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Monarch - Whitefall XVIII
🕑 Added 2023-01-14 02:27:41 +0000 UTCI made it.
Over halfway there. There was a part of me that still couldn’t believe this was actually happening, that I’d survived. That the castle—and everyone in it was alive and well.
I actually made it.
My surroundings were a blur. The nobles’s voices were a low buzz. Probably gossiping amongst themselves about how I lacked decorum. Yet they were the furthest thing from my mind.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her. What if she’s different? What if she’s angry? Anything could happen. What if the stress of my absence aggravated her illness, and it’s ahead of schedule, what if what if what if—
I ignored the voice in my head and crested the stairs two at a time, heart racing, throat tight. Gave Annette a small wave and nodded to Sera beside her. Bowed to my father. Held it for the bare minimum of what was proper.
“My, how you’ve grown.”
Her voice was music. Radiant, lively notes of a melody I’d so desperately wished to hear again. Even if it was only once, even if it was faint and distant, carried to me by an errant wind.
It thrust a knife straight through me.
“I’m sorry, mother.” The words tore out.
“Sure, she gets an apology right out the gate,” King Gil muttered.
I’m sorry I threw away everything you taught out of anger and bitterness. So consumed by what I lost I couldn’t bring myself to follow your guidance. I’m sorry that I stood by, idle, while you wasted to nothing. I’m sorry—”
“Will you not look at me, child?”
I straightened from my bow and looked.
Once, long ago, I wondered if my memory of her warped. Was subtly altered by the laments of bards and memorials of crafters, wrinkles smoothed into something inauthentic by the waves of time and lapses of my sentimentality. That perhaps, the mother I remembered was a construction of grief and nostalgia, while the reality was something vastly different.
Yet, there she was.
Exactly as I remembered.
A platinum crown crested her forehead, framing long cascades of golden hair, luminescent and full, rather than the thin dull yellow that plagued her final year. High-Steel jeweled rings decorated her fingers. Her back was straight and relaxed, free of the hunch from when she lost the strength to raise her own head. She still smiled with her eyes, soft crow’s feet crinkling gently, framing vibrant sapphire.
“There you are.”
“Here I am.” I murmured. I bowed, then took her proffered hand and pressed my lips to her knuckles, the scent of her rose-accented perfume stirring up countless memories.
“Something’s terribly wrong, my love.” Queen Elaria glanced at the King in amusement. “I think our son might be more scared of me than you.”
King Gil gave me a sidelong glance. “You might be right. He hasn’t even tried to punch you in the face yet.”
My mother laughed. It was a merry sound, like tinkling bells. When neither of us followed, she glanced between us. Her lips quirked. “Is that so? You struck your father?”
I coughed. “Pretty sure he—uh—kind of wanted me to.”
Queen Elaria looked to the King. “Did you?”
King Gil planted his chin on his fist, his expression stormy. “I wanted him to show a spine, Elaria. He chose the method.”
My mother looked me over, reevaluating. It was the same all-seeing gaze that had a way of noticing even the smallest detail, and why I’d rarely attempted to lie to her. Her eyes paused on my arms, my chest, before returning to my face. “You are far from the skinny boy you once were. I thought you were learning magic, not training as a soldier.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “The Infernals believe physical strength and magical power go hand in hand. I’ve found this to be true. Not that strength amplifies magic power exactly, just that frailness acts as a limiting factor. Actually, if you’d like a demonstration—”
My mother stood to her feet carefully, a nearby attendant bracing her arm.
Before I said more or even processed what was happening, she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close. I held her back.
“Let go,” She whispered.
“Let… what go?” I asked.
“The weight you carry.”
My chest tightened as the words burned through me with the heat of a dying star.
“… I’m not sure I can.”
“Not forever. Not even for all that long. You can have it back when we part. All the worries and responsibilities you’ve taken upon yourself, when no one asked you to do so. The pain you hold. The one who haunts you. You’re home. No one will hurt you, so long as you’re in my domain. Just… let go.”
I choked. Slowly reached out and held her back.
And somehow, finally allowed myself to believe it. That the long-held nightmare of returning to a smoldering ruin was nothing more than that: a nightmare. I had no way of knowing what would happen. Where my father intended to take our “war” from here, or when, exactly, Thoth would surface.
But for a small, moment, I let it all fall away.
We parted, and I felt uneven on my feet. “If you’re not careful, mother, I’ll start weeping in front of the court.”
Her eyes crinkled kindly.
“May the gods spare us.” My father sighed.
I took my place beside Sera, as the Arch-Bishop called my companions forward by name and honored them one by one. Tangible irritation poured from her in waves, and she shifted away from me ever so slightly.
Why?
Her dislike of me in our previous life was at least understandable. I was heir to the throne despite her age and magic, the foundation of our tensions, but we also rubbed against each other like shards of glass. We both shared equal blame for that. She hated me first, and I was a vindictive little shit who gave as good as a got. Sometimes more. But unlike our previous life, I’d done nothing to her other than…
Well. Existing, I guess.
“Sister.”
“Brother.” Sera leaned over as if to impart a secret. A tiny spark of electricity jumped from her hand to my arm, shocking me. My pain tolerance had to be approaching inhuman levels and I still nearly startled. She’d put a lot of mana into it.
How nostalgic.
“Why’d you bother coming back?” Sera murmured.
I reached out to the tiny draft of air circulating through the hall, and infused it with my words, guiding it around her head to her opposite ear. “Because I missed you.”
Sera jumped, her eyes going wide. “How—I thought your only element was devil fire. Was that sound? Is sound even an element?”
I chuckled, remembering a time not so long ago I’d asked exactly the same thing.
“Air.” I paused mid-sentence. Maya crossed the dais—possibly the first infernal to ever do so—and was now bowing to the Queen. I could make out my mother’s quiet words of thanks. Her attendant breached protocol and shook Maya’s hand excitedly, talking to her as if they were longtime friends.
Now that I thought about it, my mother rarely had an attendant. He had to be the court physician. But Maya had only just revealed her identity as the physician’s anonymous liaison to my father less than a week ago. Which meant word of that encounter had somehow outpaced us, arriving at the capital long before. That in and of itself wasn’t necessarily suspicious, I hadn’t noticed any couriers or messenger birds departing from the group, but there’d been a full day, but it did highlight something that hadn’t changed.
In Whitefall, rumors spread like wildfire.
Beside me, Sera’s face was screwed up like she’d smelled something foul. “I thought air was only good for propelling ships and pushing people around.”
“The Enclave teaches a unique method of casting, called weaving. It involves trading the raw power of elemental magic—“
Sera wrinkled her nose.
“—for accuracy, utility, and flexibility.” I rotated my voice around her head so she heard it in one ear, then the other.
“Raw power trumps all.” Sera said flatly.
But she didn’t look certain. My demonstration had unsettled her, defused at least some of her hostility. I took a risk.
“When it comes to magic, variety is the spice of life and the enemy of death, dear sister. To be fair, I’m far from an expert… but I could teach you the foundations. If you like.”
Sera slowly looked over. “You’d do that? Truly, my liege, your graciousness is boundless.”
Okay. Clearly, we weren’t there yet. It’d been a joint gambit: If it succeeded, it meant helping Sera refine her monstrous potential and gaining a sparring partner, someone to keep me sharp during my downtime at the castle. But Sera seemed to have no intention of giving me an in.
“Just tell me if you change your mind.”
“Choke on a cock, Cairn.”
“That depends entirely on how much I drink at the banquet.”
Sera stared at me, aghast.
“You brought cocks into it.” I pointed out.
“You idiots are not being nearly as quiet as you think.” Annette hissed, peeking out from behind Sera. “And what do chickens have to do with any of this?”
I barely stifled a laugh. Sera’s mouth twitched, and I could tell she was struggling keep her frown from transforming into a smile. The mirth shifted to wonder my mother stood and, to the shock of the entire court, embraced Maya.
Somehow, the image gave me hope. I’d transformed since I was here last, but Whitefall itself was nigh unrecognizable. Non-humans filled the streets. The Queen was alive. Maybe she was the missing piece in more ways than I’d accounted for. She couldn’t domesticate my father completely—there wasn’t a person alive who could—but there was no question she brought out his better qualities and tempered his worst, with our family. If he continued heeding my council on matters of war, as he had on our journey home, perhaps the two of us together could keep him in check.
I’d seen getting dragged back to the capital as a setback at best, an avenue for complete and utter disaster at worst, but perhaps it wasn’t.
Maybe, for once, everything was going to be okay.
Comments
John Brady Anderson
Hmm, I honestly thought she was Gil’s kid, just a bastard when he was occupying there.
Andreas
Well if you were kidnapped from your actual parents and used as a political chesspiece/hostage I am certain you wouldn’t be much inclined to get along with your foster family.
John Brady Anderson
I absolutely get why he is so full of regrets to the rest of his family, but Sera just seems like a bully. Which is exactly what she was in the first remembered time loop, too, though at that point they had so much trauma none of them were well. Anyone else feel that way, or am I perhaps misinterpreting, as I do sometimes when I have strong preconceptions of a character?
Joseph Collins
Fucking hell, that’s an ominous last line
