RE: Monarch

The degree to which I’d underestimated Ephira became clear the moment I took at seat at the table. I’d thought her melodramatic and petty. She was those things, but she was also more.

I was skilled in negotiation and statecraft.

Ephira was a master.

The Chefs at the long table to my left side chopped food just a bit louder than necessary. The table was pulled slightly too far away from me to be comfortable. And I had no doubt the wobbly chair had its legs intentionally shortened. Every time it shook I was forced to cling to the table, and my eyes would naturally go to the massive chasm to my right.

At the distant base of the chasm, I saw a massive demon with a head half the size of its body skewer a smaller one, tossing it dozens of feet in the air, only to be tackled Every time the chair shifted, it made it nearly impossible to think.

My father once told me that there are three aspects to a successful interrogation. Patience, leverage, and destabilization. She’d shown patience by sending a carriage for me and bringing me to her, rather than showing up at my house. She already had ample leverage over me for everything that had occurred at the Derdre Estate. And this entire set-up was her attempt at the latter—the attempt more literal and direct than most, but still effective and well executed.

“I’m happy to answer whatever questions you have.” I said.

“Oh, not yet, dear. I’m not so rude as to invite a guest to lunch and not feed them.” She drank from her glass—a colorful mixture garnished with a black cherry sitting at its base.

I didn’t like the way she said it. Or the way any of this was going. I needed to get her to break from the script.

“We can dispose of the pretense, councillor. I am aware that I overstepped yesterday, and intend to make good on my promise to make it up to you.”

She extended a finger from the hand holding her glass, emphasizing each word. “Nonsense. Pretense is important. As a prince, you of all people should know this.”

I waved her point away. “I find that pretense is often little more than an excuse for high-born and nobility to edify themselves with boring pageantry.”

“My, my, are you currently bored my dear Cairn?” Ephira asked. She wasn’t wrong. I was many things, but bored was not one of them.

“Sorry, sometimes I gloat,” Ephira continued. “It’s a character flaw. My point is that pretense is part of ritual. And ritual, is all that separates us from them.” She pointed down at the warring demons in the abyss with her glass.

I might as well ask. I’m sure she was dying for me to.

“Why are they fighting?”

“They are fighting because that is a particularly resource rich section of the Sanctum shallows, fraught with soul fragments and blood glass. But if you mean in a philosophical sense—“

“I didn’t—” I interrupted, but Ephira barreled on regardless.

“They are fighting because they are animals. And animals must struggle to survive. It is in their very nature. Just as it is in our nature to jockey and negotiate for position.”

“You look down on them.”

“On the contrary, I enjoy watching them because they remind me how important the simple institutions of cordiality and manners really are. Should those institutions fall, we will be down in the dirt with them, murdering over scraps, consuming the flesh of the fallen. It is a struggle of the soul, if you will.”

It was a common line of thought amongst the wealthy in Whitefall as well, typically brought up and bandied about whenever there was an uprising. Funny, how important manners were, when you wanted for nothing.

“So that’s all we are, in your eyes. Animals capable of higher thought, but animals just the same.”

“After a fashion.” Ephira confirmed.

I decided to engage with her, if only to distract me from the surrounding environment.

“I’d like to think we’re better than that. That the soul—or the essence of what makes us people, individuals, that it elevates us beyond the four-legged creatures that snuffle the ground and demons that battle in the dark.”

“Isn’t that the same argument that allows your kind to dismiss us wholesale? The purity of the soul?” Ephira asked. As her gaze pierced me, I noticed for the first time that her eyes weren’t completely white. An outline of iris lurked beneath the ivory sheen.

“Shall I take responsibility for every slight a human has made against an infernal, then?” I regretted the jab as soon as it was spoken. Sarcasm would come off as petty and defensive.

“I suppose not. Perhaps we should stay on topic.”

“Yes.” I sighed in relief. “Lets get to it then,”

“To lunch.” Ephira said, and I suppressed a groan. The chefs brought a handful of plates, their portions incredibly small. The appetizers included a simple wedge salad with a balsamic dressing and a small portion of soup, but what really gave me pause was the main course.

On first inspection it was nothing but ice, served in a steel bowl that reflected my questioning face as I peered down into it. As I looked closer, I noticed something of a visual distortion on the ice itself.

Then it moved. I jumped. There perhaps a dozen small translucent squares. Ephira was watching me, a self-satisfied look on her face.

“I know your hosts aren’t exactly wealthy, but surely, you haven’t lived in the enclave for a year now without hearing about sceo?”

As it happened, I had. Sceoquel gossamer slugs were mentioned around the enclave the same way humans might reference the Tacorn beef of Hiawakira.

“Only in passing.”

“They are a cultural treasure.” Ephira blew out the small odd candle that was offset next to her silverware. She picked up the smallest spoon on the plate and dug it into the reserve of wax that had formed. “First, you balm.” She ran the spoon over her pale lips, giving them a blue sheen from the light reflected off the cavern pool.

I mirrored her, feeling uneasy.

“Now, traditionally, Sceo is eaten first, before the appetizer, without anything to drink.” Ephira’s voice took on an instructional lilt. “You want the digestive tract working at full-capacity. It will reform too quickly if the squares are not cut exactly to spec. Now, you take a square and swallow.” She placed the fork rather deep in her mouth to demonstrate.

“Do not, under any circumstances, chew.”

“Why?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer.

“Because once the membrane breaks, it will be the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted. But it will also be the last.” Ephira’s words were bereft of any humor. “The digestive enzymes in the Sceo will dissolve the tissues in your mouth, your gums, even your tongue.

My appetite, which was already hanging on by little more than a thread, fled completely.

Ephira smiled, clearly enjoying my reaction. “However, if you consume it properly, your stomach acid will neutralize the enzyme. And just a whisper of the taste that bubbles up is enough to render the memory of any delicacy you have ever consumed…” Ephira waved her hand in a mystical half circle, “…utterly obsolescent.”

I looked down at the tiny squares navigating the ice. The goal here was obvious. Ephira was trying to form psychological cracks. If I backed down and refused to eat, it would—in theory—upset the power balance between us, and make me more malleable for other aspects of conversation. Consuming the slug was also a form of submission in a way, but the alternative was worse.

Steeling myself, I skewered a piece. The ice clinked beneath the tines of my fork. The translucent creature expanded outward and inward, as if it was breathing. It slowly climbed to the root of the fork, a small tendril extending toward towards the neck of the fork itself.

I closed my eyes and thrust it into my mouth, swallowing quickly. My eyes widened when it refused to be swallowed. It’s texture burning and phlegmy. It was like being in the throes of a horrible cold.

It moved. It was climbing my throat.

And it was only then I noticed that my glass was still empty.

Ephira was watching me. Her mirth had died the moment I took my first bite. She knew what I needed, but she was waiting for me to ask.

Fuck manners.

I stood, keeping eye-contact with her, then with movements much more controlled and measured than I actually felt, I took my empty glass to the surrounding water and filled it. I drained the glass. Perhaps it was my desperation coloring the memory, but I remember the water tasting surprisingly good. The nasty thing clinging to the back of my throat finally went with it.

Ephira waited for me to explode at her. To rant and rave. But I simply refilled my glass and returned to the table. Then swallowed another square of sceo. This one went down much easier than the first, though whether the roiling, crawling sensation in my stomach was real or in my head I still don’t know.

“Leave us.” Ephira spoke over her shoulder. The cooks silently packed up their things and entered the gondola, the sloshing of water the only sound in the cavern as they returned to the shore.

“Don’t trust your own people?” I asked.

“I trust them as much as is proper to trust anyone.” Ephira said. She tidied her mouth with the corner of a napkin then settled her hands on her lap. “When did you first come in contact with Persephone?”

“What did you learn from Shear?” I shot back.

“Oh? Is that his name?”

“The one he gave.”

“So not his name, then.”

“I came into contact with Persephone nearly a week ago. What did you learn from Shear?” I repeated.

“I learned that Persephone has been employing a geis limiter on her employees, or a tethered oath, or something along those lines. He was sufficiently motivated to speak with me, he spoke with me—about half a sentence—then foamed at the mouth and expired choking on his own spittle. What led you to Persephone in the first place?”

I cringed inwardly, but kept my face impassive. “I was directed to her.” The image of the little girl with the deep brown eyes returned to me again. I recognized those eyes from somewhere. But where? “Investigating an external matter.”

“External?” Ephira asked.

“External, as in it does not concern you.”

“It certainly concerns me now.” She paused for a beat, then continued when I did not respond. “Fine. You were directed to Persephone, where you, what? Arbitrarily decided to pick up a life of crime?”

“Not arbitrarily, no.”

“So quid pro quo. You have chemical dependencies, but nothing so exotic you’d need someone like Persephone for, nothing on that level.” Ephira mused. I bristled at the implication she’d just made, but she continued on unimpeded. “That leaves two possibilities, gold or demons. And I’m guessing it’s the latter.”

“I went to her for information. Take it or leave it.”

“And once she named her price, what did she say you were there to do?” Ephira asked.

“Acquire a sapphire. I’m confidant now, though, that’s not actually what we were there to do.” I drummed my fingers on the table.

“But that’s what you were told?”

“Yes.”

“What tipped you off?” Ephira asked.

“A number of things. The fact that we weren’t told where the gem was. We were given two possible locations.” I thought back to those initial planning moments. The way Shear had seemed completely comfortable with the haphazard nature of the plan. “But when we got there, the way was already unbarred for us. Shear said another team had swept through and cleared the way, but that didn’t make sense. The sewer passage being open was one thing. But the grates leading up from the sewer were unlocked from above. There was no way for a person to access the locks unless they were already in the yard.”

“Implying Persephone has someone inside.” Ephira observed.

“Right. If she has someone on the inside, why wouldn’t she know where the sapphire is?”

“Maybe the person doesn’t have access. Mifral employs a number of gardeners and landscapers, any of whom would be uniquely positioned to unlock the grates but not have a free-range within the rest of the estate. Could be a fluke.

“Not when you combine it with everything else,” I insisted. “The gravity field was supposed to go off when we made our exit. Yet it went off nearly immediately, and Shear tried to pin it on another person. Add to that the fact that they sent us to check the bedroom safe, rather than the trophy room, when I’d imagine the chances were much higher it would be in the bedroom instead of out on display.”

“You’re not wrong.” Ephira admitted. She pushed the bowl containing her sceo aside, and I watched in muted fascination as it began to reform. “Mifral loves to flaunt her wealth, but the truly exceptional pieces she always keeps safeguarded and hidden.”

“But the biggest giveaway of all,” I continued, “Was that you were there.”

“Me?”

“Yes. This thing was planned down to the minute. And if Persephone is as competent as she pretends to be—“

“She is.” Ephira confirmed.

“—Then it seems highly unlikely she wouldn’t know a high councillor was scheduled to visit the target of a theft.”

“So, if the point wasn’t the sapphire, what was it?” Ephira asked, in a voice that hinted she already knew the answer.

“Mifral is the biggest gem trader within the enclave.” I cocked my head at her. “You weren’t there for rest and relaxation—or if you were, it was a business meeting couched as a spa day.”

“Nothing you’re saying is exactly hidden knowledge, Prince.” Ephira said dryly.

“Persephone knew you would be there. She wanted you to lose face with Mifral, and intended to use a spectacular but ultimately bungled robbery to do so. Although…” I got lost in thought, having reached the end of my mental rope. “I’m not sure on the specifics of why.”

For the first time since the discussion began, there was a silence that hung between us.

“Well…” Ephira finally said. “I know why.”

I perked up at that. “Oh?”

“First, I’ll need some assurances.”

Once I’d sworn the proper oaths and assured Ephira that my relationship with Persephone was nothing more than a matter of convenience, and that I would work with her to achieve the half-demon’s downfall, she finally explained the situation.

Mifral dealt mainly in gems, that was true. But she also dealt in rare artifacts that housed gems. These were often decorative, but as gems could be used to augment mana, they could be extremely powerful.

A few months ago a seventeen-year-old infernal returning from the Sanctum had brought back an artifact: a scepter crowned with a diamond the size of a fist. It had been sold to Mifral for a fraction of what it was likely worth. Only no one knew what it was worth because Mifral was holding it jealously, and not allowing for it to be appraised, forcing a blind bidding war.

There was an anonymous party in the bidding war that Ephira was confident was Persephone, and she was running out of money.

“What could an artifact of that class possibly do?” I asked

“The possibilities are almost endless.” Greed danced in Ephira’s eyes. “But generally speaking, diamonds are most commonly used in artifacts that create illusions—often illusions so powerful, they’re indistinguishable from reality.”

I stilled. I remembered my dark shadow, leaving Maya’s home, soaked in blood. Everything seemed to come into focus.

“So best-case scenario, Shear finds the scepter. But that’s less likely that the alternative.”

Ephira nodded. “Persephone is trying to spook Mifral into selling early, while she’s still in the lead.”

“I take it Guemon’s involved in this bidding war?” I asked, coolly.

“Not anymore. He dropped off in the last few weeks.” Ephira said.

That confused me. “Then who’s left?”

It was that moment, the membrane of the slugs writhing in my stomach finally burst. The taste—though I didn’t taste it, exactly, more breathed it—was full, and savory, and exquisite, and overwhelming, as if I’d never truly tasted anything before.

But I only had a moment to enjoy it.

Ephira held up three fingers. “The remaining bidders are me, Persephone, and Ralakos.”

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