Prisoner 21 & 22
Mar. 8th, 2007 06:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrFuck. I still have to actually write the last couple chapters of this. I've been lazy since I essentially know exactly how it goes >_>;;;
But don't worry, all will be done in time. I shan't make anyone wait. Though I have no fsking clue what to post on Thursdays when this is done.
Chapter Twenty One
“So this is it?” Beraht said, looking at the orb Matthias had dropped into his hand before collapsing tiredly into a nearby chair. It was late – or early, depending on how you wanted to view it. No one was about, though throughout the night nearly everyone had been giving Beraht strange looks.
He had never wanted a dose of arcen so badly in his life. Anything to go back to being looked at normally – like a mere foreigner, instead of a very strange one. It was bad enough he almost wished for the days when no one looked at him at all. He barely suppressed a shudder.
Maybe not.
“It certainly doesn’t look like much,” Beraht said. It didn’t. He remembered the one Benji held – a clear orb of crystal. Like glass but thicker, denser. The one in his hands was a smoky black. Like someone had mixed ink into the crystal. And heavy. Beraht hefted it thoughtfully – he bet with a good throw he could dent even Dieter’s head. He glanced up.
“Don’t even think about,” Dieter said.
Beraht lifted a brow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He glanced at Matthias before he gave himself away. “So…what now?”
Matthias, Esta and Kalan exchanged a nervous glance. Matthias shrugged his shoulder, looking sheepish. “I…don’t really know. In theory you just go down there and…Break the chamber. All my research and no one bothered to say exactly how it was done. Perhaps because they never thought it would actually happen?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Beraht reconsidered whose head he should be throwing things at. “You want me to improvise?” He glared. “I wondered why I hadn’t been getting any lessons or explanations.”
“I’m glad you decided not to ask,” Kalan said shamelessly. “Because now it’s too late.”
Beraht shifted his glare. “I will throw this at your head.”
“You’d probably hit it too, but Esta will be the first to tell you my head is harder than rock.”
Esta’s glare froze the entire room. “I do not think now is the time to be making jokes. Especially bad ones. Your head isn’t as hard as rock, it’s simply as dense! Now be quiet until you can say something useful.”
“Yes, my Queen.” Kalan backed away as she looked at him again. “I mean Duchess.”
“This is no time for joking,” she repeated icily.
Kalan shrugged. “There’s always time for a joke.”
“Enough,” Matthias said wearily.
Beraht dropped the stone from hand to hand, back and forth. Ice cold and damp from the well it had been dropped in, it began to warm in his hands. Almost hot. He frowned at it, something cold crawling up his spine. Abruptly he stood up, nearly knocking his chair back. “Let’s get this over with. Whatever it is.” Without another word he stormed from the room, clutching the stone close to his chest.
At least it was quiet enough even the majority of the servants had gone to bed. The few still awake would be gossiping in the kitchens, waiting until some lord or lady rang for a midnight snack. Beraht strode through the halls and out into the garden.
It was freezing. Stars curse everyone and everything. At the first opportunity he was going to find somewhere to live that was never cold. Nothing was worth spending what felt like half the year freezing to death. Shivering, he all but ran through the garden, fingers shaking too hard to unlock the door. He dropped it, the ringing clang of metal on stone jarringly loud in the dead garden.
Movement, heat, and Beraht was shoved aside as Dieter opened the door and hauled him through it. He saw the others behind him, and fought the urge to snatch Dieter’s cape away. He hadn’t seen the damn thing since their arrival – and it looked far cleaner than it had in what was probably a very long time.
Angry with himself, Beraht yanked free of Dieter’s hold – and nearly fell down the stairs, but a grab at the rough wall helped him keep his balance. “Having trouble, Beraht?”
“Shut up,” Beraht snapped. He didn’t bother to light a torch at the bottom, merely held the stone tightly and kept walking forward. That chill in his spine felt like cold fingers; he half expected cold lips and colder breath at the back of his neck. Just behind him he could feel Dieter – he really wished the man had not come. Whatever was about to happen, he had no doubt it would only provide the bastard with fodder.
At least he wouldn’t have to sleep with him again.
What normally felt like forever took only seconds, and the door to the Crystal Chamber loomed, just barely visible in the light of the torch beside it. Beraht continued on through the door and slammed it shut behind him.
He couldn’t lock it, so hopefully they all got the message.
How had he gotten into this mess?
Oh, yeah. He’d set out to kill the Scarlet. Every star-cursed problem since that damnable day could be laid at Dieter’s feet.
Beraht forced the thoughts from his mind. He’d get Dieter if it was the last thing he did – but right now he had something else to do.
It made him feel strange. The way Esta smiled at him. How Kalan and Matthias laughed and talked with him. A Duchess, a Duke, and a Prince. All people he thought he could almost get away with calling…friends. So too with Iah and Sol, for all that he and Sol would never speak outside the Brotherhood.
He refused to think about Dieter again. Bastard.
Here he was, in a room made of crystal with only a near-corpse for company. And he was supposed to save people. Some sort of perverse hero. Better, he supposed, than someone who killed men in their sleep.
Though…everyone was asleep. It was almost funny. Kalan would be amused if he thought of it. Amusing that after only a few weeks, he knew exactly how Kalan and all the rest would react.
He’d started out just saving himself. Now he supposed he was saving them. A strange feeling.
The tingling in his spine felt like claws, digging deep and raking up through his neck to his head. Beraht cursed and clutched at his forehead, holding the counter stone tight in his other hand. He barely noticed when he hit his knees, not really hearing his own cry of pain.
It was a deeper, harder cold than what had annoyed him outside. Like it was spreading from the inside out…Beraht realized he was shaking and pressed the stone against his chest to avoid dropping it. Sensing, somehow, that dropping it would be a bad thing to do.
The cold spread, and he began to shake harder, not even able to stay on his knees, collapsing to sit fully on the floor. His hand hit the crystal, and he went so cold it almost felt hot. Beraht choked on a cry of pain, and it came out like a thin hiss.
Don’t
Please
Don’t do it.
Please do it.
“Shut up,” Beraht snapped. “If you give me a headache, I’ll kill you twice. Or whatever.” He bit down hard on his lip, the copper-tang of blood in his mouth and the feel of it dribbling down his chin helping to restore some order to his mind.
The voices kept whispering, as thick and bitter-sweet as arcen sliding down his throat. So easy, he thought as his eyes slid shut, to just join them. Sink into the voices, into the calm of the crystal…be the arcen that gave the country magic…
He bit down hard on his lip again, and would have cursed except that it was hard to do when your mouth was full of blood. But the pain brought clarity that he desperately needed.
Perhaps he should have asked how to work the star cursed counter stone. Opposite was all he had to go on…Breaker…so maybe he should just think of breaking?
Help me…
“Shut up,” Beraht said again. “I’m not listening.” He pressed the hand already on the floor flat, wincing at the cold that lanced up his arm. No, it wasn’t cold. It was something worse. He just didn’t know what to call it.
Ignoring it as best he could, Beraht tried to think of what next to do. No ideas were coming.
In his other hand, the black counter stone felt hot. Too hot, next to the cold that was everywhere else. Hesitating, he gave a weak shrug and then lowered his other hand to the floor, touching the counter stone to the crystal.
And screamed.
He yanked it away again, curling up and hugging himself, burning hand close to his body.
Stars take them all! Every last one of them was going to get the same measure of pain at breakfast. Wasn’t there some other way?
Beraht admitted with an inward wince that there was not. It had hurt worse than even Tawn’s torment from the day before, but it had been at least close to the right thing to do. He glanced at Benji, as still as ever. Not so much as a finger had moved, but he could hear two voices in his head. Two versions of the same voice, one begging Beraht to join him, the other begging him to stop it. The former must be what had caused him to sleep walk. And the other…the real Benji?
He didn’t know. Obviously weaker than the voice trying to coax him into power. How there were two, he didn’t much care. He just wanted them both to shut up. Taking a deep breath, bracing himself, Beraht closed his eyes tight and sought for something – anything – that would help him endure the pain.
Curses flooded the room when his mind immediately dredged up thoughts of Dieter – the smug, smirking, arrogant, violent—
Beraht slammed his hands down, barely noticed the jarring pain in his left hand as the counter stone slammed into crystal. Nor did he notice when he started screaming, just that suddenly he was. He bit hard on his lip again, focusing on the pain and how everything was the fault of that damned bastard and he’d curse his name under every star in the sky if that’s what it took to break his damned—
Voices filled his head. Angry. Sad. Coaxing. Pleading. Screaming. Sobbing. Hundreds of thousands of voices, until his head ached to the point he wished it would just hurry up and burst already. His left hand burned with pain, his right had gone numb from the searing cold.
Don’t
Please
Join
Stop
Stop
Stop…
Beneath his frozen right hand, Beraht felt something shift. Crack. He saw blood leaking from under his palm. His left hand and now the arm felt like they were on fire; he wondered if they were bleeding too, but couldn’t take his eyes off the blood on the floor. More dripped from his ruined bottom lip. He’d have to start mangling his top lip next, if this continued.
Then something inside him seemed to snap, like a strong spell searing the arcen right out of hid body. Then he felt empty.
Then nothing.
He felt hot. Way too hot. Beraht struggled to figure out the source of the overwhelming heat and could only determine that he was moving. “Bastard,” he guessed, and fell back into the black, not hearing the laughter as he was carried out of the tunnel.
Beraht groaned and opened his eyes. Then closed them again and scrambled to pull the blankets back up. “Stars, how much did I drink last night?” He struggled to remember, and to recall who had let him drink that much so that he knew who to kill.
Then the night started coming back, in bits and pieces and then all at once and Beraht wished he’d simply had too much to drink. He debated between staying in bed and getting up. Staying in bed sounded wonderfully appealing, but he resisted and threw back the blankets, made himself sit up.
In his room. Not dead. Bastard asleep in a chair by the window. Something in there didn’t fit. Beraht closed his eyes, then opened them again and half-stumbled out of bed. His head felt like the worst possible mix between arcen withdrawal and no less than six jugs of wine. He’d only been that stupid once – his first time back in the city after surviving a season of war.
Never again, he’d vowed.
It was a damn shame that he was feeling the pain and hadn’t had any fun first. Someone would pay dearly.
He sat down hard at the table by the fireplace, fumbling with the glass of water sitting there. Dieter’s no doubt. Beraht gulped the water down, then managed to spill only a bit pouring more. He sipped the second glass, knowing from experience that he’d only heave it up if he drank too much too fast.
His head hit the table with a thump and he immediately regretted letting it drop. Someone was going to die. Hopefully him. Anything to make the pain stop. Holding his head in his left hand, he reached out with his right to grab the water glass – and let it go with a curse.
Stars his hand hurt. Beraht stared at it, frowning. A long, deep gash ran the width of it. It started to bleed again as he watched and he muttered a few more choice curses.
“Tits of the Winter Princess,” Dieter said. “Why couldn’t you sleep a little while longer?”
He loomed over the table and Beraht. Where the blazes had the man come from? Beraht glanced toward the chair where Dieter had been, half expecting to see him still there. No such luck. Which meant he’d actually have to deal with the man…who was currently bandaging his hand.
“Leave me alone.”
“Shut up,” Dieter said. “And hold still. If I have to hold you down, I will.”
Beraht made a face. “I’m in excruciating pain and you wake up and start threatening more pain. Typical. Go back to sleep; it’s too early in the morning to put up with you.”
“It’s late afternoon.”
“Still too early,” Beraht said, drawing his hand back as Dieter finished, examining it suspiciously. Unable to find anything wrong, except that he was wearing a bandage instead of using magic to fix the wound, Beraht used his left hand to grab the water glass. Which was empty, because he’d spilled it a moment ago. Biting back more curses, he reached for the pitcher and poured more.
Silence fell for several minutes. Finally the driving pain in his head faded to a dull, throbbing aggravation – not great, but better. Another day or two and he’d be back to normal. Hopefully. As normal as he could get, he supposed. “I’m still alive, so it either worked or failed miserably. I’m hoping the fact that I feel like I lost a drinking contest means I succeeded.”
Dieter laughed, the sound doing nothing to help his head. “Yes, Beraht. As soon as everyone calms down, you’ll be a hero I’m sure.”
Beraht rolled his eyes and drank more water. He stared at the empty glass, contemplating the positives and negatives of attempting food. Better not to try yet. Distraction then. He looked up. And up. Dieter needed to sit down. “What are you doing here?”
“Watching you,” Dieter said. “You kept thrashing around last night after I brought you up here. Kept tearing the bandages off your hand. Finally wore yourself out and fell asleep.” He scrubbed his face. “I wish you could have slept a little longer.”
“So go back to bed,” Beraht said irritably. “Believe me, I wish I’d stayed. Stars, my head hurts.” The dull throb had flared back into a grinding pain. “Stars take them all. I’m going back to bed and I’m not waking up until I’m either feeling better or finally dead. So by all means go find your own bed.”
“I’m under strict orders not to leave you alone.”
Beraht glared, then gave up and climbed into bed. “Fine, whatever. Grab your stupid sword and cuddle up with it. Just don’t wake me up.” Pulling up the blankets, he immediately fell back asleep.
When he woke again, the first thing he noticed was that he was no longer in crippling pain. It was at a level of a few days without arcen, which was bearable. The second thing he noticed was that he was hot. Beraht shoved his hair out of his face and glowered at Dieter’s back.
He climbed out of bed and helped himself to what remained of the water. Feeling marginally more alive, he crossed the room and yanked on the cord. Please let someone understand it meant food. Beraht collapsed into a chair at the table, staring unseeing at the mostly-dead fire.
All things considered, he was feeling remarkably empty. And not just his stomach. His entire body seemed to be missing something. Magic, he supposed. Or whatever had given Illussor their ability to use magic. Funny he’d never noticed it before. But that was part ignorance and mostly arcen.
Was there food coming? Beraht folded his arms on top of the table and used them to pillow his head, letting his eyes close, trying vainly to ignore the headache that was steadily getting worse.
The click of the door opening roused him from his doze, and he blinked a couple of times before he realized that Esta was standing at the table with a tray of food – plenty enough for two or three. And Dieter had woken. How had he not heard the man?
“Are you feeling any better?” Esta asked, looking concerned. So strange, to see worry plain on her face.
Beraht smiled. “I’m fine. Just a headache. Is everything…” He trailed off and accepted a plate gratefully, more interested in food than questions.
Esta handed a plate to Dieter, who accepted it with a nod, and then sat down. “Once you’re feeling better, Matthias would like to see everyone in his chambers. He thinks it would be best if we waited to talk until then.” She smiled, and there was a wealth of emotion in the simple expression. “But you did it.”
“Good,” Beraht said. “I would hate to be in this much pain for failing.” He went back to eating, digging eagerly into the meats and cheeses and small pastries. Esta laughed, but he barely noticed. Dieter’s comments he did notice, and paused long enough to shoot him a glare. “Let’s see how you feel after destroying magic.”
Dieter gave one of his taunting grins. “But you do it so well, and it’s the quietest I’ve ever seen you.”
“Shut up,” Beraht said, and went back to devouring the contents of his plate. “Do I have time to clean up?”
“Of course,” Esta said, and stood up. “Take your time. We’ll be in Matti’s office when you’re done. Do you know where that is?”
“I do,” Dieter said before Beraht could speak. “We’ll be there in an hour’s time.”
Esta nodded her head, shoulders dipping in a slight bow. Gathering the skirts of her dress, she bid them farewell and left.
“So why are you playing nursemaid?” Beraht asked, shoving his plate aside and standing up – slowly. The headache had begun to ease with food, but he didn’t doubt for a moment that it would take any opportunity to flare up again.
Dieter stood with him. “When we finally were able to get inside, you were more dead than alive. We had almost given up when you seemed to revive – Matthias feared a relapse, given how much pain you were obviously in.”
“How long have I been unconscious?”
“Three days.”
Beraht blinked. “Oh. And you decided the best way to make sure I didn’t die was to fall asleep?”
“I cannot stay awake for more than two days straight at a time,” Dieter said, face clouding. “And I would have known if something was wrong.”
“Sure.”
“Clearly you’re feeling better,” Dieter said. “Get clean. I’m sure everyone is tired of waiting on your headaches.” He turned around sharply and stalked from the room – Beraht half expected the door to slam, but it didn’t.
What had put him in such a snit? Bastard. A knock at the door and then servants were carrying in a bath and hot water. They looked as haggard as he felt. An hour later Beraht stepped into the hallway, smoothing down a dark brown coat and matching breeches. The throbbing in his head had receded to a dull ache.
He still wanted to go back to bed.
Dieter was waiting for him, leaning against the wall like a hulking shadow. Black. Did the man never wear anything with colors? Then again, he couldn’t really picture Dieter in the jeweled tones that were in favor. But really dark shades…Beraht shook his head, then immediately regretted it. “You always look like you’re going to a funeral,” he said in an effort to ignore his aching head.
“Indeed,” Dieter said. “Ready?”
“Yes, nursemaid,” Beraht replied, and set off without waiting for Dieter. But the man fell into step beside him easily, sword jangling at his hip. “Do you really need to wear that sword everywhere?”
Dieter grinned in that way that always set Beraht’s teeth on edge – because Dieter was about to be painfully, obviously right about something. “As it stands, I’m the only one in the palace that knows how to fight. So yes, I really do need to wear it.”
“Like you ever needed a sword to inflict damage,” Beraht muttered.
“It’s usually enough to discourage.”
Beraht rolled his eyes, but bit back pointing out that most people saw Dieter and ran long before they saw the sword. Which drew his attention to an oddity that had escaped him until then. “There’s no one running away from you.” He shook his head – then winced – and tried again when Dieter looked at him in annoyance. “I mean there’s no one around.”
“Everyone is recovering. Much like you. Matthias has ordered an entire week of quiet and rest. He sent out dozens of messengers to explain things to the outlying towns, but even they were barely able to function. Tomorrow morning he’s arranged to speak to the Ministers and a handful of nobility. He and the others were all resting until a day or so ago. Losing the magic was a bit more taxing than anyone anticipated. As you’ve seen, some of the servants are about – but few. Not even a third the normal number.” Dieter looked tired for a moment, but then his expression was as stony as ever. “Iah was not hit as hard; he and Sol have been managing things while I watched you.”
Beraht nodded, processing the information. An entire country laid low. It was a good thing spring was still a month or more away – if not for the winter, the country would be in a very dangerous position.
He felt a chill, recalling that the Brothers knew where they were…but there was no possible way they could know why. Nor was Kria a threat. So there was nothing to fear.
Except his headache, which did not seem to want to go away. Every time he thought it was beginning to ebb, the pain came rushing back. Stars take it. He stifled a yawn as they reached Matthias’s office. “I really am not in the mood for a long discussion that requires thinking.”
“Since when have you ever stopped to think about anything?” Dieter replied. He smirked when Beraht shot him a withering glare. “Even when Breaking, you just barreled on ahead. One would think you’d learn at some point.”
Beraht ignored him and shoved his way past when Dieter opened the door, immediately taking a chair as far from the sunlight streaming through the window as possible. Looking around the room, he noticed an exhaustion in Esta, curled up in a chair close to the desk, that he hadn’t seen before. The same weariness was shared by all the others, save Sol and Iah, who looked tired but not haggard. “So I guess what we really need to do is go back to bed.”
“You are probably correct,” Matthias said with a weak but sincere smile. “But before much longer, people will begin to stir. It’s amazing they’re not rioting already – in a way, it’s a good thing the Breaking temporarily incapacitated everyone.” He frowned. “Though I hope it did not prove too detrimental to those in the outer lying regions…”
Esta shook her head. “What’s done is done, Matti. Let’s just focus on moving forward.” Her eyes drooped, slid shut, then popped back open. “Everyone, more or less, seems to have survived. Which means the first and hardest stage is complete.
“I wouldn’t say that was the hardest part,” Kalan said, his perpetual humor absent. “Keeping that riot that Matthias mentioned from happening – that’ll be the hard part.”
“And how will they riot?” Dieter asked. “I would actually like to see it – a display of physical outrage rather than magical. It would give me an idea of where to begin training.” He ignored the looks the rest of the group gave him, but subsided into silence.
Beraht sighed. “So you’re planning to meet with your ministers and explain things?”
“Yes,” Matthias said slowly. “I’m not quite certain how that will go. This all seemed a lot easier in the planning. I wish I could have anticipated feeling so…”
“Dead,” Kalan offered. “Like waking up after a night of debauchery, only there’s no fun memories to go along with the headache.”
Beraht laughed. “I thought the same thing.”
“And just what have you two been doing that you know exactly what it feels like to wake up after a night of debauchery?” Esta asked, eyes flaring with her usual temper.
Kalan grinned, his humor not completely defeated by exhaustion after all. “Just from what I hear, of course.”
Beraht snorted, but said nothing. “So what exactly do we do now?”
Matthias shrugged. “Go on like normal. Those used to going magicless in the palace will adjust with the most ease. I’ve already sent men off to carry explanations; as people grow used to living without magic, I will send them out to instruct and help. The hardest part is up to Dieter.”
“As I said before – do not interfere in whatever I do, unless you have a very good reason.” Dieter’s eyes were hard; much like they’d been when Beraht had been his prisoner. “What I do will not be liked by anyone. But it will be necessary.”
Matthias sighed. “When I first asked you, I mentioned that I anticipated many a headache. And it is better to have you wreaking havoc for us rather than against us. I can’t promise Esta won’t tear you apart, but no one else will interfere unless they want to spend the night in stocks.” He grinned. “All right, I can’t swear Beraht won’t bother you either. But I can’t put him in the stocks.”
“It would be a wasted effort anyway,” Dieter replied.
Beraht ignored them both.
Chapter Twenty Two
“Get up,” Dieter said. He watched, unmoved, as the man on the ground before him slowly clambered to his feet – and dropped after making it halfway. “Get up or I’ll beat you.”
The man glared. “You’ll beat me anyway.”
“Wrong,” Dieter replied. He sheathed his sword. “So far you’ve only been losing. You’re plenty capable of pushing forward if you’d start thinking you can. Stand up and put some effort into it or I’ll show you the difference between losing and a beating. I don’t have time to waste on men who insist on being weak.”
Standing up, driven by anger, the man began to shout. His hair was pale blonde, nearly white, and his blue eyes were pale to the point they seemed fragile – except for the fury. He wore old pants and an older shirt, like every other man assembled in the yard Dieter had commandeered for training. A bruise smeared one cheek and there would be many more and a few cuts when he removed his clothes later that night. “Weak? I am not weak! But you cannot treat us like those brutes in your army.”
“You’re the same type and structure as any Krian. All you lack is skill.” Dieter stalked across the yard, hand on his sword but he didn’t draw it. “You have plenty of potential – you do quite well when you forget about magic or being offended by a few bruises.” He drew his sword, steel hissing against leather, and held the blade just shy of the man’s throat. “But your manner leaves much to be desired, as does your mindset. Pick up your sword or you’ll be dismissed from practice the rough way.”
“Do whatever you want, Krian,” the man spat. “We don’t have to take this.”
“Wrong,” Dieter said. His movements were fast, flawless as he sheathed his sword and then sent the man to the ground with a fist to his stomach. Almost but not quite hard enough to knock him unconscious. Dieter grabbed him by his shirtfront and hauled him back up. “You do have to take it. And you will. Like it or not, I’m in charge here.” Dieter let him drop and looked around at the men gathered around them. Every last man seemed to vibrate with anger or fear, perhaps both and more besides. “Hate me all you like. Ignore me if you want. No one is forcing you to come. But I won’t be held responsible when you’re cut down by pirates or Krians or Salharans. And if you come to learn,” Dieter looked at the man on the ground. “You’ll respect and obey me. You’re dismissed for the day, and if you act this way tomorrow you’ll be bedridden for a long time. Is that clear?”
The man made no reply, merely picked himself up and stalked out of the yard.
Dieter looked around the circle of gathered men. “Who’s next?” Then he realized their attention had shifted. Spinning around, Dieter stared furiously at the arrival. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“What?” Esta lifted a brow. “Women aren’t allowed?”
“Civilians aren’t allowed,” Dieter replied. “Unless you’re ready for practice, you are not allowed in the yard. If you want to watch, find a different location.” He ignored the murmurs and whispers filtering around the yard.
Esta laughed, then gave Dieter a short bow. “Yes, sir. I merely wanted to see how the men were faring and offer whatever encouragement I could. Even you, General, will concede they could use it.” Her expression dared him to countermand her.
Dieter bit back a laugh. He was amazed only that she didn’t already wear a crown. “Do not delay practice overlong, Duchess.”
“As you say, General.” Esta nodded to him and then wandered toward the crowd of men, speaking to them in low tones, drawing out smiles. Dieter let them be, sheathing his own sword and leaning against the wall with arms folded. If the men knew they had the support of Lady Esta, whom they more or less regarded as a queen-to-be, perhaps they would be more willing to cooperate. The Prince’s words had helped, but Esta would have far more an effect than Matthias.
“A fine sword,” Esta said, her voice pitched loud enough to reach all the assembled men. She spoke to a young man, roughly sixteen or so, who looked stunned that she would speak to him.
“Yes, Duchess.” The young man nodded slowly, still uncomfortable with his sword but pleased all the same by her compliment.
“Have you a girl waiting for you back home?” Esta asked, and bit back a grin as he began to talk eagerly about the girl he did in fact have. “She sounds lovely,” Esta said as he finally finished. “And her name is Klara, you said?”
The young man nodded, taking the ribbing of his friends good naturedly. “Yes, Duchess.”
“A good name. Is that what you will call your sword, then?”
Around her the men frowned. “My Lady?” One asked.
Esta laughed, and Dieter listened as she explained the Krian custom to them. He wondered where she’d heard it, and frowned as she winked at him on her way out. Dieter pushed off the wall to return to the center of the yard.
“Are we finished chatting?” he asked the men.
But they did look somewhat less morose, and some even looked up to a fight. That was certainly much better than giving up and slinking off to their rooms. Dieter motioned them back into place.
One man didn’t move; the younger man who had first drawn Esta’s attention. His chin lifted in challenge, and Dieter noticed several men hovered in anticipation of his reaction to whatever the man was about to say. “So what’s your sword named?”
Dieter paused. He should have anticipated that, given Esta’s attempt to make the men more comfortable with their weapons. “Bright,” he said. “My sword’s name is Bright. As you’ve energy enough to spare for asking questions, you can be the next up.”
The young man winced, but obediently drew his sword.
Steel rang against steel, followed rapidly by the sound of someone hitting the ground. Nobody noticed that Esta lingered just outside the yard, her eyes wide with surprise and locked on Dieter. A minute later she finally left, a frown marring her features.
Dieter laid his sword on the table and collapsed in a chair, enjoying the waves of heat from the fire that washed over him. Even with constant activity, his hands and face were frozen. And in an hour he’d be back in it.
What he wouldn’t give for trained soldiers right now. Even fresh Krian recruits would be useful – every last one of them knew the basics of combat before joining. Training men his own age in those very same basics was nothing less than aggravating, if only because doing so cost every last one of them a great deal of their pride – in their own heads.
Of course, everything would have been far easier if so many officers and no small number of foot soldiers had not quit outright. If they were in Kria, they would have been executed for such traitorous behavior. Matthias was perhaps wise in not doing so, but only because tensions were already so high.
Regardless, he’d make the lessons stick eventually. Patience was the key, and he had no where else to be. At least not until the snow melted, and then he would have to see about getting some respectable blacksmiths.
He barely noticed as food was brought in, nodding absently to the girl that scurried out after depositing her burden on the table. The food smelled wonderful; the spices lighter, more varied than what he was used to in Kria but good all the same. And they had finally figured out that he didn’t drink anything containing alcohol.
It made his stomach roil to even think about it. Dieter shoved the thoughts aside as idiotic and focused on what he had to do that afternoon. Mornings had been given over to those who showed the most promise – younger men who caught on quickly, older ones who seemed to pick up the new skills with ease. Still, he could have bested them all when he was thirteen.
Everything would be easier if he had trained soldiers to match them with.
But he didn’t, so that was the end of that. Dieter let his head fall to rest against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. Lunch for an hour, then back to the yard until dinner. It was unfortunate the days were still so short – with spring he could extend practice to the after-dinner hours. He laughed, thinking of the protests sure to arise. Just like his own men always had, while they waited for the snow to melt completely and signal the return to the Regenbogen.
Were his men dead yet? Probably not. Yet. Benno wouldn’t bother to dispose of the Scarlet until late Spring, when travel was easy. Was there any way to warn his men? Had anyone bothered to send a message about what had transpired?
Probably not, Dieter admitted bitterly. For daring to follow him, a thousand men were going to be put to death or carted off for the coliseum next winter. Because Benno knew it would upset him, wherever he was. Dieter clenched his right fist, wishing he had his sword and that it was shoved through Benno’s gut.
At least he did still have his sword. Dieter opened his eyes and stared at it, caught by the way the jewel in the hilt glowed in the firelight. Why he still had his sword, he did not know. He probably never would.
Then again, Beraht was nothing if not confusing. He doubted Beraht understood his own actions half the time. Certainly only an idiot would behave as he did – from shadow killing to saving his captor to nearly killing himself playing with foreign magic.
Dieter frowned, remembering despite himself the way Beraht had looked on the floor of the crystal chamber. Nearly as pale as his surroundings, normally brilliant eyes flat, dim. He really had been dead for a moment. How he had survived after all, no one really knew.
Whatever. Dieter directed his thoughts back to the problems at hand – problems which would not disappear for decades. When he could train soldiers who had never known magic.
It was strange to think he would be here that long. The fact that he was still alive and living in Illussor still carried a dreamlike quality to it.
Biting back a curse, Dieter once more tried to direct his thoughts back to the soldiers. What was wrong with him? If he could control nothing else, he could usually keep order over his own thoughts. Perhaps the task set to him was a trifle more demanding than he’d anticipated.
Dieter pinched the bridge of his nose, willing every last stray thought away. His head thumped against the back of the chair again, and he began ticking off his plans for the afternoon and how to deal with the more problematic of the soldiers…
Matthias knocked, then frowned when there was no response. He knocked again, then after a moment of hesitation pushed the door slowly open and stepped inside. His eyes flicked immediately to the window but Dieter wasn’t there.
A quick glance around the room revealed Dieter at the table beside the fire…Mathias looked. Looked twice.
Dieter was asleep. He looked dead, he held so still. Not a snort, a twitch, nothing. Matthias wasn’t certain, but he rather suspected Dieter neither slept during the day nor stayed asleep when someone walked into his room.
Which meant something must seriously be wrong. Without a sound, Matthias turned and left, pulling the door carefully shut behind him. He frowned at the man waiting for him. “Inform the soldiers that afternoon practice is cancelled; that Dieter has been called away to assist me. If anyone has further questions, tell them too bad.”
“Yes, Highness.” The man departed. Matthias remained standing in front of Dieter’s room, frowning in thought.
Three weeks since Matthias had forced his people to live without magic. The reports coming in were mixed, and there was no doubt in his mind he wouldn’t go down in history as one of the more popular kings. The ministers were doing their best to have him dragged out into the streets and hung.
Matthias had his doubts.
But in those three weeks, Dieter had been working diligently to teach his men how to fight in a brand new style. Those reports weren’t mixed – there was enough tension in the ranks he could cut it with a sword. And the swords were another problem; sufficient for practice, made quickly for that purpose, but Matthias had seen Dieter practice on his own a few times.
Dieter’s sword made it painfully clear that the swords used by his soldiers were cheap imitations.
Still. Dieter practiced before the sun was up, between breakfast and lunch and then until dinner. It was amazing he had only now succumbed to exhaustion. Knowing what he did of Dieter, the man would be furious with himself when he woke. Matthias’s frown only deepened as he slowly made his way through the halls back to his own offices.
Something would have to be done. Well, a great deal would have to be done. It was harder than even he had anticipated, suddenly doing without something he’d always had. Even if he had used magic as sparingly as possible since learning the reality of it, not using it and not having it were two different things. Painfully different.
He was getting every headache he’d anticipated and plenty more besides. Esta was tired doing what he could not, as were Kalan and Iah – who received grief both for his eyes and his lover.
Matthias rubbed his forehead as he sat down, and noticed the tray someone had set at the corner of his desk. He smiled faintly at the sight of his favorite foods and wine. Esta, he knew. The servants and nobility alike had lately been as wary of him as they were of his new General. It was a wonder he’d gotten even one to follow him when he’d gone to find the missing Dieter.
Problems and more problems. But they’d resolve themselves one way or the other.
At least he wouldn’t have to worry about sending men back to war. That announcement he was saving for the End of Winter Ball. It would do a lot to dispel the resentment running thick through the air, but in the meantime fear of war would drive his men to relearn how to fight.
He hoped.
Of course they wouldn’t be learning anything if he killed his general with work. Matthias drummed his fingers across his desk as he thought.
A knock at the door broke his thoughts, and then Kalan stepped into the room. His oldest friend looked tired. “How is he?”
“Your father,” Kalan said with a shrug, and perched on the edge of his desk. He snitched a piece of fruit from the tray. “He’s not half so weak or sick as he’s letting everyone think. His attitude is doing nothing but causing problems.”
Matti nodded, accepting unspoken the sentiment that it would have easier if the loss of magic had rendered his father too sick to do anything. He refused to think farther than that.
“So what did you steal Dieter away from training for? I thought he’d be here with you.”
“He’s sleeping,” Matthias replied.
Kalan paused with a bite of bread halfway to his mouth. He grinned. “He does that?”
“Not often enough,” Matthias said morosely. “I’m not a very good ruler, am I?”
“No, you’re not.” Kalan said levelly, then smiled. “You’re an excellent one. I’m sure when the Wolf wakes the only one he’ll be mad at is himself. And Beraht. Somehow I’m sure he’ll find a way to blame his nap on Beraht.”
Matthias’s lips twitched. “So what else have you heard?
“Snarl this, stupid that, burn them at the stake, so on and so forth. But there are a few, and their number is growing, who accept and even approve. Esta, of course, is largely responsible for that. Even the council won’t growl too much if she’s in earshot.” Kalan stole more food. “And showing them what’s left of the chamber and Benji’s body helped put them in their place, so a well-earned point to you. I think if we – Dieter – can whip the army into shape we’ll be well on our way toward avoiding that riot you were worried about.”
“Word from the villages?”
“Some were hit pretty hard. But it’s something we knew would happen. Others are doing well enough; it’s nothing that won’t heal over time if done properly. Make it a special day, throw in a festival, eventually all will be well.”
Matthias shook his head. “You’re such a politician, Kal. However did you turn out this way?”
“It’s fun, if right now a trifle gruesome. Besides,” he grinned and stole the last of the fruit. “There has to be at least one politician in your pocket. You’re not a respectable royal if you don’t play favorites somewhere.”
“I am glad you’re on my side, it’s true.” Matthias sighed and stood up.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t feel like sitting here. I’m certain there are things that I simply have to do. And Essie hasn’t yelled at me yet, today…”
Kalan laughed. “Then by all means, let us go get yelled at.”
Esta held lightly to Beraht’s arm, knowing how awkward he still felt about everything. People, when they saw him now, either nodded and smiled or faltered and looked away. No one was quite willing to snub him, not with his relationship to the crown, but many came close.
But Beraht wasn’t taking to it at all. Hero or hated; it seemed no one, himself included, could really decide which he should be. Well, the relevant persons considered him a hero. By the time of the End of Winter Ball, she was determined that everyone would. He deserved it; even if Beraht would be the first to say otherwise. “You should try smiling,” she scolded, gentle but firm. “Honestly, Dieter scowls enough for everyone.”
“I really hope you didn’t just compare me to him.”
Esta frowned. “Why do the two of you hate each other so much?”
“Because he’s a bastard,” Beraht snapped.
“I see,” Esta said patiently. “No one is every going to tell me, are they?”
Beraht shook her head. “It’s not an interesting story, and I’m sure Sol or Iah would say it’s best to leave it in the past.”
“Then why don’t you?” Esta asked.
“Because every time someone says my name,” Beraht said, “I am forced to remember everything all over again.” He pulled away. “If you will excuse me—“
“I’m sorry,” Esta said. “I didn’t mean to drive you away. I just hate seeing you so upset. If you don’t like your name…why not choose a different one?”
Beraht’s face clouded. “I will not go from one stigma to another. I don’t expect anyone but a Salharan to understand – but I will tell you this. Were I not a traitor, and returned home this very moment, I would be put to death for being so weak as to permit a Krian to give me a name.”
“I am sorry.” She hesitated, then pressed on with her more characteristic resolve. “But are you certain it’s such a bad name? It…” she frowned to herself in thought, not quite ready to give up what she’d learned that morning. “It seems to suit you.”
Beraht’s expression was bitter. “It’s a mockery; it has been from the start. Now if you’ll excuse me, I would like to retreat to rest.” Without another word he left her standing in the hallway.
Esta sighed and turned to travel another route…perhaps a walk would prove refreshing, or least too cold to think. She was truly growing tired of thinking.
Familiar laughter brought her head up. Kalan and Matti, who could probably find a reason to laugh even as they lay dying. It was a trait she both loved and hated. Esta lifted a brow as they drew close. “And just which unfortunate Minister are we laughing at this time?”
“Just us, Essie.” Matthias grinned. “Trying to predict the ways in which I’m going to be assassinated. Then it occurred to us that the ministers have been trying to kill us both with boredom for years.”
Esta glared at them both, then turned on her heel and stalked off. Kalan’s laughter chased after her, and after a moment they managed to catch up. Matthias frowned. “Aw, come on, Essie. There was a time you would have at least cracked a smile.”
“Don’t you think we have enough problems,” Esta said slowly, as if she thought them too stupid to understand her otherwise. “Without my having to listen to jokes about people trying to kill you? Especially in light of recent events? If the ministers think you’re children, it is probably because you act like children!” She jerked free of Matthias’s grip.
“Essie…” Matthias let her go, but it was with obvious reluctance. “What’s wrong with you? You know better than to take me seriously…what has you so upset?”
“Nothing,” Esta replied. “I’m just tired. I think I’m going to rest before dinner; Goddess knows those have become tense affairs of late. If I were you, I would step up the ball. If we wait longer than a couple of weeks, I fear the consequences. People are putting up a good front, but for every smile there are three nasty looks.” She sighed, feeling tired. “We need a more obvious hero than Beraht is proving to be – no one saw him do anything; they only felt the effects. And he is not someone used to dealing with people, not in this manner.” She looked at each of them in turn. “The Ball will distract people and improve the general mood.”
“But there is no real cause for a celebration, Essie.” Kalan looked just as unhappy. “If Dieter could at least bring the soldiers together, and with some degree of skill to display, that would be something. But as it is now – there is little to no morale. Nothing we do helps, either. A party now would just make things worse.”
Esta nodded. “I will see what can be done at dinner; but without some visible victory or accomplishment, the people will see only that something has been torn out of them.”
“I can’t pull something like that out of thin air,” Matthias said.
“I suppose not. I will see you both at dinner.” They watched her walk away, head and shoulders up as if she had not a care in the world.
But don't worry, all will be done in time. I shan't make anyone wait. Though I have no fsking clue what to post on Thursdays when this is done.
Chapter Twenty One
“So this is it?” Beraht said, looking at the orb Matthias had dropped into his hand before collapsing tiredly into a nearby chair. It was late – or early, depending on how you wanted to view it. No one was about, though throughout the night nearly everyone had been giving Beraht strange looks.
He had never wanted a dose of arcen so badly in his life. Anything to go back to being looked at normally – like a mere foreigner, instead of a very strange one. It was bad enough he almost wished for the days when no one looked at him at all. He barely suppressed a shudder.
Maybe not.
“It certainly doesn’t look like much,” Beraht said. It didn’t. He remembered the one Benji held – a clear orb of crystal. Like glass but thicker, denser. The one in his hands was a smoky black. Like someone had mixed ink into the crystal. And heavy. Beraht hefted it thoughtfully – he bet with a good throw he could dent even Dieter’s head. He glanced up.
“Don’t even think about,” Dieter said.
Beraht lifted a brow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He glanced at Matthias before he gave himself away. “So…what now?”
Matthias, Esta and Kalan exchanged a nervous glance. Matthias shrugged his shoulder, looking sheepish. “I…don’t really know. In theory you just go down there and…Break the chamber. All my research and no one bothered to say exactly how it was done. Perhaps because they never thought it would actually happen?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Beraht reconsidered whose head he should be throwing things at. “You want me to improvise?” He glared. “I wondered why I hadn’t been getting any lessons or explanations.”
“I’m glad you decided not to ask,” Kalan said shamelessly. “Because now it’s too late.”
Beraht shifted his glare. “I will throw this at your head.”
“You’d probably hit it too, but Esta will be the first to tell you my head is harder than rock.”
Esta’s glare froze the entire room. “I do not think now is the time to be making jokes. Especially bad ones. Your head isn’t as hard as rock, it’s simply as dense! Now be quiet until you can say something useful.”
“Yes, my Queen.” Kalan backed away as she looked at him again. “I mean Duchess.”
“This is no time for joking,” she repeated icily.
Kalan shrugged. “There’s always time for a joke.”
“Enough,” Matthias said wearily.
Beraht dropped the stone from hand to hand, back and forth. Ice cold and damp from the well it had been dropped in, it began to warm in his hands. Almost hot. He frowned at it, something cold crawling up his spine. Abruptly he stood up, nearly knocking his chair back. “Let’s get this over with. Whatever it is.” Without another word he stormed from the room, clutching the stone close to his chest.
At least it was quiet enough even the majority of the servants had gone to bed. The few still awake would be gossiping in the kitchens, waiting until some lord or lady rang for a midnight snack. Beraht strode through the halls and out into the garden.
It was freezing. Stars curse everyone and everything. At the first opportunity he was going to find somewhere to live that was never cold. Nothing was worth spending what felt like half the year freezing to death. Shivering, he all but ran through the garden, fingers shaking too hard to unlock the door. He dropped it, the ringing clang of metal on stone jarringly loud in the dead garden.
Movement, heat, and Beraht was shoved aside as Dieter opened the door and hauled him through it. He saw the others behind him, and fought the urge to snatch Dieter’s cape away. He hadn’t seen the damn thing since their arrival – and it looked far cleaner than it had in what was probably a very long time.
Angry with himself, Beraht yanked free of Dieter’s hold – and nearly fell down the stairs, but a grab at the rough wall helped him keep his balance. “Having trouble, Beraht?”
“Shut up,” Beraht snapped. He didn’t bother to light a torch at the bottom, merely held the stone tightly and kept walking forward. That chill in his spine felt like cold fingers; he half expected cold lips and colder breath at the back of his neck. Just behind him he could feel Dieter – he really wished the man had not come. Whatever was about to happen, he had no doubt it would only provide the bastard with fodder.
At least he wouldn’t have to sleep with him again.
What normally felt like forever took only seconds, and the door to the Crystal Chamber loomed, just barely visible in the light of the torch beside it. Beraht continued on through the door and slammed it shut behind him.
He couldn’t lock it, so hopefully they all got the message.
How had he gotten into this mess?
Oh, yeah. He’d set out to kill the Scarlet. Every star-cursed problem since that damnable day could be laid at Dieter’s feet.
Beraht forced the thoughts from his mind. He’d get Dieter if it was the last thing he did – but right now he had something else to do.
It made him feel strange. The way Esta smiled at him. How Kalan and Matthias laughed and talked with him. A Duchess, a Duke, and a Prince. All people he thought he could almost get away with calling…friends. So too with Iah and Sol, for all that he and Sol would never speak outside the Brotherhood.
He refused to think about Dieter again. Bastard.
Here he was, in a room made of crystal with only a near-corpse for company. And he was supposed to save people. Some sort of perverse hero. Better, he supposed, than someone who killed men in their sleep.
Though…everyone was asleep. It was almost funny. Kalan would be amused if he thought of it. Amusing that after only a few weeks, he knew exactly how Kalan and all the rest would react.
He’d started out just saving himself. Now he supposed he was saving them. A strange feeling.
The tingling in his spine felt like claws, digging deep and raking up through his neck to his head. Beraht cursed and clutched at his forehead, holding the counter stone tight in his other hand. He barely noticed when he hit his knees, not really hearing his own cry of pain.
It was a deeper, harder cold than what had annoyed him outside. Like it was spreading from the inside out…Beraht realized he was shaking and pressed the stone against his chest to avoid dropping it. Sensing, somehow, that dropping it would be a bad thing to do.
The cold spread, and he began to shake harder, not even able to stay on his knees, collapsing to sit fully on the floor. His hand hit the crystal, and he went so cold it almost felt hot. Beraht choked on a cry of pain, and it came out like a thin hiss.
Don’t
Please
Don’t do it.
Please do it.
“Shut up,” Beraht snapped. “If you give me a headache, I’ll kill you twice. Or whatever.” He bit down hard on his lip, the copper-tang of blood in his mouth and the feel of it dribbling down his chin helping to restore some order to his mind.
The voices kept whispering, as thick and bitter-sweet as arcen sliding down his throat. So easy, he thought as his eyes slid shut, to just join them. Sink into the voices, into the calm of the crystal…be the arcen that gave the country magic…
He bit down hard on his lip again, and would have cursed except that it was hard to do when your mouth was full of blood. But the pain brought clarity that he desperately needed.
Perhaps he should have asked how to work the star cursed counter stone. Opposite was all he had to go on…Breaker…so maybe he should just think of breaking?
Help me…
“Shut up,” Beraht said again. “I’m not listening.” He pressed the hand already on the floor flat, wincing at the cold that lanced up his arm. No, it wasn’t cold. It was something worse. He just didn’t know what to call it.
Ignoring it as best he could, Beraht tried to think of what next to do. No ideas were coming.
In his other hand, the black counter stone felt hot. Too hot, next to the cold that was everywhere else. Hesitating, he gave a weak shrug and then lowered his other hand to the floor, touching the counter stone to the crystal.
And screamed.
He yanked it away again, curling up and hugging himself, burning hand close to his body.
Stars take them all! Every last one of them was going to get the same measure of pain at breakfast. Wasn’t there some other way?
Beraht admitted with an inward wince that there was not. It had hurt worse than even Tawn’s torment from the day before, but it had been at least close to the right thing to do. He glanced at Benji, as still as ever. Not so much as a finger had moved, but he could hear two voices in his head. Two versions of the same voice, one begging Beraht to join him, the other begging him to stop it. The former must be what had caused him to sleep walk. And the other…the real Benji?
He didn’t know. Obviously weaker than the voice trying to coax him into power. How there were two, he didn’t much care. He just wanted them both to shut up. Taking a deep breath, bracing himself, Beraht closed his eyes tight and sought for something – anything – that would help him endure the pain.
Curses flooded the room when his mind immediately dredged up thoughts of Dieter – the smug, smirking, arrogant, violent—
Beraht slammed his hands down, barely noticed the jarring pain in his left hand as the counter stone slammed into crystal. Nor did he notice when he started screaming, just that suddenly he was. He bit hard on his lip again, focusing on the pain and how everything was the fault of that damned bastard and he’d curse his name under every star in the sky if that’s what it took to break his damned—
Voices filled his head. Angry. Sad. Coaxing. Pleading. Screaming. Sobbing. Hundreds of thousands of voices, until his head ached to the point he wished it would just hurry up and burst already. His left hand burned with pain, his right had gone numb from the searing cold.
Don’t
Please
Join
Stop
Stop
Stop…
Beneath his frozen right hand, Beraht felt something shift. Crack. He saw blood leaking from under his palm. His left hand and now the arm felt like they were on fire; he wondered if they were bleeding too, but couldn’t take his eyes off the blood on the floor. More dripped from his ruined bottom lip. He’d have to start mangling his top lip next, if this continued.
Then something inside him seemed to snap, like a strong spell searing the arcen right out of hid body. Then he felt empty.
Then nothing.
He felt hot. Way too hot. Beraht struggled to figure out the source of the overwhelming heat and could only determine that he was moving. “Bastard,” he guessed, and fell back into the black, not hearing the laughter as he was carried out of the tunnel.
Beraht groaned and opened his eyes. Then closed them again and scrambled to pull the blankets back up. “Stars, how much did I drink last night?” He struggled to remember, and to recall who had let him drink that much so that he knew who to kill.
Then the night started coming back, in bits and pieces and then all at once and Beraht wished he’d simply had too much to drink. He debated between staying in bed and getting up. Staying in bed sounded wonderfully appealing, but he resisted and threw back the blankets, made himself sit up.
In his room. Not dead. Bastard asleep in a chair by the window. Something in there didn’t fit. Beraht closed his eyes, then opened them again and half-stumbled out of bed. His head felt like the worst possible mix between arcen withdrawal and no less than six jugs of wine. He’d only been that stupid once – his first time back in the city after surviving a season of war.
Never again, he’d vowed.
It was a damn shame that he was feeling the pain and hadn’t had any fun first. Someone would pay dearly.
He sat down hard at the table by the fireplace, fumbling with the glass of water sitting there. Dieter’s no doubt. Beraht gulped the water down, then managed to spill only a bit pouring more. He sipped the second glass, knowing from experience that he’d only heave it up if he drank too much too fast.
His head hit the table with a thump and he immediately regretted letting it drop. Someone was going to die. Hopefully him. Anything to make the pain stop. Holding his head in his left hand, he reached out with his right to grab the water glass – and let it go with a curse.
Stars his hand hurt. Beraht stared at it, frowning. A long, deep gash ran the width of it. It started to bleed again as he watched and he muttered a few more choice curses.
“Tits of the Winter Princess,” Dieter said. “Why couldn’t you sleep a little while longer?”
He loomed over the table and Beraht. Where the blazes had the man come from? Beraht glanced toward the chair where Dieter had been, half expecting to see him still there. No such luck. Which meant he’d actually have to deal with the man…who was currently bandaging his hand.
“Leave me alone.”
“Shut up,” Dieter said. “And hold still. If I have to hold you down, I will.”
Beraht made a face. “I’m in excruciating pain and you wake up and start threatening more pain. Typical. Go back to sleep; it’s too early in the morning to put up with you.”
“It’s late afternoon.”
“Still too early,” Beraht said, drawing his hand back as Dieter finished, examining it suspiciously. Unable to find anything wrong, except that he was wearing a bandage instead of using magic to fix the wound, Beraht used his left hand to grab the water glass. Which was empty, because he’d spilled it a moment ago. Biting back more curses, he reached for the pitcher and poured more.
Silence fell for several minutes. Finally the driving pain in his head faded to a dull, throbbing aggravation – not great, but better. Another day or two and he’d be back to normal. Hopefully. As normal as he could get, he supposed. “I’m still alive, so it either worked or failed miserably. I’m hoping the fact that I feel like I lost a drinking contest means I succeeded.”
Dieter laughed, the sound doing nothing to help his head. “Yes, Beraht. As soon as everyone calms down, you’ll be a hero I’m sure.”
Beraht rolled his eyes and drank more water. He stared at the empty glass, contemplating the positives and negatives of attempting food. Better not to try yet. Distraction then. He looked up. And up. Dieter needed to sit down. “What are you doing here?”
“Watching you,” Dieter said. “You kept thrashing around last night after I brought you up here. Kept tearing the bandages off your hand. Finally wore yourself out and fell asleep.” He scrubbed his face. “I wish you could have slept a little longer.”
“So go back to bed,” Beraht said irritably. “Believe me, I wish I’d stayed. Stars, my head hurts.” The dull throb had flared back into a grinding pain. “Stars take them all. I’m going back to bed and I’m not waking up until I’m either feeling better or finally dead. So by all means go find your own bed.”
“I’m under strict orders not to leave you alone.”
Beraht glared, then gave up and climbed into bed. “Fine, whatever. Grab your stupid sword and cuddle up with it. Just don’t wake me up.” Pulling up the blankets, he immediately fell back asleep.
When he woke again, the first thing he noticed was that he was no longer in crippling pain. It was at a level of a few days without arcen, which was bearable. The second thing he noticed was that he was hot. Beraht shoved his hair out of his face and glowered at Dieter’s back.
He climbed out of bed and helped himself to what remained of the water. Feeling marginally more alive, he crossed the room and yanked on the cord. Please let someone understand it meant food. Beraht collapsed into a chair at the table, staring unseeing at the mostly-dead fire.
All things considered, he was feeling remarkably empty. And not just his stomach. His entire body seemed to be missing something. Magic, he supposed. Or whatever had given Illussor their ability to use magic. Funny he’d never noticed it before. But that was part ignorance and mostly arcen.
Was there food coming? Beraht folded his arms on top of the table and used them to pillow his head, letting his eyes close, trying vainly to ignore the headache that was steadily getting worse.
The click of the door opening roused him from his doze, and he blinked a couple of times before he realized that Esta was standing at the table with a tray of food – plenty enough for two or three. And Dieter had woken. How had he not heard the man?
“Are you feeling any better?” Esta asked, looking concerned. So strange, to see worry plain on her face.
Beraht smiled. “I’m fine. Just a headache. Is everything…” He trailed off and accepted a plate gratefully, more interested in food than questions.
Esta handed a plate to Dieter, who accepted it with a nod, and then sat down. “Once you’re feeling better, Matthias would like to see everyone in his chambers. He thinks it would be best if we waited to talk until then.” She smiled, and there was a wealth of emotion in the simple expression. “But you did it.”
“Good,” Beraht said. “I would hate to be in this much pain for failing.” He went back to eating, digging eagerly into the meats and cheeses and small pastries. Esta laughed, but he barely noticed. Dieter’s comments he did notice, and paused long enough to shoot him a glare. “Let’s see how you feel after destroying magic.”
Dieter gave one of his taunting grins. “But you do it so well, and it’s the quietest I’ve ever seen you.”
“Shut up,” Beraht said, and went back to devouring the contents of his plate. “Do I have time to clean up?”
“Of course,” Esta said, and stood up. “Take your time. We’ll be in Matti’s office when you’re done. Do you know where that is?”
“I do,” Dieter said before Beraht could speak. “We’ll be there in an hour’s time.”
Esta nodded her head, shoulders dipping in a slight bow. Gathering the skirts of her dress, she bid them farewell and left.
“So why are you playing nursemaid?” Beraht asked, shoving his plate aside and standing up – slowly. The headache had begun to ease with food, but he didn’t doubt for a moment that it would take any opportunity to flare up again.
Dieter stood with him. “When we finally were able to get inside, you were more dead than alive. We had almost given up when you seemed to revive – Matthias feared a relapse, given how much pain you were obviously in.”
“How long have I been unconscious?”
“Three days.”
Beraht blinked. “Oh. And you decided the best way to make sure I didn’t die was to fall asleep?”
“I cannot stay awake for more than two days straight at a time,” Dieter said, face clouding. “And I would have known if something was wrong.”
“Sure.”
“Clearly you’re feeling better,” Dieter said. “Get clean. I’m sure everyone is tired of waiting on your headaches.” He turned around sharply and stalked from the room – Beraht half expected the door to slam, but it didn’t.
What had put him in such a snit? Bastard. A knock at the door and then servants were carrying in a bath and hot water. They looked as haggard as he felt. An hour later Beraht stepped into the hallway, smoothing down a dark brown coat and matching breeches. The throbbing in his head had receded to a dull ache.
He still wanted to go back to bed.
Dieter was waiting for him, leaning against the wall like a hulking shadow. Black. Did the man never wear anything with colors? Then again, he couldn’t really picture Dieter in the jeweled tones that were in favor. But really dark shades…Beraht shook his head, then immediately regretted it. “You always look like you’re going to a funeral,” he said in an effort to ignore his aching head.
“Indeed,” Dieter said. “Ready?”
“Yes, nursemaid,” Beraht replied, and set off without waiting for Dieter. But the man fell into step beside him easily, sword jangling at his hip. “Do you really need to wear that sword everywhere?”
Dieter grinned in that way that always set Beraht’s teeth on edge – because Dieter was about to be painfully, obviously right about something. “As it stands, I’m the only one in the palace that knows how to fight. So yes, I really do need to wear it.”
“Like you ever needed a sword to inflict damage,” Beraht muttered.
“It’s usually enough to discourage.”
Beraht rolled his eyes, but bit back pointing out that most people saw Dieter and ran long before they saw the sword. Which drew his attention to an oddity that had escaped him until then. “There’s no one running away from you.” He shook his head – then winced – and tried again when Dieter looked at him in annoyance. “I mean there’s no one around.”
“Everyone is recovering. Much like you. Matthias has ordered an entire week of quiet and rest. He sent out dozens of messengers to explain things to the outlying towns, but even they were barely able to function. Tomorrow morning he’s arranged to speak to the Ministers and a handful of nobility. He and the others were all resting until a day or so ago. Losing the magic was a bit more taxing than anyone anticipated. As you’ve seen, some of the servants are about – but few. Not even a third the normal number.” Dieter looked tired for a moment, but then his expression was as stony as ever. “Iah was not hit as hard; he and Sol have been managing things while I watched you.”
Beraht nodded, processing the information. An entire country laid low. It was a good thing spring was still a month or more away – if not for the winter, the country would be in a very dangerous position.
He felt a chill, recalling that the Brothers knew where they were…but there was no possible way they could know why. Nor was Kria a threat. So there was nothing to fear.
Except his headache, which did not seem to want to go away. Every time he thought it was beginning to ebb, the pain came rushing back. Stars take it. He stifled a yawn as they reached Matthias’s office. “I really am not in the mood for a long discussion that requires thinking.”
“Since when have you ever stopped to think about anything?” Dieter replied. He smirked when Beraht shot him a withering glare. “Even when Breaking, you just barreled on ahead. One would think you’d learn at some point.”
Beraht ignored him and shoved his way past when Dieter opened the door, immediately taking a chair as far from the sunlight streaming through the window as possible. Looking around the room, he noticed an exhaustion in Esta, curled up in a chair close to the desk, that he hadn’t seen before. The same weariness was shared by all the others, save Sol and Iah, who looked tired but not haggard. “So I guess what we really need to do is go back to bed.”
“You are probably correct,” Matthias said with a weak but sincere smile. “But before much longer, people will begin to stir. It’s amazing they’re not rioting already – in a way, it’s a good thing the Breaking temporarily incapacitated everyone.” He frowned. “Though I hope it did not prove too detrimental to those in the outer lying regions…”
Esta shook her head. “What’s done is done, Matti. Let’s just focus on moving forward.” Her eyes drooped, slid shut, then popped back open. “Everyone, more or less, seems to have survived. Which means the first and hardest stage is complete.
“I wouldn’t say that was the hardest part,” Kalan said, his perpetual humor absent. “Keeping that riot that Matthias mentioned from happening – that’ll be the hard part.”
“And how will they riot?” Dieter asked. “I would actually like to see it – a display of physical outrage rather than magical. It would give me an idea of where to begin training.” He ignored the looks the rest of the group gave him, but subsided into silence.
Beraht sighed. “So you’re planning to meet with your ministers and explain things?”
“Yes,” Matthias said slowly. “I’m not quite certain how that will go. This all seemed a lot easier in the planning. I wish I could have anticipated feeling so…”
“Dead,” Kalan offered. “Like waking up after a night of debauchery, only there’s no fun memories to go along with the headache.”
Beraht laughed. “I thought the same thing.”
“And just what have you two been doing that you know exactly what it feels like to wake up after a night of debauchery?” Esta asked, eyes flaring with her usual temper.
Kalan grinned, his humor not completely defeated by exhaustion after all. “Just from what I hear, of course.”
Beraht snorted, but said nothing. “So what exactly do we do now?”
Matthias shrugged. “Go on like normal. Those used to going magicless in the palace will adjust with the most ease. I’ve already sent men off to carry explanations; as people grow used to living without magic, I will send them out to instruct and help. The hardest part is up to Dieter.”
“As I said before – do not interfere in whatever I do, unless you have a very good reason.” Dieter’s eyes were hard; much like they’d been when Beraht had been his prisoner. “What I do will not be liked by anyone. But it will be necessary.”
Matthias sighed. “When I first asked you, I mentioned that I anticipated many a headache. And it is better to have you wreaking havoc for us rather than against us. I can’t promise Esta won’t tear you apart, but no one else will interfere unless they want to spend the night in stocks.” He grinned. “All right, I can’t swear Beraht won’t bother you either. But I can’t put him in the stocks.”
“It would be a wasted effort anyway,” Dieter replied.
Beraht ignored them both.
Chapter Twenty Two
“Get up,” Dieter said. He watched, unmoved, as the man on the ground before him slowly clambered to his feet – and dropped after making it halfway. “Get up or I’ll beat you.”
The man glared. “You’ll beat me anyway.”
“Wrong,” Dieter replied. He sheathed his sword. “So far you’ve only been losing. You’re plenty capable of pushing forward if you’d start thinking you can. Stand up and put some effort into it or I’ll show you the difference between losing and a beating. I don’t have time to waste on men who insist on being weak.”
Standing up, driven by anger, the man began to shout. His hair was pale blonde, nearly white, and his blue eyes were pale to the point they seemed fragile – except for the fury. He wore old pants and an older shirt, like every other man assembled in the yard Dieter had commandeered for training. A bruise smeared one cheek and there would be many more and a few cuts when he removed his clothes later that night. “Weak? I am not weak! But you cannot treat us like those brutes in your army.”
“You’re the same type and structure as any Krian. All you lack is skill.” Dieter stalked across the yard, hand on his sword but he didn’t draw it. “You have plenty of potential – you do quite well when you forget about magic or being offended by a few bruises.” He drew his sword, steel hissing against leather, and held the blade just shy of the man’s throat. “But your manner leaves much to be desired, as does your mindset. Pick up your sword or you’ll be dismissed from practice the rough way.”
“Do whatever you want, Krian,” the man spat. “We don’t have to take this.”
“Wrong,” Dieter said. His movements were fast, flawless as he sheathed his sword and then sent the man to the ground with a fist to his stomach. Almost but not quite hard enough to knock him unconscious. Dieter grabbed him by his shirtfront and hauled him back up. “You do have to take it. And you will. Like it or not, I’m in charge here.” Dieter let him drop and looked around at the men gathered around them. Every last man seemed to vibrate with anger or fear, perhaps both and more besides. “Hate me all you like. Ignore me if you want. No one is forcing you to come. But I won’t be held responsible when you’re cut down by pirates or Krians or Salharans. And if you come to learn,” Dieter looked at the man on the ground. “You’ll respect and obey me. You’re dismissed for the day, and if you act this way tomorrow you’ll be bedridden for a long time. Is that clear?”
The man made no reply, merely picked himself up and stalked out of the yard.
Dieter looked around the circle of gathered men. “Who’s next?” Then he realized their attention had shifted. Spinning around, Dieter stared furiously at the arrival. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“What?” Esta lifted a brow. “Women aren’t allowed?”
“Civilians aren’t allowed,” Dieter replied. “Unless you’re ready for practice, you are not allowed in the yard. If you want to watch, find a different location.” He ignored the murmurs and whispers filtering around the yard.
Esta laughed, then gave Dieter a short bow. “Yes, sir. I merely wanted to see how the men were faring and offer whatever encouragement I could. Even you, General, will concede they could use it.” Her expression dared him to countermand her.
Dieter bit back a laugh. He was amazed only that she didn’t already wear a crown. “Do not delay practice overlong, Duchess.”
“As you say, General.” Esta nodded to him and then wandered toward the crowd of men, speaking to them in low tones, drawing out smiles. Dieter let them be, sheathing his own sword and leaning against the wall with arms folded. If the men knew they had the support of Lady Esta, whom they more or less regarded as a queen-to-be, perhaps they would be more willing to cooperate. The Prince’s words had helped, but Esta would have far more an effect than Matthias.
“A fine sword,” Esta said, her voice pitched loud enough to reach all the assembled men. She spoke to a young man, roughly sixteen or so, who looked stunned that she would speak to him.
“Yes, Duchess.” The young man nodded slowly, still uncomfortable with his sword but pleased all the same by her compliment.
“Have you a girl waiting for you back home?” Esta asked, and bit back a grin as he began to talk eagerly about the girl he did in fact have. “She sounds lovely,” Esta said as he finally finished. “And her name is Klara, you said?”
The young man nodded, taking the ribbing of his friends good naturedly. “Yes, Duchess.”
“A good name. Is that what you will call your sword, then?”
Around her the men frowned. “My Lady?” One asked.
Esta laughed, and Dieter listened as she explained the Krian custom to them. He wondered where she’d heard it, and frowned as she winked at him on her way out. Dieter pushed off the wall to return to the center of the yard.
“Are we finished chatting?” he asked the men.
But they did look somewhat less morose, and some even looked up to a fight. That was certainly much better than giving up and slinking off to their rooms. Dieter motioned them back into place.
One man didn’t move; the younger man who had first drawn Esta’s attention. His chin lifted in challenge, and Dieter noticed several men hovered in anticipation of his reaction to whatever the man was about to say. “So what’s your sword named?”
Dieter paused. He should have anticipated that, given Esta’s attempt to make the men more comfortable with their weapons. “Bright,” he said. “My sword’s name is Bright. As you’ve energy enough to spare for asking questions, you can be the next up.”
The young man winced, but obediently drew his sword.
Steel rang against steel, followed rapidly by the sound of someone hitting the ground. Nobody noticed that Esta lingered just outside the yard, her eyes wide with surprise and locked on Dieter. A minute later she finally left, a frown marring her features.
Dieter laid his sword on the table and collapsed in a chair, enjoying the waves of heat from the fire that washed over him. Even with constant activity, his hands and face were frozen. And in an hour he’d be back in it.
What he wouldn’t give for trained soldiers right now. Even fresh Krian recruits would be useful – every last one of them knew the basics of combat before joining. Training men his own age in those very same basics was nothing less than aggravating, if only because doing so cost every last one of them a great deal of their pride – in their own heads.
Of course, everything would have been far easier if so many officers and no small number of foot soldiers had not quit outright. If they were in Kria, they would have been executed for such traitorous behavior. Matthias was perhaps wise in not doing so, but only because tensions were already so high.
Regardless, he’d make the lessons stick eventually. Patience was the key, and he had no where else to be. At least not until the snow melted, and then he would have to see about getting some respectable blacksmiths.
He barely noticed as food was brought in, nodding absently to the girl that scurried out after depositing her burden on the table. The food smelled wonderful; the spices lighter, more varied than what he was used to in Kria but good all the same. And they had finally figured out that he didn’t drink anything containing alcohol.
It made his stomach roil to even think about it. Dieter shoved the thoughts aside as idiotic and focused on what he had to do that afternoon. Mornings had been given over to those who showed the most promise – younger men who caught on quickly, older ones who seemed to pick up the new skills with ease. Still, he could have bested them all when he was thirteen.
Everything would be easier if he had trained soldiers to match them with.
But he didn’t, so that was the end of that. Dieter let his head fall to rest against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. Lunch for an hour, then back to the yard until dinner. It was unfortunate the days were still so short – with spring he could extend practice to the after-dinner hours. He laughed, thinking of the protests sure to arise. Just like his own men always had, while they waited for the snow to melt completely and signal the return to the Regenbogen.
Were his men dead yet? Probably not. Yet. Benno wouldn’t bother to dispose of the Scarlet until late Spring, when travel was easy. Was there any way to warn his men? Had anyone bothered to send a message about what had transpired?
Probably not, Dieter admitted bitterly. For daring to follow him, a thousand men were going to be put to death or carted off for the coliseum next winter. Because Benno knew it would upset him, wherever he was. Dieter clenched his right fist, wishing he had his sword and that it was shoved through Benno’s gut.
At least he did still have his sword. Dieter opened his eyes and stared at it, caught by the way the jewel in the hilt glowed in the firelight. Why he still had his sword, he did not know. He probably never would.
Then again, Beraht was nothing if not confusing. He doubted Beraht understood his own actions half the time. Certainly only an idiot would behave as he did – from shadow killing to saving his captor to nearly killing himself playing with foreign magic.
Dieter frowned, remembering despite himself the way Beraht had looked on the floor of the crystal chamber. Nearly as pale as his surroundings, normally brilliant eyes flat, dim. He really had been dead for a moment. How he had survived after all, no one really knew.
Whatever. Dieter directed his thoughts back to the problems at hand – problems which would not disappear for decades. When he could train soldiers who had never known magic.
It was strange to think he would be here that long. The fact that he was still alive and living in Illussor still carried a dreamlike quality to it.
Biting back a curse, Dieter once more tried to direct his thoughts back to the soldiers. What was wrong with him? If he could control nothing else, he could usually keep order over his own thoughts. Perhaps the task set to him was a trifle more demanding than he’d anticipated.
Dieter pinched the bridge of his nose, willing every last stray thought away. His head thumped against the back of the chair again, and he began ticking off his plans for the afternoon and how to deal with the more problematic of the soldiers…
Matthias knocked, then frowned when there was no response. He knocked again, then after a moment of hesitation pushed the door slowly open and stepped inside. His eyes flicked immediately to the window but Dieter wasn’t there.
A quick glance around the room revealed Dieter at the table beside the fire…Mathias looked. Looked twice.
Dieter was asleep. He looked dead, he held so still. Not a snort, a twitch, nothing. Matthias wasn’t certain, but he rather suspected Dieter neither slept during the day nor stayed asleep when someone walked into his room.
Which meant something must seriously be wrong. Without a sound, Matthias turned and left, pulling the door carefully shut behind him. He frowned at the man waiting for him. “Inform the soldiers that afternoon practice is cancelled; that Dieter has been called away to assist me. If anyone has further questions, tell them too bad.”
“Yes, Highness.” The man departed. Matthias remained standing in front of Dieter’s room, frowning in thought.
Three weeks since Matthias had forced his people to live without magic. The reports coming in were mixed, and there was no doubt in his mind he wouldn’t go down in history as one of the more popular kings. The ministers were doing their best to have him dragged out into the streets and hung.
Matthias had his doubts.
But in those three weeks, Dieter had been working diligently to teach his men how to fight in a brand new style. Those reports weren’t mixed – there was enough tension in the ranks he could cut it with a sword. And the swords were another problem; sufficient for practice, made quickly for that purpose, but Matthias had seen Dieter practice on his own a few times.
Dieter’s sword made it painfully clear that the swords used by his soldiers were cheap imitations.
Still. Dieter practiced before the sun was up, between breakfast and lunch and then until dinner. It was amazing he had only now succumbed to exhaustion. Knowing what he did of Dieter, the man would be furious with himself when he woke. Matthias’s frown only deepened as he slowly made his way through the halls back to his own offices.
Something would have to be done. Well, a great deal would have to be done. It was harder than even he had anticipated, suddenly doing without something he’d always had. Even if he had used magic as sparingly as possible since learning the reality of it, not using it and not having it were two different things. Painfully different.
He was getting every headache he’d anticipated and plenty more besides. Esta was tired doing what he could not, as were Kalan and Iah – who received grief both for his eyes and his lover.
Matthias rubbed his forehead as he sat down, and noticed the tray someone had set at the corner of his desk. He smiled faintly at the sight of his favorite foods and wine. Esta, he knew. The servants and nobility alike had lately been as wary of him as they were of his new General. It was a wonder he’d gotten even one to follow him when he’d gone to find the missing Dieter.
Problems and more problems. But they’d resolve themselves one way or the other.
At least he wouldn’t have to worry about sending men back to war. That announcement he was saving for the End of Winter Ball. It would do a lot to dispel the resentment running thick through the air, but in the meantime fear of war would drive his men to relearn how to fight.
He hoped.
Of course they wouldn’t be learning anything if he killed his general with work. Matthias drummed his fingers across his desk as he thought.
A knock at the door broke his thoughts, and then Kalan stepped into the room. His oldest friend looked tired. “How is he?”
“Your father,” Kalan said with a shrug, and perched on the edge of his desk. He snitched a piece of fruit from the tray. “He’s not half so weak or sick as he’s letting everyone think. His attitude is doing nothing but causing problems.”
Matti nodded, accepting unspoken the sentiment that it would have easier if the loss of magic had rendered his father too sick to do anything. He refused to think farther than that.
“So what did you steal Dieter away from training for? I thought he’d be here with you.”
“He’s sleeping,” Matthias replied.
Kalan paused with a bite of bread halfway to his mouth. He grinned. “He does that?”
“Not often enough,” Matthias said morosely. “I’m not a very good ruler, am I?”
“No, you’re not.” Kalan said levelly, then smiled. “You’re an excellent one. I’m sure when the Wolf wakes the only one he’ll be mad at is himself. And Beraht. Somehow I’m sure he’ll find a way to blame his nap on Beraht.”
Matthias’s lips twitched. “So what else have you heard?
“Snarl this, stupid that, burn them at the stake, so on and so forth. But there are a few, and their number is growing, who accept and even approve. Esta, of course, is largely responsible for that. Even the council won’t growl too much if she’s in earshot.” Kalan stole more food. “And showing them what’s left of the chamber and Benji’s body helped put them in their place, so a well-earned point to you. I think if we – Dieter – can whip the army into shape we’ll be well on our way toward avoiding that riot you were worried about.”
“Word from the villages?”
“Some were hit pretty hard. But it’s something we knew would happen. Others are doing well enough; it’s nothing that won’t heal over time if done properly. Make it a special day, throw in a festival, eventually all will be well.”
Matthias shook his head. “You’re such a politician, Kal. However did you turn out this way?”
“It’s fun, if right now a trifle gruesome. Besides,” he grinned and stole the last of the fruit. “There has to be at least one politician in your pocket. You’re not a respectable royal if you don’t play favorites somewhere.”
“I am glad you’re on my side, it’s true.” Matthias sighed and stood up.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t feel like sitting here. I’m certain there are things that I simply have to do. And Essie hasn’t yelled at me yet, today…”
Kalan laughed. “Then by all means, let us go get yelled at.”
Esta held lightly to Beraht’s arm, knowing how awkward he still felt about everything. People, when they saw him now, either nodded and smiled or faltered and looked away. No one was quite willing to snub him, not with his relationship to the crown, but many came close.
But Beraht wasn’t taking to it at all. Hero or hated; it seemed no one, himself included, could really decide which he should be. Well, the relevant persons considered him a hero. By the time of the End of Winter Ball, she was determined that everyone would. He deserved it; even if Beraht would be the first to say otherwise. “You should try smiling,” she scolded, gentle but firm. “Honestly, Dieter scowls enough for everyone.”
“I really hope you didn’t just compare me to him.”
Esta frowned. “Why do the two of you hate each other so much?”
“Because he’s a bastard,” Beraht snapped.
“I see,” Esta said patiently. “No one is every going to tell me, are they?”
Beraht shook her head. “It’s not an interesting story, and I’m sure Sol or Iah would say it’s best to leave it in the past.”
“Then why don’t you?” Esta asked.
“Because every time someone says my name,” Beraht said, “I am forced to remember everything all over again.” He pulled away. “If you will excuse me—“
“I’m sorry,” Esta said. “I didn’t mean to drive you away. I just hate seeing you so upset. If you don’t like your name…why not choose a different one?”
Beraht’s face clouded. “I will not go from one stigma to another. I don’t expect anyone but a Salharan to understand – but I will tell you this. Were I not a traitor, and returned home this very moment, I would be put to death for being so weak as to permit a Krian to give me a name.”
“I am sorry.” She hesitated, then pressed on with her more characteristic resolve. “But are you certain it’s such a bad name? It…” she frowned to herself in thought, not quite ready to give up what she’d learned that morning. “It seems to suit you.”
Beraht’s expression was bitter. “It’s a mockery; it has been from the start. Now if you’ll excuse me, I would like to retreat to rest.” Without another word he left her standing in the hallway.
Esta sighed and turned to travel another route…perhaps a walk would prove refreshing, or least too cold to think. She was truly growing tired of thinking.
Familiar laughter brought her head up. Kalan and Matti, who could probably find a reason to laugh even as they lay dying. It was a trait she both loved and hated. Esta lifted a brow as they drew close. “And just which unfortunate Minister are we laughing at this time?”
“Just us, Essie.” Matthias grinned. “Trying to predict the ways in which I’m going to be assassinated. Then it occurred to us that the ministers have been trying to kill us both with boredom for years.”
Esta glared at them both, then turned on her heel and stalked off. Kalan’s laughter chased after her, and after a moment they managed to catch up. Matthias frowned. “Aw, come on, Essie. There was a time you would have at least cracked a smile.”
“Don’t you think we have enough problems,” Esta said slowly, as if she thought them too stupid to understand her otherwise. “Without my having to listen to jokes about people trying to kill you? Especially in light of recent events? If the ministers think you’re children, it is probably because you act like children!” She jerked free of Matthias’s grip.
“Essie…” Matthias let her go, but it was with obvious reluctance. “What’s wrong with you? You know better than to take me seriously…what has you so upset?”
“Nothing,” Esta replied. “I’m just tired. I think I’m going to rest before dinner; Goddess knows those have become tense affairs of late. If I were you, I would step up the ball. If we wait longer than a couple of weeks, I fear the consequences. People are putting up a good front, but for every smile there are three nasty looks.” She sighed, feeling tired. “We need a more obvious hero than Beraht is proving to be – no one saw him do anything; they only felt the effects. And he is not someone used to dealing with people, not in this manner.” She looked at each of them in turn. “The Ball will distract people and improve the general mood.”
“But there is no real cause for a celebration, Essie.” Kalan looked just as unhappy. “If Dieter could at least bring the soldiers together, and with some degree of skill to display, that would be something. But as it is now – there is little to no morale. Nothing we do helps, either. A party now would just make things worse.”
Esta nodded. “I will see what can be done at dinner; but without some visible victory or accomplishment, the people will see only that something has been torn out of them.”
“I can’t pull something like that out of thin air,” Matthias said.
“I suppose not. I will see you both at dinner.” They watched her walk away, head and shoulders up as if she had not a care in the world.
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Date: 2007-03-11 12:16 am (UTC)LJ account not required! It's the one reason I will never f'lock any of my stories.
Writing them being this stubborn and stupid was the hardest part of the story. They do get together though, and I think by the end there is genuine (albeit unique) affection.
<<333 Meant does some to be rather popular, I'm surprised.