RE: Monarch

The chamber was hexagonal. Its floor comprised a thin glass-like surface, and beyond its transparency was endless darkness below. I recognized it immediately as the void that I had returned to, so many times. The walls were painted in a vibrant collage of crimson, violet, and indigo. Depictions of horned figures on either side started as cave drawings, almost too rudimentary to recognize as infernal, then grew in complexity until they were as magnificent as the highest art. Various tableaus from history were depicted in chronological order, from the birth of the first infernal, to the awakening of the demon-flame.

Just as in the vision, a vibrant blue ball of light hung above, reflected in the tranquil sitting pool.

I gave a cautious bow, never taking my eyes from the light.

“How many centuries has it been since you first sought my council, child?” The voice boomed. I fell to my knees, my entire body trembling. It wasn’t that she was loud. Not exactly. More that her voice poured through everything. It filled up the room, tore through my mind, my thoughts, everything fading away but the voice itself. I found myself unable to lift my head.

It took a while to find my voice. “I beseech you. Goddess Infaris. Are my companions safe?”

“They are enduring their own trials. Their fates are yet to be seen.”

That wasn’t ideal, but was better than some alternatives.

“Please let me pass.”

”This is all you ask of the divine? Safe passage? Not supplication? Not even a boon or a favor?” The impact of her voice had not lessened. But through the distraction and discomfort, I found myself able to process her voice better, bit by bit. And it was subtle, but she sounded almost disappointed.

I shook my head, my vision blurry. “My people have wronged yours, time and time again. To ask a boon would be hubris.”

”Let us dispense of this game, Cairn, son of Gil. Once, the crimes of your people would have mattered to me. The divine does not forgive nearly as easily as the mortal. But time dulls all ire. And I know as well as you that your very presence here before me is the result of a much more dire hubris. One put into play by a mixture of gods and mortals, both acting far above their station.

Was she talking about the metamorphosis society? The time loop? There was no way of knowing, and I couldn’t exactly ask. This was a goddess. And if even a fraction of what was said regarding the divine in the myths and stories were true, saying the wrong thing could have dire consequences that went far beyond death. But still, this was a unique, possibly once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I needed a way to ask for more information without tipping my hand.

But what?

Something she said earlier finally clicked into place, giving me my answer. I worded the question carefully, avoiding any semblance of doubt or accusation. “If I may ask, Goddess Infaris. When you said I had come to you for council, what did you mean? Had I spoken to any of the divine, let alone one as significant as you, it is strange I hold no memory of it.”

There was a swelling of light in the room, and for a moment, I was terrified. It was followed by a merry tinkling noise, like a pair of tiny mallets striking the high-pitched end of a tone board.

The goddess was laughing.

”An attempt at flattery? In this form?”

I could see her point. She was, for all intents and purposes, a ball of light. An all-powerful, terrifying ball of light, but a ball of light just the same.

“I have found that flattery and truth are not always mutually exclusive, Goddess Infaris.”

“Enough pageantry.” Infaris commanded. “I will not question which of the divine you are referring to if while we are conferring in my domain.”

It sounded like an invitation to call her by name. The way I might tell a companion to stop calling me prince. But there was a trap in it, one I wasn’t willing to step into without further clarification. I went with the safer option.

“Goddess, then?”

”That is… acceptable.” Infaris replied. The audible disappointment told me I had chosen correctly. ”We have met before. Many times. And you have always failed to see.”

My skin prickled at the back of my neck. I knew better than to ask why. It would have been best to remain silent. But I had to ask. I had to know how difficult the task before me was.

“The other gods. The rest of the pantheon. Are they aware of the hubris of the metamor—”

“DO NOT SPEAK THEIR NAME.”

There was a wetness on lip as I stared down into the pool, my whole body trembling, a stream of blood trailing down from my nose to my lip, hanging there until they fell into the pool creating ripples, dissipating and tinting the water below. This time, I stayed silent.

When Infaris spoke again, she sounded exhausted. The light of the chamber dimmed. “We all knew, at one point or another. Magic of that scale does not escape the notice of the divine. But our power was not what it once was. That is the natural order of things. As the world weakened in its death throes, the gods weakened as well.”

“Ragnarock.” I realized.

“Yes. There was a time of turmoil and in-fighting, the likes of which have not been seen since the most ancient of days. But eventually, we realized, nothing could be done. We cannot die. But some of my brethren spread their essence so thinly that they can no longer think, or function. Most who did not are lost to madness. A handful of us are still here, still holding to the duties we swore to uphold.”

I noted the pride in Infaris’s voice.

Before I could put together how to respond, she continued. “Allow me to clarify the situation. It is not lost on me what you intend, nor why. I have seen it many times. Since your first vision, you have been looking for a way to escape this place, rather than accept the truth you run from. In that small way, you are not so different from the one you seek.”

That caught my attention. “Thoth underwent the trial?”

”Oh yes. I have not bothered with the lynchpin in quite some time. But perhaps because you were here, I decided to test her. In the end, she did give me a beautiful truth. But it was not exquisite. It was not pure.”

“Why do this? Why conduct these tests, when you already know what the answer will be?”

”Because the satisfaction is not in knowing. It is in understanding. And I am curious by nature. You are so very, very different than the last time we spoke. You have shown compassion, despite enduring true suffering. You traded your soul to save the lives of others you barely knew. Furthermore, you fight against your own darkness, despite knowing, inevitably, there will be a day when you can’t. And I wonder if, perhaps, this will finally be the time that you succeed.”

Infaris had me. She had, either knowingly or unknowingly, given me the one breadcrumb I needed to stop trying to find a way out of this. Infaris knew Thoth as well as she claimed to know me—and more importantly, knew what she feared. You couldn’t put a price on how valuable that was.

“How do we proceed?” I asked. But it was all too obvious what came next.

“Bring me an exquisite truth.”

A tendril of light expanded from the goddess’s ethereal form and touched my forehead. And somehow, I knew what it would show me, far before the memory took form.

/////

“Brunhilde for a girl then?” I asked, running out of names.

Lillian smiled, but her face was all wrong. The shadows around her eyes were darker, more pronounced. “Hilde, for short. Strong and beautiful.”

“Like my lady wife to be.”

It was a day like any other. Lillian clung to me, her form pressed against mine. She was frightened, that was obvious. Pregnancy was a disquieting prospect, especially for someone from her background, but perhaps the reality of the situation just hadn’t fully settled. As a noble, she would have access to the best physicians in the realm. There was really nothing to worry about.

“Whose hair do you think she’ll have?”

“I can only hope for yours,” Lillian shrugged, running a hand through her hair absently, “I wouldn’t wish mine on anyone.”

“Nonsense.”

The grass grew thin and tall outside the castle walls during the summer months. A snow-warbler tweeted a merry song from a tree across the clearing. Squirrels chased each other from tree to tree. A single, massive cloud crossed the sky. I watched it carefully. Snow wouldn’t be upon us for at least another few months, but it was exactly the right season for a sudden, unexpected rain.

“Are you certain this is what you want?” Lillian asked, suddenly very preoccupied with the cluster of grapes she held.

“What more could I possibly desire?” I pulled her closer and kissed her cheek.

“You told me, once, that you never wanted to be king.”

I glanced down at her. “That was before, love. I was irresponsible. Constantly acting out. I liked the gold, and it’s pleasures, but matters of state? Of the kingdom? It didn’t matter to me.”

“And what changed?”

I smiled. “I met you. Seeing through your eyes, learning of your experiences, made me realize not only how good I had it—but how much better things could be if someone kinder than my father held the throne. My mother sang that song for years, but you’re the first one to help me truly see it.”

Lillian bit her lip, then propped herself up on her knees to face me. “But what if we didn’t. Why must the weight of your father’s sins fall on us?”

“What would we do instead?”

“We could just leave. Somewhere far away from here. That little island nation with the beaches and trees you’re always trying to sneak me away to.” Her brown eyes were alight with the possibility.

“Parefica?”

“That’s the one!”

“Lillian--”

Her voice grew in pitch, and tempo. “Just—hear me out. I know you have no patience for it. Ruling. You’ve said as much a multitude of times. The snobby nobles, the glad-handing, the endless balls and events and names that are impossible to remember.”

“I’ve gotten much better at that kind of thing.”

“And I haven’t.” Lillian said. Despite the warmth in the air, there were a multitude of goosebumps on her arm. “I am with child, Cairn. It will only be safe to travel for a few more months. This might be our last chance.”

Her eyes pleaded. How had I not seen that.

I thought I understood what was happening. That it was simple as the absurdity of the situation finally becoming real to her, just as it had for me. I had felt similarly over the years, after all.

“This fear you’re feeling? It will fade, love. I promise you that.”

I thought that I was saying what she needed to hear.

I thought that when her face changed and the panic faded, when her lips pressed together, it was determination.

I couldn’t have known what it looked like, not back then.

But I knew it now. I knew it all too well.

I always thought it was strange. When my father’s personal retinue came and took her away. When they pulled us apart, dragging her by her hair until they finally got her up on her feet. She never screamed. Never cried out. Her face didn’t contort in horror, or fear. Rather, it was like a heavy weight was finally lifted off her shoulders.

Lillian looked at peace.

/////

“Do you enjoy this?” My voice was a rasp.

”What is your truth, prince?”

“You must enjoy it. Sticking around, playing the same game for centuries after your friends all killed themselves.”

”You dare—”

“Do you fucking enjoy this?” I screamed. My sword came out of its sheath, igniting, singing the fabric of my tabard. “Breaking people down to their most bare, soiling what little they have, eroding their minds and their psyche until all that’s left is a broken shell. No wonder the infernals need a human child to open the gates for them when they worship a god as wretched as you.”

”I will give you a moment to collect yourself!” Infaris said sternly.

My entire body vibrated with rage. If there had been the slightest push, the slightest provocation, I would have attacked her—as stupid and pointless as that might have been. I would have tried to kill a god. It occurred to me, somewhere in the back of my mind where I could still think, that the only reason she hadn’t ended me was this sort of volatile reaction was common. Perhaps someone like Xarmos might have fared better.

But someone like me? No. Infaris had seen this before. She wasn’t surprised or impressed by it. Instead, she hovered there silently, waiting.

It is not his fault he can see me for what I am.

My sword clattered to the floor.

Perhaps having all that we have, along with the stars, is simply too much to ask

Tears blurred my vision.

I want you. You’re everything to me.

I fell to my knees.

We could just leave.

”What is your truth?” Infaris prompted.

“I was so angry, after she died.” I said, struggling to get the words out. “Angry at my father. At Thaddeus. At everyone who was involved and said nothing. So angry I was willing to throw away everything for vengeance.” The rasp in my voice was more pronounced. “I was so full of myself. Thought I was so enlightened, so elevated, choosing her as queen. And sure, she seemed uncertain at times. But I decided I would be there for her, in a way my father never was for my mother, that I would support her and assuage her worries.

What is your truth?

“The truth is, regardless of my ignorance, I used her love for me to manipulate her into a life she never wanted. Lillian never wanted to be queen. She played along because she loved me, but on that last day, before the King’s men came to take her… I saw her despair. Because she realized that I would never listen. I was so caught up in the fantasy of what she could be…” I choked, “that I didn’t realize I did the same thing to her that my father did to me.”

The orb began to shift, reshape into something vaguely humanoid.

“I killed her.” I croaked.

“No.” A hand touched my shoulder. Infaris had taken the shape of a simple red infernal with long, curled horns. Her light eyes looked down at me kindly. “You have brought me an exquisite truth. Do not sully it now. You might have played a part in the girl’s downfall, but the responsibility for her ultimate fate was not yours to bear.”

I rubbed my eyes. “What does a goddess care for the foolish missteps of a past life.”

“Because it is, perhaps the most straightforward example of your greatest weakness.” Infaris smiled. “And I have seen it, time and time again. You fear the loneliness, the solitude of responsibility. You assume that those you hold dearest carry the same potential within themselves that you do. And some of them simply do not.”

“Isn’t that just being a good person? Helping those important to me?” I tried to argue.

“Not when you are attempting to force their fates to align with your own.”

“So, what is the alternative?” I asked helplessly. “I can’t do this alone. The enemy is too powerful.”

Infaris chuckled mysteriously. “There will be those you must manipulate. The nations of mortals do not align from kind words. But those you love? You must allow them a choice. A real choice. And you must listen when they answer. The allies that remain will be ones you can truly count on.”

As much as I hated to admit it, I understood what Infaris meant. All I had to do was look to Jorra. He had been unsure about this venture from the beginning, and I’d repeatedly ignored his concerns and his fears, writing it off as immature nagging. The only choice I’d truly given him was before the trial, when the only options were moving forward or abandoning me.

The others… well. It was too much to think about now.

“Well. This has been an event. You finally succeeded. Your first boon is one of knowledge—“

“Everything and anything you can tell me about my enemy,” I said immediately. When Infaris scowled, I quickly added, “If that is possible, goddess.”

“It is not. There are restrictions at play from stronger gods than I. But as the lynchpin technically failed the trial, I believe allowing you to see what she saw falls within the scope of what is allowed.”

Goddess Infaris touched my forehead, and my perspective shifted.

/////

It was a few confusing seconds before I recognized the location as Castle Whitefall. A long, graceful gate propelled us down the hallway towards my father’s rooms. A chill went through me as I watched Thoth’s hand reach out and swing the door open.

I watched an older version of myself—older than I’d ever been, whirl to face the door, a hand on his sword. He relaxed, then spoke. The sound was squelched, inaudible, but I could read the words on his lips.

“What took you?”

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