  Bethany ignored him.

  Arrago stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. “Edmund, put your sword down.”

  “I mean it, whore, let my father go or, so help me Apexia, I will kill you.”

  “Edmund!” Arrago rushed around the table to stand between Bethany and Edmund before she decapitated his friend. Edmund was good with a sword, but Bethany was unnaturally good. She’d kill him if he charged her.

  “Don’t call me whore again, you log of shit,” Bethany growled.

  “Shut up, Bethany,” Arrago shouted. “You aren’t helping.”

  Bethany stood this time, her hand never leaving her Blessed Blade that rested on the table. Her other hand reached back and long fingers wrapped around the blade’s hilt. “I told you to be calm.”

  “Stop, all of you.”

  Arrago turned around, staring at Sir Eli. He rubbed at his wrists, where the rope had irritated the skin. He gave Arrago a sad smile and said, “Everyone, sit. We have much to discuss.”

  With some coaxing, Edmund dropped himself into a chair, though he did not stop his hot glare at Bethany, who was ignoring him. Arrago walked back around the table to sit at his original chair, though not before pulling out his sword and placing it on the table, copying Bethany’s stance. She did not look at him, but Arrago noticed one side of her mouth tugged up.

  “Sir Eli,” Arrago asked, “why are you here? You should be at Beachcomber Manor, not down in the war.”

  A chill went through Arrago when Sir Eli lifted his eyes and their gazes met. Gone was the man he’d known for only a handful of months. Arrago did not see the compassion, joy, and harmless vulgarity he took for granted as part of the old man’s charm. Now, something darker, colder lurked in his expression that made Arrago’s muscles tighten.

  “Sir Eli?” Arrago forced out of his dry throat.

  “You’re a good man, Arrago,” Sir Eli said, lowering his gaze once more. “I knew it the moment my son brought you home.”

  “Father, please,” Edmund implored, “why are you here?”

  Arrago looked between Bethany and Sir Eli, her fingers drumming against her sword’s hilt. She already knew why. She’d come to get him, to prepare him. Dread sunk into his thoughts.

  Sir Eli gave his son a small, encouraging smile. Then, he said, “I am here on behalf of King Daniel.”

  “What?” Arrago whispered.

  Bethany kept drumming her fingers against her sword and his heart tried to slow its racing and match her rhythm.

  “Daniel?” Edmund spat the word out. “Why in Apexia’s name are you doing anything for him?”

  “He is the legitimate ruler of Taftlin,” Sir Eli replied, as if speaking to a dimwitted child. “Would you have preferred I leave your sisters to be raped in the prisons?”

  Arrago stared at his mentor. “Rape?”

  Bethany cleared her throat. She spoke, but did not take her eyes off Sir Eli. “Men can purchase access to imprisoned females for a couple of silver.”

  Sir Eli nodded. “They command a higher price if unwilling.”

  Arrago got a sick feeling, and he realized that’s what happened to Bethany’s sister. Gracious Apexia. “I thought that was just a rumor,” he replied to no one in particular, and felt rather naïve for thinking it.

  “Daniel forced you, then?” Edmund snapped.

  Sir Eli shook his head.

  “Then you came to betray us?” Edmund said, his voice rising. “Me?”

  “Son, listen to me,” Sir Eli said and his voice held the authority of a father. “I cannot protect all of my children without sacrificing myself. So I am here.” He inclined his head at Bethany. “She knows what needs
to be done.”

  Bethany’s fingers continued their incessant drumming, her features growing harder and more remote.

  “No!” Arrago shouted. “No! I see what’s going on here. Bethany, no.”

  Bethany turned her head to stare at Arrago. He did not flinch from the harsh look she gave him and, for a brief moment, he saw through her mask to see the bone-weariness in her expression. “Hear him out.”

  “I’m turning myself in to the elves so that they can execute me and protect my children.”

  “Over my dead body,” Edmund snarled.

  “And mine,” Arrago added.

  Silence hung over the room. Arrago watched Bethany’s fingers lightly rap her sword and he kicked his chair out from beneath him. He reached across the table and slammed his hand over hers. “You are not going to kill him.”

  “No, I am not.” Bethany said. “You are.”

  “I don’t do think so,” Arrago snarled and pressed his hand harder against Bethany’s, pinning her hand against the hilt. “Sir Eli, you are free to go.”

  Edmund stood. “Come, father. I’ll make sure you get home safely.”

  “The elf wants me to stay.”

  Arrago removed his hand from Bethany’s, a pang in his heart for the end of touch between them, even if it wasn’t in affection. “I don’t care what she wants.”

  “Good,” Sir Eli replied. “You will need to stand up to her kind many more times before this is over.”

  “Arrago…” Bethany said, her tone warning.

  “Don’t,” Arrago said as a hot reply. “Don’t you dare. If you hurt him, I will kill you. Do you hear me, Bethany? I will kill you.”

  Bethany merely met his gaze, her face expressionless and cold as ice.

  Sir Eli let out a sigh. “Arrago, I was sent by King Daniel to determine your numbers, to confirm that you were in this area, to incite rebellion within your numbers, and to report back to him. That is what I plan to do if I remain.”

  “Father, you don’t mean that.”

  “I do, my son.” Sir Eli turned to Arrago and said, “I will betray you.”