RE: Monarch

I threw open the doors to my father’s study and gave it voice, loud and unmoderated.

”Why?!”

The sound of my own voice startled me. I’d never dared to yell at him before. It was simply something that was not done, not dared. But he was not at his desk. The candle was lit, casting dim light on a stack of unsigned documents, yet his chair was empty.

I found him at the cushioned bench that sat before a wide open window. He was positioned sideways, one knee propped up on the bench itself, the foot planted on the floor. The white light of the moon colored his face pale as he stared up at it. For a moment, he almost looked…

Haunted.

He seemed to realize my presence, and the expression disappeared, leaving only the cold, stoic apathy I’d come to know him for.

“Did you say something?” He asked. His words blurred together, as if he had just roused from a dream.

“Why did you have to kill them all?” I asked.

“What, the elves?”

King Gil scoffed. “Do I have to define the concept of treason?”

“No,” I said. “I understand why the adults were put to the sword. They were killing surveyors and plotting against the crown. Their punishment, while severe... I could understand it.” I licked my lips. “But the children?”

“You are such a fool,” Father said.

I could feel the fiery determination and resolve that brought me here slowly trickling away.

“Then explain it to me. Please. If I am such a fool, then illuminate why such a thing was necessary.”

Father rumbled something under his breath, then turned back to look out the window. “Tell me what happens, boy. Tell me what happens in the tales when a village is razed but a child is spared.”

I knew the answer immediately. “A hero is born.”

“And there is another word for such a person for those on the other side,” Father said. “If I were to do what you suggest. To spare the children, to leave a trail of broken and traumatized wretches who will stew, and plot, and plan. What then, do you suppose will happen when they all grow up? When they become leaders of their communities?”

“Could they not be integrated into our society? Isn’t that our responsibility after such violence?” I asked.

My father raised an eyebrow. “You’d have me assimilate them? Annihilate their culture? I’m surprised your mother hasn’t blathered on about that particular moral quandary yet.”

I had no misgivings that my father actually cared about anyone’s culture, outside ours. But something in his words rang true.

Who gave them the steel?

Father sighed. It was the sigh of a man who had not rested in quite some time, and would not rest for longer still. “This can all be boiled down to a single tenet, boy. A tenet all kings know, and all kings practice, no matter how kind or cruel. The individual will never take precedent over the whole.” His head tilted towards me, and the darkness in his eyes chilled me to the bone. “It matters not who they are. There will be those whose mere existence contradicts the vision of the world you hope to build—current or eventual, child or adult. There is only one way to deal with such a threat. Anything else is folly.

----

The city of Roseborough took its name literally, judging from the beautiful, well tended greenery that lined the main gate and starred in the many gardens within the city walls. Roses of nearly every color graced the bushes and beautiful blossoms unfolded within the trees themselves.

The primarily nonhuman population looked on with some curiosity as I navigated the streets alone on my mare, mask covering my face, looking for one establishment in particular. There were a few humans here, but for the most part, the demographics mirrored that of the enclave itself, though slightly more diverse—mostly infernals, then dwarves and elves respectively.

A woman exited a corner-store carrying a stack of books tucked under her chin and I looked up at the sign: Zorson’s boutique.

Found it.

The front door opened with a slow creak. The Infernal at the front counter, wrinkly and gray of hair, seemed to be lightly dozing, his chin propped up on gnarled fingers. I cleared my throat. Nothing. I tried again.

The man I assumed to be Zorson shook awake, slamming both hands onto the counter and startling us both. He glared up at me, as if I’d trespassed into his home rather than entered a public place.

“What?” He snapped.

“Sorry to disturb you. I’m looking for several tomes on the topic of magic.” I said.

“There’s an arcane emporium down the road that-a-way, back towards the gate.”

“Sorry. Historical tomes,” I corrected. “Not spellbooks.”

“Aye, we’ve got some of those.” He waved me towards the back-left corner.

“Is there anyone that could help me find what I’m looking for? Specifically? My mastery of your language is… tenuous.” I played up the elven accent.

“Bacchus!” Zorson shouted suddenly. “The hells am I paying you for?”

“Just a minute!” A voice called down from the second level, bright and clear.

“Head on back. He’ll be with you shortly.” Zorson waved me back towards the corner again. I crossed the store. The scent of parchment called to me. Lillian had an entire philosophy around the nature of booksellers. Though there were far nicer—albeit more expensive— establishments in Whitefall proper, she preferred the older, more lived in feeling of the topside resellers. There were all sorts of treasures to be found in those places according to her: older editions that were barely differed from the newer and more expensive versions, banned texts, and the occasional undiscovered masterpiece.

I walked through the rows of shelves, lightly tracing the spines of various tomes. The infernal cataloguing of magic tradition was genuinely impressive. They had in-depth, multi-volume histories for every element I knew of, and more than a few I didn’t. The Short and Sordid History of Marrow Magicians caught my eye. I was partly curious, but also not entirely sure if I wanted to know how that worked.

My finger stopped on a book that seemed more than a little out of place. The Ghoul Slayer. What was a human fairy tale doing in a place like this? Come to think of it, there had been a small section for elven and dwarven texts. I picked it up and leafed through it fondly.

“I like that one.”

I looked over the top of my book to find a violet infernal standing before me. He was older than me, just cresting the gap between adolescent and adult, though the circular spectacles likely aged him somewhat, and his shoulders had a scholarly hunch.

“An infernal who reads human fiction. Really?” I asked. For some reason, the accent left me.

“I read a bit of everything, really. Elven epics, Dwarven poetry. But human novels have always scratched a particular itch of mine.” He said.

“You’re quadrilingual?” I asked, impressed.

Bacchus shifted uncomfortably. “I’m actually a polyglot. I can really only read them and two of them are dead languages. My accents are terrible.”

“What’s a polyglot doing working in a library?” I asked. The amount of gold he could make as a translator alone—even just a translator of text—would dwarf whatever meagre salary he made in a place like this.

“It was a… uh… good fit.” He looked over at Zorson, then back to me. “Oh. I’m so sorry, I tend to ramble. You were searching for something?”

“Ah yes, I was looking for a magical history tome. I intend to get a better understanding of fire magic.” I said.

“Well, we certainly have more than a few volumes on the topic. Fire magic tends to attract many folk. There’s a primal draw to it, I think…” Before I could interrupt, Bacchus turned away from me to grab a wooden stool. It creaked as he balanced on it, the stool shifting slightly, one leg clearly shorter than the other.

“To clarify, I’m looking for information around demon-flame,” I said.

The change of atmosphere was immediate. The faraway, dreamlike quality of Bacchus’s expression immediately disappeared. He didn’t look at me. “Unfortunately, there’s not many accurate texts on the history of dantalion flame. They were purged quite thoroughly over a decade ago.” Sweat began to bead on his forehead.

“The history of it doesn’t interest me so much,” I said, watching him intently. “More, listings of past practitioners, genealogies, that sort of thing. I’ve been trying to track down information on the topic for quite some time.” I said.

“I’m afraid you won’t find what you’re looking for within these walls.” He stepped down from the stool quickly and began to retreat.

“I think I already have.”

That stopped him in his tracks. He turned to look at me slowly, his face conflicted, clearly struggling with something unspoken. Finally, he leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Not here. Please.”

“Then where?” I asked.

“There’s a patch of Lillies a half mile north of town. I’ll meet you out there after work.”

“As you wish.” I shrugged.

The old man grumbled something vaguely derogatory about window-shoppers as I left. I felt Bacchus’s gaze, and saw him trembling uncontrollably within the reflection of the window.

As honest as Bacchus seemed, I had no intention of taking him at his word. I followed him from a distance. I’d expected him to run. That would have made sense. He certainly seemed to be preparing for something, traveling to various stores and picking up supplies.

At dusk, he entered a town home, and the upper-room Vogrin had marked as Bacchus’s residence lit up. I watched through the window as Bacchus appeared, bending down to pick something up. He rose, and I spied a small, lithe looking cat in his arms. It wriggled in his arms.

He exited the property and knocked on a neighbor’s door. A middle-aged dwarf opened the door and greeted him, his smile fading as Bacchus held the animal out towards him.

It was clear to me what he was doing now. Something I had done not so long ago at all.

Bacchus was settling accounts.

----

The sun beat down on us. He stood across from me in the clearing, an iron knife in his hand. It was the sort one would use for cutlery, not combat.

Bacchus shook violently. “What do you want?” He demanded. But his voice cracked.

I took off my mask, tossing it aside.

“A human?” Bacchus looked confused. “Why are you looking for me?”

“I have some questions.”

“I am tired of running.” His voice rose. “I am tired of constantly being relocated, and running, and hiding. Tell me who you are and why you’re looking for me.” It was a command, not a question.

“We are kin,” I said. I held my hand out and called the flame. It was nearly the size of a torch now, purple and bright, even in the sun.

Bacchus’s jaw dropped. “You… how is this possible?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out, Bacchus. I need to know what triggered your awakening, and why.”

There was a moment where I thought his fear and suspicion might prevent the conversation from going any further, but eventually, his curiosity won out.

We spoke at length about the demon flame. He watched, delighted as I demonstrated the control aspect of the flame, an ability he had heard of but had not yet been able to reach. I was given a much more detailed account of how Ephira had used him over the years to keep Persephone under her thumb. He was relieved to know Ephira had passed and that his mother safe.

Bacchus told me of his awakening. It was nearly five years ago now. Despite his heritage as a violet, he had not shown any appreciable talent. He’d practically given up on magic completely, focusing entirely on his studies, when that night came. The candle had almost burned down completely, and he was about to turn in for the night when the window of his room began to open.

He sat, paralyzed, as a girl dressed in black slid through his window. Her visage had stuck in his mind forever, but two features stuck out more than most, her twisted smile, and a bright yellow eye. A snake’s eye.

Bacchus screamed, but found that no noise came forth. The woman smiled her horrible smile and touched him on the forehead. His vision darkened. Just before everything went black, she leaned in a whispered in his ear:

“You have been chosen.”

The next day, he summoned the flame.

The story troubled me on multiple levels. The idea that Thoth could gift magic was terrifying on its own—and changed things to an extent that I could hardly list the number of implications, but the idea that she’d already been operating for years before my first reset was disquieting as well.

The question was, why was Thoth playing with me? If she’d truly been planning so many years in advance, why not just kill me? I wasn’t sure I bought the whole sadist, psychopath act. I had to be missing something.

Bacchus’s jaw clenched, as he finished telling the tale. He stared down at the spark in his hand. “It’s caused me nothing but grief.”

“How old are you?” I asked. He looked thrown by the sudden change of topic.

“Uh, eighteen,” He said.

“So you’ve never been to the Sanctum, then?”

“No.” Bacchus looked down.

I made a decision. Slowly, I rose to my feet and stood before him.

“Look. I know a thing or two about having parents who try to decide everything for you. Information was only part of why I came to you. The other part is I wanted to extend an invitation for you to return. Ralakos offered to put you under his protection. You still have time to enter the Sanctum. You can still learn.”

He looked like I’d just offered him the world.

“I want that more than anything,” Bacchus said.

I tossed him a small purse of silver. He tried to catch it, but missed, and it bounced off his knee and into the grass.

“Sorry. That’s for your transportation, whenever you’re ready.” I said.

“I… thank you.” He said, finally. He shook my hand. “Oh, gods, I have to go get my cat, but-“

“No, we’re done here. Go get your cat. Hopefully, I’ll see you around the enclave soon.” I smiled.

“Thank you,” Bacchus said again.

He disappeared down the hill, taking big bounding steps. As soon as he’d vanished from view, my smile slipped. The emerald at my neck glowed hotly. I didn’t want to talk to Vogrin right now, but he clearly wanted to speak to me.

“Bah, fine.” I summoned him.

Vogrin manifested on the summoning circle, drawing himself up to full height and appearing especially unhappy. He looked off in the direction that Bacchus had disappeared. “What exactly was the point of all that, master?”

“Gathering information, Vogrin. Something you know a thing or two about.”

He studied me coyly. “And when you poisoned that dagger at your back on the way here, was that for the sake of gathering information as well?”

I looked at him hard. It had been less than a week and the demon was already second-guessing me constantly.

“I cannot fathom your reasoning.” Vogrin groused. He looked towards Roseborough. “His very existence reduces your value to the infernals. He poses a clear threat to you. I have to assume you know this, as you worked me tirelessly to track him down—which was no simple feat. Yet, when the moment comes, you do nothing.”

“Yes.”

“From what I saw in the twilight chambers, I thought you were above such petty morality.” Vogrin sounded disappointed.

My teeth ground. “Ephira had to die.”

“Perhaps. The high councillor would’ve posed many problems in the future. But her guards did not.” Vogrin said.

“They were complicit.”

“If your failure to act here today leads to the loss of infernals as allies, and the loss of the war you are so certain will come, are you not also complicit?” Vogrin pressed.

I sighed. “I saw it, in the chamber.”

“It?”

“The path to becoming my father.” I rubbed my forehead. “I spent so much of my life thinking he was mad, irrational. He’s irrational in other ways—but his strategies, his tactics, there’s a logic to them. They make sense.”

“And yet, you do this… why?” Vogrin asked.

There was a chill in the air.

“Because my father failed. In my vision. He didn’t fail because of what he did. He failed because he didn’t take things far enough. Eventually, he tired of the constant violence. His stranglehold slackened. And they killed him for it.”

“I’m confused.” Vogrin said again.

“To succeed him, to follow that path, I would have to do the things that even he was unwilling to do. And I could never stop.” I shook my head slowly.

“That is the nature of power. Feared leaders reign long and die violently. But kind leaders are short-lived as they are beloved.” Vogrin said.

“True enough.” I said.

My mother’s kindness. My father’s cruelty. They were both right. Just as they were both wrong. What that meant for me and the person I would become, I had no way of knowing.

“I don’t understand you.” Vogrin grumbled.

There was a burst of light as he disappeared into the amulet, leaving me alone in the clearing with only my thoughts.

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