RE: Monarch

And how dearly they paid.

Relyre took one look at the city and retreated into the cave, not even bothering to look at me. I couldn’t blame him.

The enclave might have been lost, but I had to try and get Maya’s family out. It was the least I could do.

Slowly, I began making my way down the narrow slope, heading towards the fire.

----

It was late in the evening when I knocked on Sera’s door. It swung open, and she stuck her head out with a big grin—until she realized it was me, and the smile faded.

“Expecting someone else?”

“What do you want, Cairn?” Sera crossed her arms.

“Can I come in?” I asked. She didn’t answer, so I pushed past her, wrinkling my nose at the disheveled state of her room. A pile of clothes were tossed carelessly on a chest near the window. The maids cleaned every day. I had no idea how she managed to destroy it so thoroughly in such a short time. A half-dozen books on combat, tactics, and swordplay were splayed out spine-up on the floor. There was a bottle of perfume displayed prominently on the desk, as if it had just been used and set-down. When I breathed in, beneath the smell of sweat and musk was a light fragrance of lilac.

Sera leaned on the wall next to the door, drumming her fingers on the wooden frame. “Well? You’ve pushed your way in. Taken in your surroundings. Care to lecture me on my treatment of your precious books? Whine at me about my lack of decorum?”

My temper flared. My grip of it had grown dangerously slack since the funeral. “Do you go out of your way to be an ass? Or does it just come naturally?”

Sera’s eyes were frigid. “Insults. Fantastic. Now if you’re done, I did have plans for the evening.”

“Sorry. It’s important, Sera.”

“Then get to it.”

I shoved the dirty clothes off the chest and took a seat on it, crossing one leg over the other. “I’m worried about Annette. Ever since the funeral, she’s been closed off.”

“Sounds like typical Annette.” Sera refused to budge from her place by the door, but her face softened a little.

“But it’s worse than normal.”

“She was never normal, Cairn. Always cloistering herself away. Seeing the world through nothing more than pieces on a board, prosaics in a book. Annie is fine. She just needs time to process.”

“Oh? And you know this because you’ve talked to her?”

Sera scowled. “Don’t do that. Don’t ask a slanted question to elicit a particular answer. That was mom’s thing, and you’re terrible at it.”

I didn’t dignify that with a response. Sera finally seemed to accept this interaction was going to take longer than a minute and crossed the room, laying face-up on her bed, the mattress squeaking beneath her. She stared up at the ceiling blankly.

“No. I haven’t even seen her.” Sera sighed. “I tried once, and she wouldn’t answer the door.”

“Same.” Though I’d tried far more than once.

“What do you think she does in there?”

We thought on that for a moment.

“Play herself in Koss.” Sera said.

“Reads dusty old tomes on philosophy.” I added.

“Makes obliquely cutting comments to anyone in earshot.”

“Feeds birds from her windowsill.”

Sera shifted over to look at me. “Bullshit.”

I smiled. “Elphion as my witness. It’s a tightly guarded secret, but she loves animals.”

“Just not enough to leave her room to see them.”

“Pretty much.”

“Well, you’ve managed to make me feel like a terrible sister, per usual. But what are we supposed to do if she won’t talk to us?” Sera turned back to the ceiling.

I bit my lip. “I was thinking, maybe if the two of us invited her to the pavilion—her territory, she might show up.”

“Cairn—“

“Just, hear me out, okay?” I waited, and when she didn’t interrupt me again, continued. “I get that you don’t like me, and that’s fine. A lot of the time I don’t like me. Mother is gone, and there’s no one around to push us into acting like we’re related. If it was just you and me, then yeah, maybe we’d just go our separate ways. But Annette is so young, Sera. Elphion knows father won’t be looking out for her. We should at least try to be a real family. For her.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?” I stood and circled to the bed where I could see her face, not quite ready to believe it.

Sera sat up. She looked uncharacteristically pensive. “Yes. Fine. Maybe it won’t make a difference, but we can try.”

We set a time to meet in the pavilion. I snuck a glance at one of the many books she had discarded onto her floor—a philosophical guide for some exotic Panthanian martial practice—and made a note to read it beforehand.

Much to my surprise, Sera actually showed up. Annette didn’t, but we really weren’t expecting that to happen the first time. The rest of our lives didn’t change much. We still ignored each other when we passed in the halls, our interactions limited to polite nothings. But once a week, we sat together and talked—mainly about combat and fighting and tactics—but it was a damn sight more than we’d interacted over the last few years.

All it took to destroy a month of progress was a single comment.

I made an off-handed joke about how she’d make a better prince than a princess. She didn’t respond, but the air in the room changed. I’d visit the pavilion at the same time for months after.

Sera never came back.

----

The enclave was filled with the sounds of screams and battle. Errant spells arced upward, forming a multi-color light-show, scarring and pockmarking the surrounding dome. Black, nightmarish demons made of smoke with glowing eyes sprinted across rooftops and leapt onto fleeing civilians, tearing them open.

I limped through the desolated streets, heading vaguely towards Maya’s home. Much of the violence had already passed through the entry sector. Bodies littered the street. Some of them burning with purple flame. Where had it come from? Why was this happening now?

A slight movement caught my eye. A little girl covered in soot cowered in a shallow alley, face twisted in fear.

I made my way over to her, approaching slowly. She shied away from me.

“Are you hurt?” I asked. Something landed on the roof of one of the buildings next to us with a heavy thud. I grabbed her, placing a hand over her mouth and put my back to the wall, pulling my cloak over my head. A low hiss from above rattled me, and my whole body shivered. Unnaturally long fingers darker than the darkest night, ending in a needlepoint, clutched the side of the roof as somethingstuck its head over the side to look at us. There was a pure, smoldering malevolence in its eyes, and small tendrils that took the place of hair floated below it, as if they were only partially affected by gravity. The little infernal spasmed and yanked away from me. I grabbed for her just a moment too late, cringing as she screamed and ran down the alley.

The thing above knocked a shingle loose as it scampered, following her. I drew my sword and ran—but it was too late. I came to a stop, horrified, as it landed in front of her, its dark pointed fingers elongated and slashed across her entire body.

There was a series of impacts as she fell to the ground, one piece at a time. The demon cackled in discordant delight.

I turned and ran, cursing my failure, lying to myself that one more life didn’t matter.

----

“—Cairn? Cairn.”

I shook out of the momentary lapse. Gunther had asked me for something, but I’d missed it. “Pass me the Etsomleaf, would you son?”

Gray’s was busy in the early afternoon, and I had nothing else to do while I waited for Lillian to get ready. I popped open a jar and selected a decent looking specimen—the leaf was yellow year-round, with cobalt veins—and passed it to him idly. He crumbled the leaf into the mortar and pestle, his silver ponytail bobbing as he ground the contents.

Idly, I looked around. It had come a long way in the last year. When I’d first set foot in the apothecary, much of the equipment had been well-worn and cracked, the counters warped and yellowed. But he’d put the money I’d given them for my stay to good use, as well as the additional investments I’d made after the fact. The alchemy equipment was top of the line, complete with a set of glass flasks and beakers that replaced clay. The quality of the medicine had risen, of course, but not by nearly as much as you’d think; Gunther was a magician in everything but the literal definition, a master of creating excellent mixtures in suboptimal conditions. Mostly, having better equipment just helped with quantity.

“You’re quiet today,” Gunther observed. He began the long process of purifying the powder in a liquid solution.

“There’s a lot on my mind,” I said.

“Well, are you going to fill me in, or just brood there, all mysterious like?”

I laughed. Gunther had a talent for getting under my defenses, and despite knowing who I was, never seemed to see me as more than the concussed boy his daughter had picked up off the street.

“Just planning for the future. I don’t want to make her wait any longer than necessary.” My intent to introduce Lillian as a noble from a faraway land had begun to take root into action, but there were still many logistical problems. There was basically no way to do what I intended without spending a great deal of money—which didn’t matter to me, but I needed to make sure my spending didn’t draw my father’s eye.

“I appreciate you making an honest woman out of my daughter.” Gunther eyed me. “But from what little she’s told me, it sounds like you might be rushing things.”

“It’s best to speed things along, to be honest. The faster we get something set in stone, the less likely it is my father can do anything to obstruct the marriage. Though, honestly, I doubt he would bother. He tends to take very little interest in my affairs.”

Gunther shot me an irked look.

I cleared my throat. “Okay, maybe not the best choice of words.”

Gunther washed his hands in the sink, absorbed in the task. “I can’t speak for your father, Cairn, but you’ve done right by us, and then some.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

Gunther shook his head. “It’s not, and I think you know that. Lillian doesn’t like to talk about it, but when she was little, she was sick for a long time.” His gaze turned glassy. “Almost lost her more than once. If I was anything other than an apothecary, I likely would have. It’s hard for me to trust her with someone else. But when I look at you, son, I know in my bones, at the end of the day, you’ll do what’s best for her.”

There was the creak of floorboards. Lillian was ready.

I slapped Gunther on the back. “We’ll be back soon.”

Months later, I’d look back to that moment, and weep.

----

I finally arrived at the place I’d called home for the last six months, stomach twisting the closer I drew. There was a chance that everyone was fine, that they’d doused the lamps, hidden in one of the upstairs rooms. I’d collect them, lead them to the gate, and we’d escape to the outside world.

Once there, we’d come up with a plan for how to get Maya out of the Sanctum. Kilvius would ruffle my hair, and tell me how foolish I was for getting worked up over nothing. Nethtari would poke at me, telling me to stop worrying so much and lecture me for neglecting my studies. It was honestly a little narcissistic of me to think the worst. Of course they would be fine. They’d survived their entire lives without me and raised three children. Why on earth would they need me to save them?

They were fine.

The door was wide open, the inside pitch black.

They were fine.

Someone stepped through the doorway

They were fine.

I crouched behind an overturned cart, trying to make out the figure in the darkness.

The person stepped out from the dark, swinging a familiar blade held loosely at their side.

It wasn’t Thoth.

It was somehow, so much worse.

The resemblance was uncanny. A person my height, with my build, wearing my face, stepped out into the night. His robe—a robe identical to the one Ralakos had gifted me—was soaked in red. But his eyes were empty and soulless.

In the distance, someone screamed. His head snapped in that direction, and he took off sprinting towards it, movements completely silent. I waited for a moment, then ran to the house, praying to any god that might be listening that I was not too late, despite already knowing I was.

----

“Barkeep? ‘Nother round?” I slurred drunkenly. The portly man behind the counter breathed a long-suffering sight and refilled my mug. I dropped a golden rod into the tip jar. Money didn’t matter to me. Nothing did. Not anymore. Liquid trickled into my cup, pitch rising at the end, then the mug was shoved in my direction and I buried my face in it, my vision long since faded into a smeared blur.

The barkeep wasn’t giving me Oterons anymore, but that was hardly important. As long as he kept serving me, the gold would keep flowing. If my purse was empty by the end of the night, all that meant was less weighing me down.

The entire room tilted like the cabin of a ship in a storm, and I grasped onto the counter, trying to remain upright on the stool.

Someone put a hand on my arm. Maybe if I ignored them, they’d go away. Every conversation in the tavern halted. The barkeep’s face, once annoyed and ambivalent, had slackened and paled, the rag he was using to clean the counter paralyzed in mid-air.

My father stood there dressed in simple regalia, his hand clamped firmly on my shoulder.

“Look everyone, it’s Good King Gil!” I joked. His gray eyes only grew colder. “Someone get the princesses in here, it’s royal family night. Buy you a round?”

“I am not here for your adolescent foolishness.” He rumbled, clearly furious, but unwilling to escalate things in public. That wouldn’t project strength, after-all.

“Then how can I help?” I said, my mouth twisting bitterly. “Oh. I took detailed transcripts of the funeral for you. Since, you know, you couldn’t be bothered to show up.”

“Really? That’s why you’ve been neglecting your lessons and acting like a spoiled child? It was over a month ago.”

The sharpness of the words pierced through the veil of intoxication like a knife. Eyes wide, I stared at him in disbelief. Had she really meant so little to him?

Without really knowing what I was doing, I pulled my arm back and struck out with a fist, aiming for his nose.

He caught my arm easily, wrenching it behind me and pushing it up so far it threatened to break. Then, like I was a common prisoner, he escorted me out of the bar. No one said anything. They didn’t dare.

Father picked me up by the belt of my trousers and threw me face-first into the waiting palanquin. I landed with a dull thud, closing my eyes, nausea advancing and receding like the ocean’s tides.

“Get up,” He said, voice dripping with disgust.

With significant effort, I pulled myself on to the palanquin’s bench, setting myself on the opposite side and corner from him, literally as far away as I could manage. Still, what he said ate at me.

It’s been over a month.

“Did you ever love mother? Even a little?” I asked, in a voice so quiet I wasn’t sure if he’d hear it.

“…she was my wife.”

“You never visited her. Or came to see her after things got bad. She asked for you, so many times.”

“Wasted effort, born of overwrought sentimentality.”

My hands curled into fists. “No. No, that’s horseshit. You’re not this fucking caricature of a man you’re pretending to be. No one is that cold.”

“Not everyone is as soft as you, boy.”

I threw up my hands in surrender. “You know what? You’re right. I don’t know why I’m trying to make excuses for you. You didn’t lift a finger. Who spends the last year of his wife’s life picking fights with elves?”

My father slammed his fist against the palanquin bench. The wood cracked. “Do not speak on matters you have no knowledge of.”

“Then explain it to me,” I said, “I’m all ears.”

My father exploded in a torrent of words. “I was trying to help her, you imbecile!” I shrunk back, but now that he had started, he had no intention of stopping. “The elves are known for their healers, a fact you might have put together if you weren’t so busy feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I—“

“Shut up,” he growled. “Yes, I waged war. I broke oaths. I tracked down their so-called healers, threatened them, razed their villages. It did not matter. The lesser races do not listen to reason. Every single one of them would rather die than raise a finger to help your mother. And die they did.” His gaze pierced me, smoldering. “Do not dare lay the blame on my head. If you wish to blame anyone, blame yourself.”

I quavered. “What?”

“You. Did. Nothing.” The words struck me harder than any blow. “You think you helped by being there? By holding her hand and pretending your efforts, your mewling sympathy, your tortured pathos, made any difference at all?”

“Without me, she would have been—“

“What?” My father roared. “More dead? I’m sure she took great solace in your words as the mana desiccated her body. Surely, she sustained herself on your misery alone.”

Father leaned back against the cushion, anger ebbing into the much more familiar disappointment. “There’s always someone to blame, boy. People will coddle you. They’ll tell you it’s not your fault. That there was nothing more you could have done. And they are lying.”

“You—“ I stopped. Because somewhere, in the back of my mind, I saw the truth. It flayed me to my very core.

He was right.

There is always something more you could have done.

----

I stood, shaking in the doorway, my shadow long and extended across the room. The scene played itself out before my eyes, written in blood. The door hadn’t been forced. Kilvius had opened it willingly. The person with my face entered and drew his sword, striking at Kilvius’s back. He’d turned and thrown up his arms in a panic, trying to shield himself. But the attack had been too unexpected.

They trusted me, after all.

His arms were riddled with defensive wounds. A section of the wall was torn open from where Nethtari had jumped into the fight, trying to fend the attacker off. She’d been stabbed through the chest for her efforts. Their faces were frozen in a twisted, bloody masks of pain and confusion.

Jorra was laid face down on the ground, a brutal slash tearing open his shirt and exposing his spine. He saw what happened to his parents, and tried to escape.

There is always something more you could have done.

A sob racked me.

“No. Please no.” I said it over and over again, staring at the scene, cold fingers of irrationality reaching into my skull and twisting, trying to pull something loose.

Of course, someone was missing.

I climbed the stairs slowly, heart pounding, sickness in my gut roiling. The same voice from earlier whispered to me, offering escape. Maybe they’d missed him. Maybe that was the one good thing to come from this I could salvage.

I entered Agarin’s room. And something inside me shattered.

He was—

They—

His face—

I reached down in the bassinet, and stroked his forehead with the back of my hand. Little ringlets of hair bobbed beneath my touch. Gently, I took the little blue blanket and covered him with it.

“Sorry we never got to finish that story, bud.” My voice caught.

She said that if Sir Gantry answered one question correctly, she would tell him the secret of the magical pixie steel.

The question was: What is justice?

The thing within me that broke began to boil. Heat flooded my chest, my hands, the backs of my eyes. Rage tore through me like a gale. I let it fill me and consume me and tear out of me. Building blocks and toys swirled around me and the floorboards cracked beneath my feet.

Every window in the house shattered.

I sprinted through the streets of the enclave. The wind itself billowed behind me, pushing me faster than I could have ever run without it. Two lesser demons shaped like goblins blocked the path in front of me, and I raised my hand, my lip curled, lifting them in a gust of air and slamming them through the wall of a nearby house.

There were only two targets I cared about: Guemon, and the monster who wore my face. I donned the rage, reveling in it, letting it wash away the guilt and regret.

I was so consumed in my thoughts that I missed the greater demon running on the rooftops parallel to me, only seeing the blurred movement for a moment before it tackled me to the ground, its long fingers searing through my body.

There was pain.

But more than anything, I felt relief.

Finally, the darkness took me.

Again.

----

“She’ll be back before you know it,” Someone said. I sucked in a breath and looked around, completely disoriented.

Where was I?

When was I?

The artificial sun above was no longer dim and crimson, instead emanating warm light. I closed my eyes and bathed in it, letting the warmth wash over me. I thought of Maya. The trust in her eyes when she asked me to look after her family.

Breaking wasn’t an option. So instead, I searched for the anger. I pulled it to me like a cloak, letting it erase my fear.

“Cairn’s having a moment,” Kilvius joked.

I opened my eyes. Jorra was swatting his father’s hand away, laughing as Kilvius tried repeatedly to pinch at his cheek. Nethtari held Agarin in her arms and was watching me, concern in her eyes. The last time we’d all been together like this was immediately after Maya left for the sanctum. Almost a full month ago.

I had a month.

“Are you okay?” Nethtari asked.

I held my hand out and looked at it. It trembled for a moment, then stilled, motionless. Solid.

“Cairn?”

My mask slipped into place with a mental click. The tension flowed out of my shoulders and I gave her an easy grin. “Just enjoying the weather. It’s a new day. Here, let me give you a break.” I took Agarin from her and thrust him up into the air. He giggled and cooed. Then I tucked him into my arm and began to walk, joking with Jorra about who would get Maya’s room while she was gone.

Beneath it all, the cold rage burned within me, and the wheels of my mind began to turn.