RE: Monarch

The silhouette started at my call, scaring the absolute hells out of me. “Cairn? Dammit. Just a minute.” I could barely make out her frame in the shadow, hands wiping furiously at her face.

She’s fine. But what was she doing, standing alone by herself in the dark?

Heart still hammering in my throat, I silently cursed Vogrin and Kilvius both. With all the talk of monsters and abductions, they had me jumping at shadows, presuming the worst every time a nonhuman I cared about left my sight.

“Can we come in?”

“We?” Maya squawked. “What the hells?”

Sera peeked around the corner, tilting her head back vehemently. “Out of time. Patrol’s headed this way.”

“In a bit of a bind, Maya,” I pressed, looking between Sera and the door.

Maya unleashed a torrent of guttural profanity and ushered us in. I helped Alten guide the drephin woman’s body through the door, and Sera squeezed in last. Maya slammed the door behind us, still swearing. Sera—I heard her more than saw her—stumbled her way to the center of the room beneath the unlit chandelier, raising an arm. She snapped her fingers and a small orb of flame appeared, perilously bright, zipping towards the many candles.

“Wait!” Maya cried.

I squinted, eyes adjusting slowly. Sera took a step away, visibly unsettled. Maya had her back to me. But even that was enough to take my breath away. White scar tissue carved cruel and jagged lines across her upper back and shoulders, criss-crossed patterns and odd splotches.

“Holy shit,” Sera said, jaw working slowly.

Maya’s hands balled into fists. I still couldn’t see her face. Barely visible above the line of her sleep clothes, there were deep in-set gouges across her shoulder blades larger than the rest. I realized they must have been where she’d fastened her wings, during her descent into the sanctum.

This was how she looked without the glamour.

The tension was almost palpable as she stepped forward, directly into Sera’s space. “Something to say, Princess? After you barge into my quarters uninvited?”

Shockingly, Sera backed down, averting her gaze. “I—no. Apologies for disturbing you so late at night, emissary.”

Maya’s shoulders sank, and the fight went out of her. Slowly, she turned around and faced me. A long gash ran diagonally from her eyebrow to her jaw. The skin around her eyes was puffy and a darker shade of purple, as if she’d been crying. She gave me a helpless shrug that seemed to say, “I told you.” Then her eyes trailed down to the drephin at our feet. “Payback, for what happened on the road?”

“Not exactly.” As I brought her up to speed, leaving out any mention of Kilvius for now, I couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness, as if we were trespassing on something personal. Both Sera and Alten seemed profoundly uncomfortable, and Sera kept eyeing the door.

“Of course.” Once she had a grasp of the situation, Maya nodded and crouched over the drephin. Her fingertips glowed green as she pressed them to the woman’s forehead. Almost immediately, the elf’s breathing steadied. “There’s plenty of unused space in my closet. I’ll do what I can for the head injury and monitor her.”

“She’s a slippery one,” Alten warned as he and Sera maneuvered the drephin into the space Maya designated. “Nearly got away from both of us.”

“Sure you can keep her contained?” Sera asked, wiping her hands on her trousers.

“Shouldn’t be difficult,” Maya said, utterly unfazed. “My intention is to keep her in an induced coma, but should her mind manage to free itself, I made some temporary adjustments to her spinal column. Should our intruder regain consciousness, she’s paralyzed from the neck down.”

“That’ll do it,” Alten said grimly.

Sera shivered.

From her demeanor to her precise wording, Maya was doing an excellent job of appearing composed. But from the way she held her hands behind her back, and the frantic motions of her tail, I knew the intrusion and exposure of her disfigurement was wearing on her.

“It’s late. Let’s… pick this back up in the morning. I’ll help Maya with the drephin and meet you back at the rooms,” I told Alten. For a moment, it seemed as if he might argue. I wouldn’t blame him if he did, considering the night we’d had. “It’ll be alright, my friend. We’re unlikely to see assassins twice in one night.”

Alten hesitated and eventually nodded, leaving first.

“I’m not going to wake up tomorrow and find you’ve gone to the dungeons without me?” Sera asked, her tone dangerous.

“Yes. As we agreed.”

My elder sister backed away with a smirk, and let herself out the door. As unfortunate as the timing of her intrusion was, I found myself grateful the distance between us had been closed so quickly. For now, at least, she was an unexpected ally. But it wasn’t the first time I’d felt that way. I touched my stomach, where she’d stabbed me in my last life, grimacing. Sera could turn at the slightest provocation. I needed to be ready for it, if she did.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Maya asked. She hadn’t moved since the others left, and even her breathing was shallow.

“Only time will tell.”

“Surprised she didn’t turn you in.”

“Same,” I said, feeling distinctly as if I was talking around the bigger issue. “Probably no malicious intent there. At least, not yet. Sera’s always looking for a way to prove herself, and for the moment at least, I handed her a big one.”

“Ah yes, the disappearing nonhumans. I noticed you coyly sidestepped explaining your source.”

I shook my head. “Look, I’m breaking trust by telling you this, but considering our joint resolution to be more honest with each other, there’s not much of a choice. Kilvius is in Whitefall. Heading up a syndicate group for Persephone.”

“Lord below.” Maya’s mouth tightened. “Give the woman an inch and she takes a city.”

“Pretty much,” I said, noticing her negligible reaction to Kilvius’s presence. “You already knew?”

“Not for certain.” Maya bit her lip. “But I thought I spotted him the other day during the return procession. So brief it was impossible to say for sure.”

“He’s angry with me.”

“He’s angry at everyone. You for bringing Thoth to our doorstep, Ralakos for enabling you and sponsoring your entry into the sanctum, me for refusing to stick my head in the ground and live out my life in feigned ignorance, and mother for abandoning him with Agarin.”

“Damn.”

Maya’s mouth turned downward, and she crossed her arms. “Kilvius can preach all he likes. But mother was barely in the sanctum for half a year before he went running back to that half-blood bitch.”

“Elphion, Maya,” I groaned. “He’s your father. And he treated me well. Better than I deserved.”

“Just because your relationship with your father is suddenly copacetic doesn’t entitle you to speak on mine,” Maya snapped.

I bit back a sharp response, swallowing. It felt like she was intentionally pushing this into an argument and I didn’t understand why. The image of her pressed against the wall returned to my mind. She’d been in here alone, with the lights off, crying.

“Hard night?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Maya breathed. “There was already a lot on my mind before you waltzed in and found me like…” she made a wide gesture that encompassed herself, lip curling in disgust. “This.”

I performed a completely over the top bow. “And like magic, here I am for your venting pleasure.”

Maya giggled. Then sat down on the bed, humor fading from her expression. “Remember… when we had less to worry about?”

I sat next to her, trying to keep the mood light. “When was that? The power struggle with a revenant and demon moose in the basement? Or when we spent nights laying awake, terrified that Guemon would get his way and have me executed. Or when we were tracking Thoth through the sanctum? Actually, now that I think about it, that last one was kind of refreshing. A change of pace, you know?”

“Yes, fine, it’s never been easy.” Maya rolled her eyes, silhouette of wide irises beneath the whites doing a dramatic circle. “But the stakes are so much higher now. And those evenings on Barion’s rooftop, sharing warmth, getting to know a person I never expected to share any commonalities with, let alone as much as we did—I miss those nights. Sometimes I still dream of them. Maybe that’s naïve.”

“It’s not,” I said.

All at once, I remembered all the times I felt homesick in the enclave, and the way Maya had always been there for me. Sometimes by saying nothing: her simply being there was enough. And I was overcome with a desire to do something for her. Anything.

An idea struck. I stood and offered her my hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Maya raised an eyebrow.

“Trust me,” I teased. “It’s a surprise.”

My spirits sank as my friend pulled her arm back as if she’d been burned. A canopy of hair hid her face as she gazed down at her knees. “I want to ask something. But to do so would be slanted and perhaps a little cruel. Because I recently told you it wasn’t your fault, and I truly believe that. My choices were my own. Yet, I know that no matter what I say, you must feel some responsibility. Because I understand the way you think, the way your mind works.”

She was talking about her time in the sanctum, after I was gone. I swallowed. “Ask anything you want. I’m an open book.”

Maya smiled, the expression brittle. “You were an open book to me in the sanctum, too. Yet, when you died, and were so insistent that you’d reached the end of your ingenuity, that there was no plan, I believed you. And when you died, I was convinced that your power had failed. It was going to happen, eventually. Magic has limits.”

While she hadn’t been privy to my conversation with the Black Beast, Maya was more correct than she realized. The deity—or divine being, or whatever he was—made it abundantly clear that my power was anything but infinite.

“It was wrong. I knew it then, and I know it now. I just… couldn’t find a better way.”

Maya shook her head. “I’m not looking for an apology, or expecting you to justify yourself. Hells, I think I understand it right now better than I ever have. But it has been unsettling to accept the reality that if you lied to me again, there’s a good chance I wouldn’t know it.”

Whatever this was, with the way she was circling around it, afraid to give it voice, it was obviously important to her. I lowered myself to her eye-level. “As much as I wish I could promise to never lie to you again, that in and of itself would be a falsehood. Sometimes we lie by reflex. And there are rare moments in life where voicing the unfiltered truth is truly cruel.”

Maya nodded, and a shiver went through her. “Fair enough,” she whispered.

“That being said,” I sighed, “you’re one of the wisest people I know. And I owe you more than I could ever possibly repay. So if there’s something rattling around in your head, something important that cannot go unanswered—like whatever you’re dancing around now—all you need to do is tell me, then ask. On my mother’s life, I’ll answer with truth. Even if it hurts you, or me, or both of us.”

“Truly? You’d give me that power over you?”

I nodded. Only you.

Maya’s head tilted further downward until her entire face hid in shadow. “Sera and Alten. Did you see the way they looked at me? Or rather, the way they didn’t.”

“Yes.”

She wiped at her face. “It’s the usual reaction. Though better than the weeping and pity from my parents, it’s just… difficult for everyone else. To see what I’ve done to myself. Ralakos helped me understand that it’s the way most folk are raised. You see someone with a disfigurement, or a missing limb, or a prominent birthmark, and it’s simple manners not to stare. Just in my case, there’s—um—not a lot of other places to look. So they look away. I more or less learned to take it in stride before the glamour. Accept it as a cost for advancement. Perhaps there was an element of despair, maybe even an aspect of self-harm, but it’s impossible to argue that I did not grow exponentially as a mage and a warrior. I’m still not sure if it was worth the price I paid. And I’ll probably never be able to say for sure, with any certainty.”

I sat down beside her and rubbed her shoulder. “My first instinct is to say if it helps you survive, it’s worth it. But I can’t speak to the burden it places on you, the way it affects you individually. That’s something I can’t answer.”

“When the light turned on, I kept waiting for it. For you to grow uncomfortable and look away. Just like everyone else.” Maya’s voice broke. “But you never did. And that should make me feel better. Happy, even. But I can’t help but wonder if you’re just concealing your reaction, because you care for me and blame yourself. I know it’s stupid, but I need to know. Am I… repulsive… to you?”

She started to come apart at the seams as soon as the question was spoken. I pulled Maya to me, and let her bury her face in my neck as she cried. My chest ached. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something else had happened that contributed to the breakdown. But I hadn’t seen her this emotionally vulnerable since the early days, and the last thing I wanted was to rush to give her an answer she didn’t believe, only for her to close herself off again.

Once her sobs subsided, I rose from the bed and brought back two full goblets filled nearly to the brim with fragrant wine, handing one to her. “Figure we could probably use a drink for this.”

“Oh, yes.” Maya guzzled hers greedily, and I hid a smile as she lowered it, her eyes glazing over.

I sipped at mine, swirling the goblet and letting the floral notes distract me as I thought through everything Maya had said. “So, the truth.” I cocked my head. “I think, if you were a completely featureless gelatinous cube, it wouldn’t change the way I feel. We have so much history, have shared so many close calls, hardships, and triumphs, and connected so deeply I can’t imagine a world where I don’t love you the way I do.”

Maya looked away, hurt creeping into her expression.

“But I know that’s not really what you’re asking,” I said, tucking a leg beneath me and readjusting to face her. The hurt faded from her expression as she cautiously listened. “So let’s turn this into a hypothetical. Say we lived in a better, kinder universe where Thoth and Barion didn’t exist. It’s a few years from now, and I’m on my way back from some diplomatic effort or treatise signing, and stopped by Kholis to rest and recoup. After being on the road for weeks and sharing similar proclivities to my current universe counterpart, I’d be hunting for a tavern. Naturally, I’d sit at the bar. And after a few minutes, you walked in. As you are now, without the glamour.”

I could imagine it easily, Maya grabbing a table in the back, scars and hard edges on full display.

I stared into the endless burgundy of my wine. “This is where our little hypothetical gets less fun because I’m charged with being completely honest. That’s what you want, yes?”

“Yes,” Maya affirmed quietly.

I ripped the bandage off. “Your scars would draw my eye first. Not because I found them revolting, or because they made me think less of you. But they say for every scar, there’s a story. So my natural assumption would be that you had more than your share of stories.”

Maya made a small noise that could have either been a stilted laugh or a sob. “You’d dog me the same way you dogged the rangers as a child.”

I snorted. “Not exactly. But I’d be curious. I’d start out by sending you a drink. Then another. And if it did not clearly displease you to receive them, I’d try to join you.”

“And of course, I’d be delighted by the idea of a drunken human noble swaggering over, asking for stories about my scars,” Maya said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.

I shook my head. “You misunderstand. The scars themselves would hold little interest to me—a cut’s a cut, and a burn’s a burn—What would hold my interest is hearing about the life you’d lived. Because clearly, it hadn’t been an easy one.”

“Pity, then?”

“No. It’s—” I leaned back, frustrated with my inability to voice the unorganized thoughts flying around my head. “As an emissary, you’ve seen it for yourself. For all our knowledge, all our “sophistication,” there is no creature in Uskar more boring than the average noble. With a minor exemption extended to those who had their nobility granted for great deeds. For the most part, we hold power because our parents hold power. We’re wealthy because our parents are wealthy. Even those of us who don’t end up as spoiled shits typically accomplish little beyond carrying forth the family lineage. Everything is handed to us. Our continued existence is all but a forgone conclusion.” I drained my wine to almost nothing. “Now contrast all that with the mysterious, scarred infernal sitting alone at the corner table. She’s clearly been through all seven hells. It’s doubtful, all things considered, that anything’s been handed to her. Yet she survives and pushes on. Of course she’d catch my interest. Of course I’d want to know more about her.”

Maya hid a smile, sliding a finger across the circular rim of her goblet. “Not to keep referencing your memories, but I had often wondered why you’d continually turned down so many noble prospects. Beautiful as they were.”

“Rebellion and lack of interest, probably. There was nothing surprising about them, and there were times I was committed enough to hating my father that I’d have rejected the best match in the world simply to stoke his ire.” I couldn’t help but chuckle at myself. How angry I’d been even before Lillian, with so little reason for it. I set the goblet aside and focused the entirety of my attention on Maya. “As the night went on, I’d see past the scars. Discover the warm kindness of your smile. The gentle ring of your laughter, and the way it explodes from you, as if you were trying to hold it back and finally let it loose. The soft swell of your lips, and gentle curve of your neck. And…” My gaze wandered for just a second, before I reined it in. “Let’s just say I’d be thoroughly captivated.”

“By… what?” Maya asked, leaning forward. Her breathing hitched, and the corners of her mouth turned up with a smile.

I tipped my goblet, only belatedly remembering that I’d already finished its contents. “Abusing your power already, I see.”

She laughed and leaned back on her palms, blushing. “Fine. Fine. I was only teasing. Lord below knows you had it coming.”

“What?” I stared at her and scoffed. “Baring my soul over here and you’re tormenting me.”

Maya moved close enough that I could feel her breath on my collarbone, looking at me with an intensity that easily frayed my nerves. “Torment? Like the way you strung along a certain innocent infernal smitten with you for years with constant mixed signals, until it took a literal act of god to uncover how you feel, at which point you kissed her, only to subsequently fake your own demise and disappear? That sort of torment?”

I squirmed. “Leaving out a lot of context, but ultimately… fair. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. It’s not like there was a handbook. I had the mind and body of a child with the memories of an adult. It was confusing enough to navigate. And it took a long time to realize that I was idealizing what Lillian and I had. That it was deeply flawed, long before he interfered.”

At the mention of Lillian, Maya sat back, a shadow crossing her face.

“Sorry,” I said reflexively.

“No. I know what she meant to you. And how deeply Infaris’s meddling must have cut,” Maya said. She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them. “In many ways, Lillian’s memory is a reminder of the fragility of the connections we form. I’m still mad at you. And a small part of me might always be angry. But every time I look inside and try to justify that anger as an excuse for pushing you away, that memory pops into my head. All I can think about is the sharpness of the blade we balance on. How easily it could all just… fade away. And in those moments, I realize the truth.”

“Which is?” I asked, not daring to hope.

Maya took my hand. “Even if it’s hard. Even if it causes us more pain down the line than remaining separate. I have waited long enough. And I don’t want to wait anymore.”

I nodded, barely able to keep up. “Then we take it slow. You were my first friend in this life. And you continue to be my greatest ally. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize what we have.”

“But not too slow.” Maya drained the rest of her goblet, giving me a look I can only describe as a smolder. I stammered the beginning of a response, and she talked over me, eyes going to the rolled up bearskin. “You were going to take me somewhere?”

***

The brisk breeze of daybreak tore at my heels as I stepped out from the astronomy tower window, balancing carefully on the span-wide beam that ran the length of the eastern rooftop. I checked thoroughly for frost, difficult to detect on the beam’s chestnut stain, and held one hand out, carefully counter balancing the bearskin held beneath the other.

“Is this… really a good idea?” Maya called after me. When I looked back, she was clinging to the window frame, her eyes were as wide as saucers.

“Thing is, with you having my memories and all? Can’t fall back on my usual tricks. Which means I’m gonna have to get creative,” I called back to her with a grin. “Come on, this is way easier than getting out of the sepulcher.”

“That was a necessary risk! This feels… very unnecessary!”

Well, this was already saccharine. No harm in laying it on a little more.

I held out a hand. “Do you trust me?”

Maya scowled at me, then ducked back inside the window.

Okay. Clearly a no—

Maya reappeared, planting a booted foot on the bottom of the frame and leaping from the window to the wider, flatter roof on the other side, clearing the gap and sticking the landing with a quick hop as she regained her footing, looking back at me with a shit-eating grin.

“Weren’t you just whinging about gratuitous risks?” I grumbled.

“I was not whinging. Nor was I whining.” Maya thought for a moment. “Simply providing commentary on your tendency towards reckless excess.”

“They really beat politics into you, huh?”

“Rude!”

She put her hands on her hips in mock sternness as I passed her. “How much further?”

“What do you mean?” I spread the bearskin over my shoulders and gestured behind her. “We’re here.”

Maya turned and breathed out quietly.

Whitefall unfurled beneath us like a river of architecture. The diverse constructions rose from the streets coursing downward with a serene grace, weaving a current of stone and frost. As the sun ascended, its gold spilled over the city walls in a languid cascade of light and dark, shifting with slow and deliberate rhythm, as the capital roused and greeted the dawn. Small mounds of wind-swept snow dotted the streets, bestowing a placid serenity, transforming the frostbitten city into a shimmering, peaceful ocean of eternal winter.

She turned back towards me, and I was delighted to see the dazed, slack expression.

“Thought you’d see this coming once we started climbing the astronomy tower.” I said, sliding down the gable and gesturing for her to join me beneath the bearskin. Maya held the comforter up to her neck and slid closer until her shoulders touched mine. “Not as magical as the Everwood, I know.”

Maya shifted her head back and forth, noncommittally. “Fewer bugs.”

“Considerably.”

She was silent for a long time. So long I began to wonder if something was wrong. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “Have you given any thought to the state of your soul, ni’lend?”

Maya was referring, of course, to the deal I’d made. Leveraging my soul for the support of a demonic legion. While I’d done initial study on the topic, it felt presumptive to put real time into the problem. It wouldn’t be relevant until I survived this power-struggle with Thoth, and Ragnarok after her. “Probably less than I should.”

“You’ll need to do so.” It was more a statement than a question. “For my sake, if not yours.”

“That’s asking a lot.” I leaned my head against the gable. The truth was, I wasn’t sure I’d have it in me, once it was all said and done. I was tired. Had been for a while. To the point where, in moments of relative peace—this last week as a prime example—I couldn’t seem to relax anymore. Every time I turned a corner, crested a hill, I half-expected Thoth to be there. And every time she wasn’t, instead of feeling better, I worried what she was doing in her absence.

“She will not always hold the axe over our head, ni’lend. Once she is scattered to the winds, you have a whole life to live,” Maya said, as if she’d read my mind.

“We’ll figure it out,” I said.

And for the first time, I believed we would.

Maya and I talked well into the morning about nothing in particular, enjoying the utter absence of distance and barriers that had prevailed since my return. And for a moment that was as infinite as it was fleeting, my fear of the future faded away.

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