Raven
In the lands of Acror, year 56 of Emperor Lebinus’ reign, year 247 of the New Era
Lyla 19
A woman mounted upon a brilliantly white horse rode in haughtily through the palace gates. In the gray mist of morning, in the muted brisk of night's end, the few servants mingling in the court bent low in her wake, and their hushed conversations colored the rising dawn.
They eyed a nose as straight as the ocean’s horizon, peered at a soft and slender mouth. They murmured of a stubbornly set chin, and scrutinized two slim and powerful shoulders. Her sheathed arms were appraised, her callused fingers were dissected, and arching straight and proud, her back was disdainfully admired.
They furtively gaped at this woman riding haughtily by; however, her own violet eyes witnessed neither the world above nor the world below. Her lofty nose was the ocean’s horizon and these bright globes were its dark, pure, and scintillatingly impenetrable depths.
Her clothes, then, were reckless abandon.
From her muddied boots, to her patched trousers, to her frayed and dirtied cotton shirt, she dressed as a man; a pauper man. Her nubs of nails screamed with dirt, filth, and ungodly sweat; not even her once-envied searing black hair had been spared, with its greasy locks mercilessly pulled back to a peasant’s braid.
The servants, however, still whispered of this woman as if her very face was the moon, shining, despite the black stains or because of them, brilliantly, luminously, distantly.
The woman reached a modest meadow, muted by high hedges but hidden from peering eyes. Within this meadow, she slowed her horse to a stop. After a moment’s wait, she dismounted. Slowly, meticulously, she began walking up to the edge of the monstrous carving that stood grandly in the deserted meadow. It loomed above her, the glaring whiteness of its harsh angles and shadowed pits startling the gray-green calm. In the light of the yawning sun, she observed in its one hand a blackened sword of valor and in the other a garish staff of wisdom. She observed the cruel grimace it directed towards the heavens; the crushing sneer it cast at the unknown.
She looked with a heartless gaze upon her father, neither saying nor doing anything else.
“So the rumors were true.”
The woman hardened at these words, and said nothing.
A man appeared next to her. The detested sight of hair the color of vomit, of eyes swimming like green excrement, of a smile like torn parchment - though glimpsed only in her periphery - turned her stomach, twisted her mouth, and tattooed in her chest a beat of erratic fear.
“Lady Lyla,” he said.
She flinched.
“I had almost forgotten of your…beauty,” he said, gazing disdainfully at her obvious brown.
A flash of anger.
He smirked. “After almost four years since seeing me last, my lady has nothing she wishes to say? Or do?”
She remained silent, staring resolutely at the statue.
“You swore that you would tear out my heart and feed it to the palace mutts if ever we met again, or do you not remember?”
Do not rise, do not rise...
“Evidently not, though I am not surprised as you…” He faded off as Lyla continued to respond in muteness. Suddenly, his hand shot into her view and violently grabbed her face, twisting it to his. Fear and blinding hatred coursed through her as she viciously pried at his filthy fingers, tearing mercilessly at that sinning skin. She cried in pain as she slipped from his grasp, then immediately struck his face, using nails to drag on bloody paths.
“How dare you touch me,” she hissed, her heart pumping dangerously in her ears, “How dare you act like you’ve forgotten.”
He did not look even remotely ashamed, rather, a twisted smile grew on his face.
A sliver of unease went through her. “I haven’t forgotten, Lyla,” he said, taking a step towards her, “In fact I -“ “My lady?” He stopped abruptly, as did she in breathing, and they both turned, he sharply and she gladly, towards the would-be witness.
It was a servant, walking forward apprehensively.
Once upon them, the servant first bowed to Lord Rudis saying “My lord” and then to her, merely mumbling the words “My Lady.” She felt a stab of pain at this difference. “Have you a message for me?” Rudis asked in a voice mixed between annoyance and forced calm. “No, my lord,” said the messenger, “for her.” He glanced towards Lyla, hesitant.
“Well?” she replied, her voice cold.
The servant cleared his throat, and said shakily, “My lady, His Grace has asked for your immediate, uh, presence...” he paused looking, as had the others, uncertainly at the dirt of her clothes, then added, “He said it was very urgent.”
Suppressing a scowl, she ignored his slight criticism and nodded.
“Thank you. You may go.”
As the servant left, Rudis turned to her, immediately raising her defenses. Glowering, he spoke simply but with hatred, “I suggest you hurry to meet the King, my Lady; I will not be blamed for your tardiness.” He turned to leave, but she refused him the last word.
“Rudis.”
He faced her, though reluctantly. “It is ‘Lord’ -"
“I will die before I address you as such, so don’t waste my time.”
She paused, her mind blank but for the pounding of her heart. But as Rudis moved, clearly to speak out in annoyance, she hurriedly said, “No. No, you don’t get to speak. You’ve no right to address me…or even to look at me for that matter.” Her voice was shaking, but she breathed and faced those hateful eyes.
“Have you no shame? None, whatsoever? Are you so stupid as to have never realized what you’ve done? This is only the second time I’ve spoken to you since then, and not one word of reference, not one word of apology – I -“ Anger boiled maddeningly inside her, and she could not contain it any longer. She burst into six years of deep loathing, yelling at its despicable object,
“I birthed your child! I birthed it in filth, in poverty, in isolation, from no will of my own! No, you took that will away from me! You took my life away from me! Do you know what I hear in every field, in all the pubs, in every single village every single day?! Slut! Blood-screwer! Whore! Witch! Vampire! Despicable, disgusting, pitiful, perverted demon! But, evidently, my misery has been as insignificant to you as the merest fly!”
She paused, shocking herself with her volume. Rudis seemed stunned to stillness. Looking at her hate with cool fury, she nevertheless finished,
“You don’t deserve to live Rudis, and I would kill you. But you must first endure the pain that I’ve been forced to live because of you; the humility, the abandonment, the hatred, the despair. Only then will I allow the Devil to take your tarnished soul from those stupid, rude cages, and make no mistake bastard, I will deliver it to him.”
Her heart must have been beating somewhere in her skull because all she could see, feel, or hear was blood as she climbed back onto her horse and rode out of the hated place. After several seconds of furious animosity, however, a small drop of shame welled up inside of her. Six years, it admonished, six years and still he could evoke such violent reactions from her.
Lyla exhaled sharply to be rid of it, struggling to cleanse herself of emotion. Two minutes later and her heart was once again beating silently in her chest, her legs walking mechanically through His Grace's hall. And her guide announced her presence.
"Lady Lyla Cassiel Vindican has come to seek audience with His Grace."
“Enter.”
His Grace sat upon a great armchair by the fireplace, staring in what others would have believed to be formidable contemplation. She stared coolly at him, undeterred by his ‘grand’ image. Nevertheless, she forced herself to bow and say, “Your Grace, I give my sincerest apologies regarding my lateness, and dearly hope I haven’t kept you from further engagements.” He merely frowned at her impeccable civility and with clear disdain over her dress.
“Sit.”
Lyla thought fleetingly of turning around and walking away, but her feet could only move forward. The second she had seated herself across from him, His Grace clipped by way of greeting, “I do not wish to endure the annoyance of your presence any longer than I must, so I shall be direct.”
She felt a twinge of irritation, and discovered that, from the man that had habitually treated her like the dust on the walls, she had nevertheless hoped for a few words of welcome.
She said nothing in reply.
He continued, “Opime, the lands belonging to Lord Crudus, has been rumored to be preparing for war against us, so in response to this-“
“Why?” she interrupted, cursing herself for her curiosity. He glared at her, and replied sharply, “For our resources, you senseless whore, why else?” She gripped the arms of her chair tightly in controlled anger, but said nothing.
Obviously, he required no answer, so he continued, “So in response to this, I have decided to send you as my representative in order to demand reconciliation before further actions could be made towards conflict.”
She sat stunned, and could not help the question that came forth, “This was why you summoned me home? After four years of silence you call me back to ‘conciliate’ with some pompous lord like one of your council dogs?”
His eyes flashed and he glared viciously. However, after a moment of tense pause, he answered.
“This kingdom as well as I was better off without you," he started slowly, "However, in this matter, sending my daughter in place of a diplomat would be a sign of peace and trust, no matter how I wish it were not so. Moreover, I trusted a woman such as yourself would prove more effective in these sorts of...negotiations than any man on my council.”
It was as if, instead of blood, ice flowed through her veins. After a moment’s roaring pause, she stood up and spoke - cold, monotonous, dead.
“Is that all, your Grace?"
He stared intently at her, weighing, she knew, the worth in challenging her insubordination. Finally, he nodded.
"You are dismissed."
Lyla bowed painfully then turned to the door, her fingers prickling with shard of ice. But she could not move. "Is that all?" said a voice so detached, so empty, that it took a moment to realize it as hers.
His response whipped through the air.
"You are dismissed."
She closed her eyes, shaking. "Is that all?"
He said nothing. At this, she turned back around, facing his glinting eyes and cold mask. "There's more," she said, "You did not have me dragged all the way back here simply for this."
"You were dragged because you are too simple-minded to recognize a golden offer from the odorous waste that so often crawls into your lap."
Ignoring the slight, she said stiffly, "You mentioned no offer."
He looked haughtier than ever with a sudden sneer - a look he had no doubt planned for this occasion. "It needed no mentioning," he said, "But if your thick ignorance cannot yet comprehend then allow me to elucidate your situation. The offer, put simply, is the official reversal of your banishment in exchange for Lord Crudus' subordination."
Her heart stopped. Or perhaps that odd tightening in her chest was the feel of it finally beating. "Official?" she repeated breathlessly. How could he say that so carelessly? He was cruel - so cruel to have tossed her this whisper of false hope. She knew he could see the weakness in her face, in her arms, in her knees.
"Rudis has not proved himself to be an advantageous investment," he said by way of answer, "You, however, might still be useful. More so now than in your youth, actually. Your insolence then hardly made you valuable to anyone. Now, however, you seem to have learned the value of control."
She wanted to scream. The value of control? The value of control?! All she could manage was a scoff of disbelief. "You want me then, to crawl from one prison to the next?" she said, trying to muster scorn through her incredulity. He looked almost amused.
"If that is how you wish to view it; yes. However, the prison I offer has wealth and power, while the one within which you currently reside has only death and shame."
Staring, Lyla almost stepped back; his blatancy affecting her like a blow. Still, she spoke. "I see shame in both, but not pride. Is this your sick idea of fun? To not only brand me as a whore but to turn me into one as well? Then allow me to explain something to you, your Grace, one whore to another: I am innocent. I will not sacrifice that innocence to the starved society who ostracized me in the first place to gain their tenuous love and pity. I will not give it up to your power simply to wake up in a bed everyday, to eat three meals everyday, and you are a fool to think that I ever would. No - not exactly a fool, but a shallow whore, stained to black. And I promise you, whatever you may believe to the contrary, that you are nothing more."
Without a second’s pause, her father rose and whipped his hand across her face, his eyes and face finally betraying fury. “How dare you speak to me like that? When I fed you, clothed you, and debased myself to keep you and give you shelter; all despite the fact that you tore your clothes, spat at my food, fraternized with peasants, and could not interest any royal even with your dowry! You chose instead to live keeping your legs open for any breathing creature that is unfortunate enough to cross your way, and you dare speak to me like that?!”
With thick poison coursing through her, she stared straight into his soulless eyes, spitting with venom.
“From the moment I was born you’ve loathed me. You knew a girl couldn’t clear your infamous blemish and you loathed both me and mother for leaving you with an illegitimate man-child as your heir...though you were the one to have sneaked into that poor whore in the first place. Now you stand there, proud-backed, and dare to lecture me on virtue? You, who even now continues to bed different woman as often as when mother was still alive? I have more virtue than you’re even capable of recognizing! Tell me your Cowardice, do you remember that day? Do you remember that sad day six years ago when I came to you as your daughter, your flesh and blood child, and told you of what your bastard son had done to me; do you remember that day when I learned of your virtue and you of mine?!
When you scorned your daughter for proving powerless against a man four years her senior, when you ostracized and banished her and then lowered her to the level of a prostitute and a whore, do you remember that day?! I was thirteen years old. Thirteen, a child...yet you forced me to grow beyond such years.
I spent nine months filled with nothing but pain, sorrow, and humiliation; after which I birthed a dead child on the floor of an alleyway a world away from home. But of course, you didn't know this - you were not there. And when you finally allowed me to arrive on your doorstep two years later, you could not debase yourself enough to ask. Instead you chose to torment me with the praise and lavish given to your perverted half-child as I stood by ignored, isolated, unloved, stuffed not even to the back corner of your mind but to the space where no space exists.
You never loved me.
You need not admit it, not here, not today, but do not continue to insult me as if I were still your child. I renounced the titles of both child and daughter the instant my son hit the cement floor.
But as a woman - one of the many that taste acid with your name - I say to you that your Grace is nothing but a despicable, aged whore. I look forward to the day when your feeble existence perishes from this world and I will never again have to suffer the filth of your presence.”
Lyla turned away from the King and, without another word, exited his chamber.
In the Fecund country, year 23 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 524 of the Old Era
Raven 6
A house of rich proportions stood grandly in a neighborhood containing rows upon rows of houses much like it. It stood undeniably stark and bland, but nevertheless offered the aura of safety and wealth.
Currently, its bare backyard, adorned with a single tree, held the presence of a little girl. She stood thin, ragged, and gaunt; obviously not a resident of the affluent house, but there she stood nevertheless. A large shirt hung lank on her small frame, serving as a dress for the slight child, though also as the only article of clothing she possessed. Her midnight-black hair had been roughly hewn so that it lay tangled above her shoulders, and it curled wildly around her face. The face too suggested neglect and malnutrition in its hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes.
However, those eyes remained the sole difference between her and the dead. Although shadowed from starvation, these brilliant eyes gave her appearance a vivacity and boldness not often found in those of her condition. They shined bright, intelligent, and as violet as the dawning sky, showing the capability of compassion but also of reserve.
This young child now removed two picks from her matted hair. Within seconds she had unlocked the back door of the house and slipped through. She smiled silently at her luck - the door had led her directly to the kitchen. Thinking of the foolish naivety of the house’s designer, she moved quickly to the cupboard, opening it like a present on Christmas day. Nearly salivating at the sight of food, the child took a large bite from a loaf of bread, and then began to stuff as much as she could carry into her cloth bag. Suddenly, she stiffened. Rapidly turning around, she saw a black shadow swinging towards her, and a star-punctured blackness filled her vision as pain filled her senses. Then she saw no more.
She woke to a pounding headache. Grimacing, the little creature gathered her grey surroundings. She was surprised to find the cool, tiled floor of the kitchen stretching before her. Next to her, obviously placed, was the loaf of bread she had bitten. After an uneventful pause, she grabbed it and then stood up through bouts of pain. Despite her beating skull, she forced her mind to focus on the odd situation, though no guess about it came to her.
She had her bread, she could leave and find more food elsewhere, but curiosity overwhelmed all other instincts. The girl padded her way silently across the kitchen, then looked furtively out into a lavish living room. She saw a soft couch, a glass table, and a window. The rising sun was beginning to peek its way through the feebly flowered curtains, and though it made her wary, she couldn't help but revel in its life. Suddenly, she noticed a young boy, sleeping peacefully upon the soft couch. He was as small as she, though he radiated the soft and conspicuous glow of one having been well nourished and well loved. Dull, bed-ridden hair lay gray on his pillow, and she noticed slight circles under his eyes. He clutched a small stick.
All at once, the light of the dawning sun rose to shine upon the sleeping child, warming his pale cheeks to a tender glow of rose, and his rustled hair to a soft ring of gold. No blemish appeared upon this child’s face, no hint of shadow or grime stained his angel frame. He was a cherub, unmarked, untouched, and gay even in slumber.
Wonder held her as this child slept on, unaware of his silent watcher, oblivious to her gleaming tears. Hesitantly, she made as if to brush his ruffled hair, to approach his haloed frame, but her leaning body and outstretched hand fell regretfully back. She closed her eyes, and breathed a distant sigh. Opening them, she cast her eyes once again upon the ever present barrier that lay between the living and the enduring. Wiping her grubby face with her grubby hands, she did not bother to shake her head clear. Instead, she simply found her ragged bag and parted wordlessly from the house, leaving the gray boy behind snd still clutching her bitten bread.
In the Barren country, year 24 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 525 of the Old Era
Raven 7
“In the twenty-third year of Emperor Milen, seventeen of our number left us. Tonight, we have gathered before the Light of the Dead to honor those seventeen.”
The priest gestured to a grave woman of thirty-four who sat nearest to the front.
“We begin with Jeidan Nelil. Rise, Anelda Rue, as his eldest daughter, and help to ease his passage.”
In silence a woman rose to face the crowd of solemn bodies, and she spoke quietly but firmly. “To my father, Jeidan Nelil, I give his lucky coin, made from pure silver. He never went anywhere without it in his pocket, and my sisters and I couldn’t bear him leaving now, forever, without it near him.”
Turning around, she cast the small object into a blazing basin of fire.
The crowd chanted mutedly, “May you find each other again, and love once more.”
“For Keyla Rue, rise, Menny Rue, as her second eldest daughter, and help to ease her passage.” A slightly younger woman rose to take Anelda’s place in front of the glowing fire, clutching a bundled object stained to indiscernibility, choking on sobs.
“To my m-m-mother, Keyla Rue, I give my old doll Eena, so she can alw-w-ways remember the happy times, like when I was just a-was just a youngling, and w-w-we always played with Eena for hours an-and hours.”
She too cast the ragged stuffed cloth into the heart of the fire, and again the people intoned, now to Menny Rue’s tear-stained face, “May you find each other again, and love once more.”
Fifteen times more this was repeated, the beaten words weary, yet each time pressing more weight. In the end, the priest gestured towards the thirty-seven paupers seated in grief before him, and spoke.
“For the anguish we have felt in the death of those we love, rise, all, and listen to my words."
"My friends, always we have looked around us and seen nothing but the bleakness, the desolation, the unfairness of what we live, what we endure; what our world has left for the ones hapless.
But, my friends, my family, although the world may leave us to grovel in the bitterest dregs of life, although even God may turn a blind eye, the people we love – our brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers - never leave us to bitterness.
We may cry; we may feel alone and abandoned in this world, but we are never alone; we are never abandoned. In this world or without we feel the presence of the ones we love and the ones we have loved. They are there in our times of need, they are there in our times of desperation, and they are there in our times of utter hopelessness.
My friends, my family, my powerful companions; we are the survivors, we are the immortal, we are the glorious dead.
Never forget this."
A ringing silence followed. The priest saw his family looking upon him with eyes shining in the light of the dancing shadows; whether they shone with sorrow or with the sweet ache of power he did not know. However, as he bowed his head, every man, woman, and child within joined him in silent prayer. As they finished, the thirty-seven paupers slowly dispersed off in the grave calm; each into their frugal shelters, each one by one until only the priest remained.
There he stood, for hours or for minutes, he himself did not know. However, at the end of his prayer, the great shadow finally lifted his head to the moonless gloom, and endlessly he stared at the light from the burning trinkets of the dead.
Eventually, the end to the infinite came. Departing into the blackness, the ghostly man took one longing glance back. The fire swirled alive in his eyes while all else lay as still as death. Finally, he looked away, resigned, and finally, he relinquished his vigilance to that everlasting fire.
Farther away, under a canopy of trees bared, crippled, and grayed, lay the little girl. Her black hair lay splayed upon the empty ground, reaching out to join the shadows of the night. However, the innocent beam of the moon’s gentle glow illuminated the girl herself. She snored softly as harsh lines of fatigue, hunger, worry, and grief was lost in slumber’s kind and tender arms, smoothing away in one gentle stroke seven years of suffering. This nightly peace cast her no suffering end, no inevitable death, granting only eternity to her innocence. So the little girl slept serenely on throughout the creeping night, radiating ethereal heaven with neither wings nor halos, but as an angel born in hell.
In the Barren country, year 27 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 528 of the Old Era
Raven 10
"Raven."
A girl, wearing the child's ragged shirt paired now with ragged shorts, turned towards the name. She saw the group's priest before her, an aged man as thin as her very arm, but with a strength that radiated with his every step. The family had always revered him, but she had always found him too distant and much too cold.
“Raven,” he said again. “Yes?” she answered, monotonous – she could not help but respond in the same manner. If he noticed it, he did not give any indication. Not one flicker of the eyes.
“Can you spare a few minutes?”
No, she thought silently, she was cold enough without his own icy manner cutting through her. He saw her refusal in her eyes, but with a slight twitch of his head, his own refusal triumphed over hers. Reluctantly she replied, “Okay then.” The priest turned sharply around at this begrudged acceptance and swiftly glided forward. Resigned, Raven trailed behind.
As they walked, the pair passed black trees long stripped of leaves, and their family that huddled underneath them. The latter consisted of patched and unpatched blankets, clothes, and people as deadened and forlorn as the former. Despite their raggedness, however, the family lay basking in the rare sunshine that flooded through the thin branches, attributing nothing less than peace to the scene. Raven herself felt a delicious shiver in passing beneath the sun’s warm touch, the motherly embrace keeping at bay the climate’s natural chill. As she and the priest passed, a few sunken faces turned to grace them, or rather, the priest, with a smile, but most would not spare the few seconds away from the light’s warmth.
Raven felt a definite drop in spirits when the two left behind the last of the family, and entered a deserted clearing. She associated the place solely with the Ceremony for the Dead, though they also gathered there for the rare celebration. The others did not mind it or gave the place much thought, but she inexplicably hated it.
The priest stopped here, and turned towards her.
“Raven,” he repeated. Despite being yet a child, she faced him with an adult’s detachment, crossing her arms and staring straight into his dulled eyes. “Yes, Father?” she replied. Was that a flicker from his eyes? She could not tell. If it was, indeed, a flicker, then he rid himself of it before her own eyes could take a blink. Raven burned with sudden curiosity, which was tempered by his next words.
“You are aware that Nina has just birthed a child." It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. "In turn," he continued, ignoring her response, "I am aware that the entire family, including you, has already contributed a share of their store to Nina. However, I have brought you here to tell you to contribute a small extra sum. I am sorry to ask this of you, “ his blank voice added, “However, in addition to having the most to spare, you are the most capable of replenishing your store.”
Raven stared in shock, her stomach growling in protest. “I –“ She will not. Her store was already low enough as it was. Giving up that portion to Nina earlier in the week had been a tremendous blow, and Raven had barely enough to give out her usual rations the day before. The priest had his strict rules on regulating food stores, but some of them resented the rigidity, and so sneaked out extra portions to the more famished when they could. However, at this point, Raven herself would not last the week.
Presently, she was choking on panic - she did not know what to do. She will not give up more of her store, she will not. But she had no reason not to. Rather, she had no legal reason not to. She did not know what to do.
At her pause, the already grim set to the priest’s mouth seemed to deepen into an even grimmer set, and he interrupted her train-wreck of thoughts to say, “I see.” Seizing at the chance to divert the conversation, Raven looked at him questioningly. He elaborated, “I see you are reluctant to relinquish further contents of store although you are registered to have a great amount. I also see that despite your great amount, you are always as equally haggard and starving as the rest of the family."
"I had been suspicious for some time of your illicit activities. As I know you do not possess overt selfishness, your hesitation just now has confirmed these suspicions.” He paused, but then added almost curiously, “It seems it is within your nature to disobey.”
Raven ignored the last comment, deeming it an insult, and simply did the thing most sensible to her at the time. Lie. “Illicit activities, Father?” she said calmly, though her hands shook, “I don’t understand.” She saw his eyes narrow, and she tried to still her faithless hands. She continued, “I hesitated because I don’t want to give away any more food. I just don't understand. There are others that have more than me. It's not fair.”
There was silence in the clearing, and she stood on edge, indecisive on breaking it. Finally, finally, he spoke, though his response was far less than satisfactory.
“I see,” he said. There was never a more ambiguous phrase.
Thankfully, he elaborated, “I had simply sought to confirm my suspicions, and see if you required extra food for your journey. I now see that you do not. Therefore – “
“For my what?” Raven interrupted, mixed between assurance on having misheard and sudden panic. “For what, Father?” she repeated when he did not immediately respond.
“For your journey, Raven. Away.” Raven searched his face, but there was no need: she already knew he had meant every word.
“Father, I don’t understand. Why do I have to go away? Is it because I didn’t follow your rules? I’ll never do it again, Father, I swear, trust me Father, never again. I’ll follow all your rules from now on; I was only trying to help. I swear. I was only trying to help! Your stupid rules don’t help anyone! Without us, they would’ve died! They would’ve died!”
She backed away from him, her breath hitched and her blood pulsing in her ears, suddenly aware of how close she had gotten to him; suddenly aware that she had just yelled at the leader of their family. To them, he was like God. She had just yelled at God. “I – I’m sorry, I – “ but she didn’t know what to say. It didn’t matter – he spoke over her.
“Before I begin, I will reassure you in saying that no matter what you could have said upon entering this clearing, you would not have changed my mind. And you have not. You will leave the family. You will gather your belongings tonight, part from us, and then never return. Do you understand? You have never listened to me before, but you must listen to me in this. You must not return to the family.”
Raven felt nothing at his words; nothing but pure, incalculable, fury. “Why?! Tell me why!” she shouted. His eye twitched, but it was irrelevant – she forgot it instantly. “I haven’t done anything to deserve this! I work; I contribute, so much more than the others! This isn’t fair; I’ll die out on my own!”
He grabbed her shoulder, and she immediately quieted. The complete shock of his contact had ripped her from her anger. “Listen to me, Raven. Your behavior has nothing to do with this. You say that you would die without us? Well I assure you that your death is imminent if you stay. Look-look at me!” He kneeled down before her and forced her eyes to his. Her anger was diminished, but not vanished; she glared at him.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“I am sorry,” he replied, “but there is not time to explain. Just when you leave, do me this one favor, my child.” He paused, and her curiosity overwhelmed her desire to interrupt.
“Just remember,” he said finally, “that I have always, at the very least, tried to love you as if you were my daughter…my flesh and blood. Now, and even then, I have always tried. I hope that one day….you will be able to forgive me.” No words came to her; there seemed no acceptable response, but she was spared the moment. He released her, and both gasped, both turned, towards the bloody screams that came from the direction of where their family last lay. They looked back at each other. “Go my child,” the priest whispered.
“I will, Father,” she replied. And turning away from him, she did.
In the lands of Acror, year 50 of Emperor Lebinus’ reign, year 241 of the New Era
Lyla 13
There existed very white, very large, very ornate, marble doors. They stood three feet over the average man, but towered over the incomer as if they stood twenty. Crystals dripped from the edges like glassy stalactites, and thin black lines intertwined with thin gold lines to swirl across the surface, crawling up the massive figures. Small carvings also peeked out, secretly tucked away between the adornments, hidden by their blind beauty.
Presently, these palace doors groaned open, and through the sudden break, a tumble of tangled black hair and crumpled fine clothing stumbled upon the scene. Every servant and royal, there for the grand ball that evening, turned in shock towards the unsightly sight. One nearby and, to everyone in the vicinity, bold Lord hesitantly moved forward.
“Lady Lyla?" he asked, "Is that you?”
The tumble’s salt-wet face rose up in response, confirming her identity, and the people gasped at the verification. “Lady Lyla– !” the Lord exclaimed, but got no farther. At that moment, a sudden boom of unmistakable fury shook the very walls of the palace, and people stared at the newcomer to the bewildering scene.
It was the King.
“My Lords and Ladies!” he presently cried, “You see now before you my whore of a daughter. Look at her, the filth,” he added, and at this, the wreck seemed to rise; her eyes flashing at the accusation. “This does not become you, your Grace,” she interrupted, her voice quivering with anger, “Lying to gain your own ends? Why – “
“You are the liar, Lyla,” he said, overpowering her, “You were the one who was always too forward, you were the one who went to his room that night, you were the one who never stopped him; YOU. ARE. THE. WHORE!”
“But father – “
“Look at her!” the King boomed, addressing the bewildered crowd, “attempting to sweep away her sins with a few pretty lies and an appeal to our kinship!”
“I appeal to nothing but your fast fading honor!” she screamed over him.
“But I am not so easily fooled!” he continued, ignoring her, “My lords and ladies, listen to this story to which my daughter claims: a few weeks past, my ever benevolent son, timid from having always been looked down upon for his illegitimacy, seemed to have forced what had always been her strong, forward, and overly bold body. Many of you have met both my children; tell me my friends, does this make even the smallest of sense? Would it not make much better sense that my daughter had simply seduced my innocent son that night, and now that a consequence has emerged, is today attempting to scrabble together what’s left of her honor by shifting the blame over to him? This transparent – “ he stopped, finally interrupted by a ringing slap.
“You liar,” Lyla whispered, “I. Am. Your. Daughter. You dare try to lift your bastard heir up at my expense?”
There was a deadly silence, within which every breath was held.
“Go see if the brothels will have you,” the King finally responded, his voice laden with crackling ice, “Your shameful and disgusting tendencies are no longer welcome under my roof.” Nodding at the guards by the dazzling doors, he added, “Get her out of my sight.”
“What of your tendencies, father?” said Lyla quickly, “What of yours?! You’re the whore, father! You’re the liar!” As the guards approached her, Lyla stopped abruptly and looked around.
Undoubtedly hundreds of accusatory and disgusted eyes glared in her direction, and she could feel the ice of cold judgment rapidly solidifying between them. A sickening sense of dread trickled through her.
“Please,” she said desperately, her dread growing, “Believe me, Rudis is much older than I, with a man’s build – “
“See her shameful reasons for targeting such an innocent boy?” the King swiftly interrupted.
“That’s not what I – !”
“Guards!” he shouted, overpowering her, “What are you doing? Take her away!”
“Father!” Lyla now cried frantically, struggling against the guards, “Father, please! You can’t do this, I told you, I’m with child! I’m with child! If you cast me away I’ll die!”
The King had started to head back inside the palace, but at her words, he looked back, stifling her pleas with a look of piercing scorn. With cold, soulless eyes, he replied, “With your skills, I doubt it.”
She had no words.
Her father then turned and walked calmly through the ornate white doors, leaving her to be dragged out, crying, through the gates.
In the Barren country, year 28 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 529 of the Old Era
Raven 11
She lay huddled against the cold, stark wall of an overarching bridge. Against the backdrop of this massive piece of architecture, Raven herself was inconspicuously miniscule. And so there she huddled.
Casting out furtive glances to the empty desolation that surrounded her, she evidently deemed herself safe as she finally tended to the little cloth bag secretly stashed in her lap. With her fervent gaze fixed upon the tiny object, it was obviously a prize most jealously guarded.
But as she lovingly opened the hand-sized pouch to reveal its contents, a man suddenly sprung out and tackled her to the frozen floor, franticly scrabbling for that guarded bag. Unfortunately for the crazed man, Raven had immediately clutched the pouch in a vice-like grip at the first semblance of attack, and now clung to it with a force equal to its priceless nature. She quickly slipped out from under him, as his wild attack had not given him enough time to secure her, and sprinted with what she hoped was the wind.
However, the man’s longer legs gave him the advantage, and sooner than she had hoped, she felt him yank her legs out from under her. She yelled as her arms and face hit the ground, and, keeping her hold on the pouch, kicked the man, clawing at the unyielding ground as he dragged her towards him. She screamed when his scrawny yet considerable weight dropped on top of her, though reacted to the new development immediately by curling into a fetal position, with the pouch at the center. Dismay filled her as his hands painfully plunged under her protecting arms and finally grabbed hold of the precious pouch. He yanked it and her following arm out from her defensive hold with a force that pulled her from the ground, to the air, and to the ground again.
As she struggled to regain her footing, she found herself being dragged as he attempted to jerk the pouch out of her death-grip. She used him to struggle her way up, kicking at any part of him she could reach, ignoring the fact that his teeth had sunken into her flesh, ignoring the fact that he was ripping her hair out from the roots, ignoring the fact that her foot felt inflamed...but all for naught as the poor pouch finally ripped open, forcing both her and the man back onto the ground.
A scattered handful of variously shaped nuts rained upon the parched floor. The two skeletal competitors immediately sprung up, scrambling wildly for them. The frail nourishment blended convincingly with the darkness, but it is undoubtedly assured that not one was missed.
In the lands of Acror, year 51 of Emperor Lebinus’ reign, year 242 of the New Era
Lyla 14
The night was dark. Purple clouds bruised the inked sky, shading from view the beams of both moon and stars. Lyla stood alone in this emptiness, her midnight hair smearing into the blackness, and her eyes darkened to the same shade. The balcony upon which she stood was ornate yet decrepit, full of color yet visibly faded.
In her arms she held a child. No, not a child. It was a newborn infant – a spot of long-dried blood still adorned its blanched, ghostly skin. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to him, softly rubbing off the flakes of dulled red, “I wasn’t strong enough.” Clutching it to her with trembling hands, she said through thick tears, “I will never be strong enough.”
She placed it down onto the edge of the black balcony, and closed her eyes. Once they had opened, her back turned away from the darkness, and its will carried her away.
In the Fecund Country, year 29 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 530 of the Old Era
Raven 12
The hustle and bustle of the town was quitted today in favor of a more exciting event: the annual slave-selling festival. Men and women dressed in pearls and silks ambled around a place similar to an outside market, examining detained criminals, sold relatives, and desperate, voluntary slaves. The criminals, all petty, were separated by prison; the relatives and volunteers by different sellers. All of which was, of course, for the convenience of the buyers.
This year the event was especially fascinating as the emperor himself had chosen to attend. This fact was reflected in the most elaborate decorations, the best entertainment, the most delicious foods, and the most slaves the festival had ever seen. Upon his arrival, carried in upon a throne of gold, all people bowed onto the begrimed floor; all except the future slaves, who were not deemed worthy enough to do so. The bearers set him down.
“My people!” he cried, standing, and witnessing the world before him rise also, “It has been too long since I have left my palace to look down upon your faithful faces. And, after this, I hope that I may have more chances to do so! But for today, I urge all of you to wander and buy just as aimlessly as you would in your everyday lives, and in doing so, name me your Happy Emperor. Furthermore! As a sign of my benevolence and charity, I myself will wander and buy a slave from every seller in this fantastic event, and arrive home just as satiated, if not bloated, as you all will doubtless be by the end of the day. So finally, I thank you all for the generous invitation to this year’s most prodigal slave-selling festival, and I dearly hope that we enjoy ourselves.”
The crowd cheered at the end of his speech, faces as passive as adoring, though an indignant few stood conspicuous to the emperor. Marking their faces and names for future retribution, he simply smiled at them in return. Meanwhile, shallow music floated through the scene, overlain by talk, laughter, and sellers’ unctuous persuasions. “Shall we get on with it then?” the emperor drawled to his new advisor. “Yes, your majesty,” the man replied smoothly, bowing as he spoke.
The day went on as a blur of flesh, sweat, and tears, but as he reached the, as his advisor said, 26th stand, the monotony abruptly ended. The emperor stopped dead. He could feel his own sweat, his own flesh, and his own tears from so long ago. His ears were ringing, but he did not care. He did not care if he fainted right then and there.
It was her.
All these years he had been ignorant, wallowing in sudden and intense fits of despair for the greatest loss of his life; the occasional bursts of wild hope forever crashing down to nothingness.
But it had all been in vain.
She had survived.
And she was standing right there.
“Your majesty, are you all right?” he heard his advisor say, as if from an incredible distance. “Yes, of course,” he replied, barely aware of his words. Then sharply turning towards the seller, he asked forcefully, “Who is that girl?” Looking taken aback, the slim man asked in return, “Which one, your majesty?”
The emperor looked at him incredulously – it seemed so obvious to him. “The-the little one with black hair,” he answered. And fire in her eyes, his mind added with an almost unfamiliar ache to his chest. Surveying his stock, the seller finally alighted upon the desired product, and unlocking her cage, he pulled her from the mutinous crowd.
“This the one you mean, your majesty?” the man asked dubiously. “Yes,” he breathed, staring at her sunken violet eyes. He knew it. There was no doubt it was her. “Never mind who she is, how much for her?” he said, looking fiercely upon the slim seller. The man was shocked, he could see that much, but nevertheless he replied, “60 argents, your majesty.” With a quick glance at his advisor, who was regarding him curiously, he looked back to the seller and said in as calm a voice as he could manage, “I’ll take her then.”
In the Fecund Country, year 29 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 530 of the Old Era
Raven 12
Raven sat upon a seat as soft as nature’s breeze, within a carriage with gold-inlaid walls. The young emperor sat upon the bench across from her, but she did not know why. She did not know why he had bought a weak little girl like her. She did not know why he had stared at her like a ghost when he first saw her. She did not know why she alone, out of all the other slaves bought that day, rode in his majesty’s carriage. She did not know. All she knew was slight hatred and definite fear, borne from his infamy among her family – her former family – in the Barrens. Being the emperor, he had been talked of often, and although the stories varied, all accounts of his character condemned him of neglect, brutality, and an absolutely merciless nature. He presently spoke.
“What is your name?” he asked.
She thought she detected a slight tremor in his sudden speech, but she did not know what to do with this information. Quickly deeming it unwise not to reply, she simply answered, “Raven.”
“What an adequate name,” he said smiling.
“I guess,” she said. Adequate?
“How old are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“We have that in common.”
He was still smiling that curious smile. She simply struggled not to look disgusted by the idea of commonality. “Have you bled yet?” he asked, yet another question. This one was even weirder than the rest. Hesitantly, she replied, “I’ve bled before, yes.” Thinking of her answer, she quickly added, “But I’m careful so it doesn’t happen often, and it’s only little cuts.” She had no idea what he wanted her for, and did not want him to think her inadequate. She had heard rumors of what he did to inadequate slaves – death was the kindest of the lot. His mouth quirked into a smirk but otherwise did not respond to her answer. It made her uneasy, but she preferred the silence to his questions. Unfortunately, they did not end.
“Where have you been living for all this time, Raven?”
“In the city,” she answered automatically, determined not to reveal the location of her family. It was the same answer she had given the slavers, and anyway, it was partly true. Every good lie needed an element of truth. Nevertheless, his reply cracked sharp as a whip, “There’s no need to lie to me.” She flinched slightly at his abrupt change in tone, but stared at him boldly.
“I’m not lying.”
“So that decrepit group of filth my soldiers raided in the Barrens,” he said casually, but too quickly, “you never made contact with them?”
Her stupid hands started to shake. He reached out as if to grab them, but she immediately recoiled.
Collecting herself, though her hands still trembled, she said, “I’ve never been to the Barrens.” He paused, then leaned back into his chair. “A pity,” he said vaguely, as if to himself, “They died for nothing then.”
Slowly, she blinked once, twice. “Yes, a pity,” she finally replied. Looking out the window, her hands stilled of their own accord. She said nothing else.
In the lands of Acror, year 51 of Emperor Lebinus’ reign, year 242 of the New Era
Lyla 14
The scene was loud, smoky, brown, and warm. Men both smelly and clean, both loud and reserved, sat around wooden tables while meals, drinks and entertainment were served. Lyla was among the reserved, though also among the smelly. Despite this acquaintance, she sat alone, drinking nothing and eating nothing as she lacked the money to buy either food or drink. Why she was there, she did not exactly know, rather she’d thought it simply preferable to the dank emptiness of her room upstairs. She still had plenty of time before she could sneak leftovers, and this scene provided an excellent distraction.
The crowd was interesting. There were so many different people, living so many different lives. It was fascinating, how full of life they were. She felt dead in comparison, and to the world, she might as well have been.
Strangely, this thought did not bother her. In observing these people talk, laugh, sing, or drink, she almost felt as if she were doing the same. Though she too was human, though she too was born as empty as any of them had been born, she was of a different species, of a different world. These people reminded her, but she did not care when she was this close to their warmth.
But she had never intended to burn. A boy, a mere boy, had presently climbed up onto a table, emerging from the smoky haze in a drunken haze of his own, and started to put on a show for the people of the pub. He flailed and he wailed, but Lyla did not bother to pay him much heed, as many men – though admittedly not boys – did much the same, and often. But today, with no food or drink to entertain her, she chose, with some disdain, to eventually tune into the boy’s sadly tuneless song:
A plucky girl, one day I greeted,
“Good day!” I said, but was not meeted
With a glance, with a smile, nor manners at all
But my lads! Though she at first appalled,
How I did love her in bed that fall!
This, my lads, is how I found her,
This, my lads, is how I had her!
A girl much prettier, once gave me shock
With golden hair; such wondrous locks!
But what was more that made me love’em
Was rosy cheeks, that ample bosom,
And loose morals, oh what a woman!
This, my lads, is how I found her,
This, my lads is how I had her!
Later that year, at spring of youth,
A Lady doth said, I was uncouth!
Yet she tossed her hair with a smile so coy
And swayed those hips that brought me joy
Said, "I'll teach you manners, you naughty boy."
This, my lads is how I found her,
This my lads is how I - "
But before he could finish his enchanting song, he tripped off the edge of the table and landed with a spectacular and quite shocking jump right onto hers. The shock, however, came mostly from her end. The drunken boy had hit the table so that both he and it, both haplessly and painfully, toppled right on top of her.
“Ah!” she screamed – that was really all she had time for. Then she was hit with tankard, boy, wood, and a potent perfume of alcohol. The people around them simply laughed at the blunder while her eyes watered with pain. Gritting her teeth against it, she struggled to push herself away from the mess she had been most unfortunately involved in. “Disgusting, stupid, son of a bitch mother– “ she muttered before she was interrupted.
“Hey, don’t you go insulting mi mother there.” The boy had come to and was hovering over her with a drunken, and slightly bloody, grin. “Oh god,” she said while trying to hold her breath against the smell of alcohol reeking from his mouth. Suddenly, the table vanished from its location on top of them, and she immediately kicked him away from her.
“What’s going on here?!” A tall and scrawny yet furious looking man appeared in her line of vision, and she immediately recognized him as the pub’s owner. He was holding the wrecked table, and looking none too happy about it. “The boy – “ she started, grimacing and pointing to said boy.
“Tune – wuz jus’ singin’ a tune, good ser,” he slurred once aware of her accusing finger, “You know, A plucky pirl one day I feeted – wait, no -” Getting up painfully, Lyla looked incredulously at his sorry sight. She could not help it – she laughed.
The owner zoned in on her and, looking between the two, assessed their similar states. “Both of you – get out,” he said, “GET OUT!”
“Geez, no need to yell,” the boy mumbled. Still holding the handle to his now nonexistent drink, he stumbled away towards the door. Lyla, however, approached the crazed owner. “Sir, I paid for a room here,” she said firmly, “Anyway, I have nothing to do with that boy. It wasn’t my fault that he happened to fall on my table. I am simply an unfortunate victim.” The man glared at her, then seemed to do a double-take. Her stomach seemed to plummet as a look of disgust replaced the one of anger.
“’Unfortunate victim’?” he repeated, scoffing. He spat at her feet then said, “Even if you weren’t screwing that boy I’d have no place for you here. Now get outta my sight.” Fury licked through her, hazing her gaze with a transient red before she managed to control herself. Clenching her teeth, she looked straight at the stupid man. “I still paid for a room,” she said. He smirked, an action that forced her hands into fists, and said, “I don’t doubt it. Now get out.” She tried clenching and unclenching her hands before replying, “What?” She could see his own temper starting to rise. Pointing to the door, he said, “You whores got a brain in there?! I said Get. OUT!”
“NO!” she yelled, unable to contain her fury, “I PAID FOR A ROOM!”
The man slapped her across the face and forcefully grabbed her arm, dragging her towards the pub’s entrance. She struggled and yelled in pain, forming her yells into words, “I paid for a room! I paid for a room! I PAID FOR A – oomph!” He threw her out onto the cold cobbled street, unnecessarily screaming, “OUT!” and then slammed the pub’s door shut.
Immediately, she stood up and strode angrily towards the pub before being stopped by a hand on her arm. She flinched and turned towards – the boy. Great. He grinned at her glare and said, “I just want to say sorry fer – fer -” His less-than-adequate apology ended as the boy drifted off into unintelligible mumbles and dropped to the floor. A second later, Lyla could hear snores emitting from his evidently unconscious form. She scowled, but his comically sprawled out form did humor her somewhat. She sighed – now she had to do something. She was aching, undoubtedly bruised, and blood trickled from her head, but she knew it would be inhumane to leave him out there to freeze.
She prodded him with her toe. “Wake up.”
Nothing.
She crouched down and pushed his shoulder. “Hey.”
He groaned, but snored on.
“Wake up!” she pushed him so that he flipped over onto his back, but all she achieved was another bruise as he flung his out arm and hit her head with the empty tankard. She cursed as a few passerby laughed at her attempts. Choosing to ignore them, she quickly assessed her options. She looked back at the pub, then back at the boy. The pub. The boy. The pub.
Giving a frustrated growl, she got up and strode back to the pub. “HEY!” she yelled, pounding on the door, “OPEN THE DOOR!” This went on for a few minutes until the manager finally gave up.
He opened the door. “I SAID – !” swiftly interrupting him, Lyla shouted, “Give the boy my room!” She had not expected him to acquiesce to her demands instantly, so the man drew no surprise when after an excessively long pause, he yelled, “What?!”
She had also deemed him a bit slow.
“You have an empty room, right? The one I bought just earlier today?” She struggled not to scowl. He just frowned at her, but since he did not yell or slam the door in her face, she took his silence as a yes.
She continued, “Since I’m obviously not using it, just give it over to the boy. It is the middle of both winter and night, he’s drunk, and no one else is going to provide him shelter. Anyway, it would be bad for business if people found a customer frozen to death on your doorstep.”
She could see him mulling over her words. It took an excruciatingly long time, but eventually, he grunted, “Fine. Whatever. But I’m not dragging that piece of crap up to the room.”
She quickly nullified the problem with a hasty, “No, I’ll do that.” Then forcing a smile, she added, “Thank you.” He scowled. “Bring that boy in and leave quickly whore, before someone recognizes you and drives out all my customers.”
He turned away, she flipped him off, and the boy suddenly grunted awake. “’S goin’ on?” he said sleepily – or drunkenly, there’s really little difference. “I got you a room at the expense of my pride, filthy drunk,” she muttered, wrapping his arm around her neck and struggling to hoist him up to his feet. Either he didn’t hear her or chose to ignore her, probably somewhere between the two, but either way, he didn’t respond to her comment.
Once up the stairs to her room, she gratefully deposited her load onto the plain bed. He quickly fell asleep, and she regarded him with mild disgust. Then quickly and quietly she snuffed out the candle, walked out of the room, and closed the door to this fiasco of a night.
In the Fecund Country, year 29 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 530 of the Old Era
Raven 12
Raven, on the other hand, had just opened the door to hers. She descended steep stairs, scrubbed viciously clean and gaudily clothed, following a pompous-looking man who had arrived at her room, imperiously stating that “His majesty demands she join him for dinner.” Having, at this point, long surpassed her limit for shock, Raven simply took it in stride and trailed meekly behind him in silence.
The odd pair detracted to one as they arrived at an open doorway. Raven’s obviously reluctant escort loudly announced, “Slave Raven, your majesty,” and, ushering her into the chandeliered room, he abruptly left.
Raven looked around curiously. Having already toured the grandiose parlors that absolutely stuffed the emperor’s palace, this room was smaller than she had imagined, although as outrageously ornate. The sparkling gold chandelier was the adornment she first perceived, and with good cause – it seemed in danger of swallowing up the room it inhabited. However, once she had gotten over the imposing metal creature, Raven cast a quick glance at the long dining table, the plants blending with the walls, the hints of violet flushing the walls and ceiling, and the dead fireplace lurking in the shadows of it all.
“Good evening,” came the emperor’s voice from the far end of the room. “Good evening,” she replied obediently, descending the considerable length of the dining table. He indicated the chair on his right – he sat at the head – and, command or not, she sat down.
The two were silent for several moments, he staring at her and she gazing at the empty hearth placed slightly to her left. Finally, he commanded quietly,
“Speak.”
“I don’t know what to say, your majesty,” she replied, turning her gaze over to his. She actually did: the burning question of why. She had been asking this to herself the second she noticed his haunted eyes on her, and wanted more than anything to have it answered. But his pointless murder of her family solidified her fear of provoking any emotion from him at all; the constant proximity to him only increasing her anxiety of sudden and irrational death. She did not want to die.
“And yet words flow from your lips,” he said, inexplicably amused. Struggling to conceal her wariness, she did not reply. “Speak again,” he said, somewhat sharply, as silence once again threatened to reign. She dared not ask a question, so simply stated, “I love the palace, your majesty.”
Upon first seeing the gold, finery, glass, and crystals, Raven became so disoriented she felt she would either faint or vomit; but glancing up at the blinding sparkles of the chandelier, it was the first comment that came to mind.
A spasm of anger seemed to cross his face, but it quickly went away. Calmly, he said, “I told you not to lie to me.” You said there was no need, she thought grimacing slightly. To him, she said, “I’m sorry.” Then immediately realizing these words as a form of confession, she quickly followed with, “I mean –“ but was interrupted by the arrival of the food.
“Dinner, your majesty,” yelled the servant at the doorframe. “Enter,” he said lazily, his eyes never wavering from her. They lapsed into silence as the silver dishes were placed in from of them, the delicious aroma springing forth the ill-practiced saliva in her mouth. However, once the steaming heaps of unknown yet heart-wrenchingly scrumptious foods were neatly arranged, Raven waited. She had never having eaten at a table before. Was she supposed to wait?
Apparently so, because at that moment, the emperor waved his hand unnecessarily at the feast before them, saying, “Eat.” While she resented being given the command like a dog, Raven nevertheless eagerly and ravenously dug into the pile of food.
She ate as if it was her last meal, consuming everything from the meanest stick of celery to the juiciest piece of meat. One thing, however, gave her pause: his majesty watching her scarf through her plate, his own untouched, just as greedily as she ate her dinner. It was immensely unnerving.
Finally, she could not take it anymore. Swallowing a baby tomato whole, Raven said, “Aren’t you eating?” She suppressed a following burp, then hastily remembered to add, "Your majesty?" He seemed to snap out of some daze. After a short pause in which he glanced at the nearly empty table and the object of his dinner-long study, he abruptly said, “That’s enough. Return to your room.”
Deeply afraid that her enthusiasm had affronted him in some way, and growing a little nauseated, she timidly acquiesced and quickly walked out of the place. Once in her room, Raven ran to her private bathroom and threw up what seemed to be every morsel of food that had ever passed her lips.
Feeling shaky, clammy, and definitely sick, Raven crawled out of the revolting smell of vomit and collapsed in her bedroom. The carpeted floor felt as comfortable as any softened piece of ground, and, content in resting there, she silently mused on her situation.
It could not last.
She definitely didn’t trust that – there was no other word for it – crazy man. However, his intentions were hard to determine. He had bought her as a slave, but then gave her a fairly furnished, private room. He was the emperor, but allowed her to eat with him, and, even she knew, messily at that.
And he had killed her family.
A chill went through her, enhanced by her recent bout of retching.
The man that had provided her with food and shelter was an insane murderer.
Huddling tiredly yet uneasily on the carpeted floor, she reluctantly closed her eyes with that last musing. She will be wary here, she thought determinedly, but for now….sleep closed the scene.
In the lands of Acror, year 51 of Emperor Lebinus’ reign, year 242 of the New Era
Lyla 14
Lyla walked back down the stairs of the pub after ridding herself of the boy, thinking of where she herself could find shelter from the freezing winter night. Then it started.
“Finished screwing that boy, bloodscrewer?”
She involuntarily stopped on her way to the entrance, cringing at the disgustingly popular insult. To no one in particular, as she had no idea who had spoken, Lyla said through gritted teeth, “I didn’t have sex with him, so why don’t you shut your ignorant mouth.”
Someone shoved her hard from behind so that she fell to the floor with a yell of shock. She turned angrily around to see a young man’s scowl directed down at her.
“If you’re going to lie,” he said scornfully, “I suggest you pick your moments, bloodscrewer. That boy was drunk enough to screw a chair, much less you.” The remaining words were so obviously implied they were not spoken: of course a whore like her would never pass up such an opportunity. Her hands balled into fists. Standing up furiously, she said, “Why don’t you – “
He shoved her again, though this time she did not fall. Undeterred by her stability, he said, “Simply possessing a mouth doesn’t give you permission to use it. With so many rats running through that – “ Just as she did to her father so long ago, she stopped the man’s words with a forceful slap across his face.
However, unlike the echoing silence that had followed her first great defiance, this sneering surrounding instantly erupted.
“You’ve really the nerve to touch a man?!”
“Go back to screwing the gutter rats!”
"Did that black blood choke the stupid drunk?!"
“You should have gone to hell with your demon-child!”
Someone viciously tore at her hair, painfully yanking her into the suddenly maniac mob as she struggled and yelled and fought and cried.
“Blood-eating slut!”
“Sick bloodscrewer!”
“Gore whore!”
“Whoring witch!”
For a panicked eternity, she felt fury on all sides; it would not end, it would not end. Then came harsh screams, a slapped face, cold stone, a slammed door, and finally, silence.
Lyla lay sobbing.
Sobbing, sobbing, sobbing – then true silence. Slowly, painfully, she stood up. The world still blurred with her falling tears, but through the darkness Lyla stood. She was utterly, excruciatingly, absolutely, alone…but this, for the moment, did not matter.
The pub did not matter. The manager did not matter. The insults did not matter. The looks did not matter. Rudis did not matter. Her father did not matter.
They would not matter. They will not matter. They will not, they will not, they will not.
Sighing, Lyla slipped into a make-shift bed of leaves in the nearby woods.
They don’t.
In the Fecund Country, year 31 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 532 of the Old Era
Raven 14
Raven sat in a mess of scattered food, splintered wood, and broken china. She herself had huddled into the corner of the dining room, staring, not at the jumble of carnage before her, but at that perpetually empty hearth. In seeming ignorance of her blooming bruises and trickling cuts, there her gaze and attention lingered; mesmerized, entranced. Her focus was, however, rudely interrupted by one of her fellow slaves.
“His majesty’s callin’ you, Raven,” he said nervously, glancing quickly around at the room’s destruction, “Better hurry.” Steeling herself, Raven stood up, ignoring the slight pain, and silently walked past the messenger. Raven traveled those familiar steps to the emperor’s chamber, but the voyage was filled with intense apprehension that only increased as she came closer and closer to her destination.
Finally, she arrived before the dreaded door. There was no avoiding the inevitable: she opened it.
He was standing by the windows, looking out of them like some pensive observer, though they revealed nothing but black night. At her appearance, he closed them as if concealing something indecent and walked over to her. “Raven,” he said, calm. She immediately relaxed at his tone. “Yes, your majesty?”
He looked her over and…was that….sadness that crossed his features? Why – ? Her thought was thoroughly shocked into silence by his next words: “I’m sorry.”
By now he was uncomfortably close to her, and she tried not to flinch away from him as she struggled to hide her utter surprise. “It was my fault, your majesty,” Raven ended up saying warily, “I apologize – “
“No!” he said fiercely, grabbing her already bruised arm. She flinched, but he did not loosen his grip. His gaze, however, did soften, and with his other hand he pulled her even closer to him.
Then he kissed her.
A battle immediately roared into existence within her, as if in preparation:
Her lips were in ghastly contact with a murderer.
Then he would surely kill her if she struggled against him.
But would she really sacrifice virtue over cruel life?
Virtue wouldn’t matter anymore if she were dead.
The conflict clashed back and forth, neither conquering the other.
The result was her complete immobility in the emperor’s arms.
He, however, pushed his lips deeper against her frozen ones, sparking panic and the fleeting victory of the second instinct.
She kissed him back.
Perhaps he misconstrued her squeak of distress in that moment as a moan of passion because, right after, he picked her up in his arms and placed her upon his bed. Blind panic threatened to overwhelm her as the intense anxiety of indecision increased tenfold. The internal war reduced to two rapid and powerful words: Virtue. Death. Virtue. Death. Virtue. Death.
Then with a different kind of alarm, he noticed. However, to her momentary relief, he responded not by fury but with the cessation of his kisses. “Raven…” he said. She could not tell if it was warning or worry. If he had not apologized to her before, she would have believed him incapable of the latter emotion. Now, she knew nothing.
“Your majesty,” she said at his pause, deciding to throw caution to the winds, “Why are you doing this? I d-don’t – “ her lips started to form the words ‘want this,’ but her courage was failing, and instead she heard herself say, “understand.”
He looked at her, clearly bewildered, thereby bewildering her, and in a voice that hinted at disbelief, he said, “Because I love you.”
The shock was complete; paralyzing and numbing all at once.
Seeing his, he said in a confusion that in no stretch of the imagination paralleled hers, “You did not know?” Looking at him in complete disbelief, Raven thought of answers from “Of course I knew.” to “Are you kidding me?” to “How the hell was I supposed to know?!” to just “No.” “I-I didn’t know, your majesty, I’m sorry,” she finally replied. He moved off of her - to her relief, as his weight was beginning to surpass painful.
She also sat up, fighting the urge to shift as far away from him as she could. After a blissful moment of complete silence, the emperor asked, “Then why did you kiss me back?”
“I…” was afraid “don’t know.”
He took one of her trembling hands, those ceaseless betrayers, and said, “Would you kiss me now?”
“I don’t know.”
This time, she truly did not. The bloody battle tore her apart into two extremes and she could not yet reconcile them into one decision. Virtue? Death? There was no answer.
“Well,” he said, sounding and looking disappointed, “I will not force you. Not you.” Raven struggled not to regard him incredulously - that might cause him to take offense. She did not want him to suddenly rescind his offer of refreshingly uncharacteristic generosity. “Thank you,” she managed to choke out through her concealed surprise. This night was simply full of them.
He smiled at her and lightly kissed her hand. The strain from suppressing her mounting shock was sure to soon break her, though for now she hid it well. Her hands barely shook. “So,” she said, trying to keept her voice level, trying to keep her world normal, “May I leave now, your majesty?” She half-indicated to her captured hands, but he did not let go. Rather, his grip on them tightened, and he replied, “No. Spend the night here beside me. I have…missed you. So much. You…Raven, you cannot understand just how much.”
Raven hesitated, unable to bring forth the slave's quick compliance in this matter. However, she knew her place. Raven stared unwaveringly at his burning eyes and tensely said, "Yes, your majesty." An almost humane smile broke on his face, up even to his eyes. Completely disregarding her cut, disheveled, and frankly unclean state, he pulled back the covers of the bed and ushered her in. She entered mechanically, her own body feeling unreal; only part of a nightmare. He followed and, after shutting off the lights, enclosed her in his arms.
The sudden darkness did nothing to allay her deep fear as she lay trapped in the arms of her mortal enemy. However, several hours following his first snore, her heavy lids eventually overcame her racing mind, carrying her, fitfully yet finally, to unconsciousness.
In the lands of Acror, year 51 of Emperor Lebinus’ reign, year 242 of the New Era
Lyla 14
Lyla woke up to streaming light. Although a beautiful sight to a waking mind, the hard ground on which she lay captured more of her attention – to her displeasure. Groaning, she shifted the scattered leaves off her stiff body and attempted to stretch away the night-long discomfort. Kinks in her joints cracked harshly against the innocent morning songs that filtered through the light woods. After a few blank minutes spent lying on nature’s floor, Lyla regretfully got up. Her makeshift bed disappeared the second she moved away from it, though she mentally noted its relatively comfortable spot.
For only a few minutes she walked through the woods, then like an otherworldly wanderer Lyla emerged from the trees into gray civilization, where she was determined to find some nourishment.
It had been so long.
Traveling the still waking streets, Lyla bitterly reflected upon her ruined plan for finding food the night before. That stupid drunk, she remembered, much more acidly now that her rumbling stomach reasserted its presence. She had spent the last of her money on that ridiculous room, reasoning that leftovers would be easily found in a pub. What a stupid reason.
Desperately grasping at her growling belly, Lyla wondered of her options. She had already sold off every valuable and invaluable belonging she had chanced to carry with her when being kicked out, leaving only her stolen rags. She was not above begging, but by now most would know that she was in the area, and generosity would be thin even if she mustered up a disguise. She was not an adept thief either. Anyway, amateur though she was, even she knew not to go poking around in the brightness of morning; while everyone was just waking from their slumber no less.
With no other option forthcoming, Lyla soon found herself rooting through the dumpster of a nearby alley. For over an hour she looked, but came up only with a fly-infested pie, some rotten meat, and…an apple. A whole, complete apple.
Delighted, Lyla grabbed her prize and walked away from the cornucopia of decaying mess. Compulsively wiping the unharmed apple on her filthy shirt, Lyla slowly ate through it while walking the now people-infested streets. In keeping her head down, she doubted whether any of them would have recognized her in her current state; however, she refused to bow to these people. Subsequently, a bubble of isolation seemed to form around her, with scathing looks its main component. She tried to ignore it.
A thing suddenly smacked into her head, splattering her face on contact, and Lyla fell. Dizzy from the hit, the dumpster fumes, the walking around, the lack of sufficient food, and the lack of sufficient drink, she could not get back up.
A barrage of what she recognized as water balloons then followed, pummeling her while she lay immobile, and other objects soon imitated their example. Bruises and cuts mounted on top of the ones she had received the night before, and still she could not rise.
The beating eventually ended, the attackers grown bored at her lack of resistance. Although an odd object would occasionally fly towards her as someone passed by, she was generally left alone. Chilled to the bone and aching all over her body, Lyla struggled to emerge from the mound of random weapons, forcing herself not to search for food among them; or for her glorious apple, which she had dropped at the first assault. She could hear some other poor soul foraging through the contents nearby, and she paid him no heed, focusing solely on her current task. Suddenly, however, a hand grabbed her own, pulling her to her feet. She shouted out at the abruptness and the accompanying wave of dizziness, terrified at the newcomer but too weak to fight.
“Lady Lyla?”
She stiffened with shock at the name. “Get off me,” she growled; anyone who knew her identity, she knew, would not wish her good will. He – whoever he was – did not follow her command. Although she had not really expected him to, she felt a plummet in her stomach all the same. “Can you stand on your own?” the man replied. She could not. “Go away!” she yelled with as much strength as she could muster. Lyla struggled against him, and to her surprise, he let go.
She dropped to the floor.
Cursing, Lyla used the nearby wall to crawl her way up, determined to meet the stranger eye to eye. Adding to her annoyance, she discovered that one of her eyes was sealed shut.
Great.
She still had full use of the other, however, and with that she accomplished her goal. Staring straight at him, Lyla saw piercingly clear blue eyes, soft blond hair, and a thin mouth.
She stared at and absorbed all these features in her first cursory glance, yet in that glance, she felt a strange tingle of familiarity.
She looked closer. His mouth was currently curled down; why, she dared not guess, though it seemed wholly against his nature. Anyway, it was not the mouth that really worried her, but those blue eyes. She would have likened them to ice if they had not held such warmth.
These attributes stirred no memory yet Lyla knew she knew this boy…this boy….boy…..gasping, she almost fell back to the littered floor in shock. It was the boy.
“You - !” she started furiously, though her lightheadedness took away some of its ferocity. “So it was you,” he interrupted. He had the nerve to look disgusted and ask, “I-I didn’t have sex with you right? I remember being outside, but I woke up in the pub room…” She had originally decided to keep a dignified silence after her impulsive outburst, but his look infuriated her. “No I didn’t have sex with you,” Lyla spitted acidly. “Oh,” he replied, looking insultingly relieved, “Thanks, I just – “
“Get away from me.” His insolence was the last thing she wanted deal with right now.
“No,” he said innocently, not backing off in the slightest, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean – “ He cut himself off. Unable to hold herself up any longer, Lyla had fallen down yet again. She felt relief from the pain of her struggle but also intense irritation at her weakness. In the pause of his speech Lyla yelled out in frustration, and this was unfortunately accompanied by another wave of severe hunger.
Without her consent, Lyla's eyes briefly roamed around the objects surrounding her, and unwillingly she thought, there has to be food in there somewhere….but she quickly shook her head against this temptation. As a precaution, Lyla tucked her arms tightly around her, restraining them from the beckoning mess.
“Are you okay?” the boy asked, reaching out to her as she fell. At her following glare, he quickly retracted his hands, hastily adding “My lady?” She flinched in annoyance at the address. But she wavered in her anger and almost asked him for food and drink. So close...please…but pride does not surrender.
“Yes,” she answered, though her voice cracked, “Now leave.”
He took a step forward, “I can help you, my lady.”
“Stop calling me that,” she said sharply, holding herself tighter. “I’m sorry, my – uh, er, anyway, you look badly hurt, and since I remember, um, crashing into you last night – “ Her impatience and frustration growing, she swiftly interrupted him, “Thank you for your concern…whoever you are, but I can take care of myself. I only require an official apology for the night before.”
This she said, however, with another growl of her stomach her resolve again wavered. The word unwillingly passed her lips: “Unless….” The boy had dimmed at her flat rejection, but perked up at this word.
“Unless…?”
Looking at his eager eyes, Lyla struggled with herself for a moment. With a third yet most distinct rumble of her stomach, she finally came to a decision and sighed. There was no need to starve to death over her (admittedly endangered) pride.
“Unless you have some food and drink to spare?” she reluctantly asked, refusing to look away in shame. The boy seemed taken aback by this pleading, provoking a flush to creep its way up her face; however, he quickly recovered and answered, “Yes, of course! There’s a restaurant – “
“No!” she cried. People were the last thing she needed. “I – where’s your house? Can we not eat there?” “Um,” he replied, looking uncomfortable, “There’s better food at the restaurant…” “But I’d rather – “ she started, but then she understood. How could she not after two torturous years? The insults rang back, keeping alive the tale of the royal rapist. He was afraid of her.
“Why and how would I have sex with you?” she asked harshly, “Are people in Acror really this stupid?”
The boy looked at her sharply. “That’s not what I meant.”
Lyla stared back at those iced eyes. “No,” she said, “I know what you meant. Like everyone else in this world, you ignore the image of a starved, ostracized, and beaten woman and see only the infamous Lady Lyla: Bloodscrewer. Bloodeater. Gore whore. Lilith.”
She cast her eyes away, shutting them in her red revulsion. “But I hated Rudis; I never even sought his company. That day, the rape…I didn’t seek his company then either, though what my – the king said wasn’t a total lie.” She paused, unsure of her sudden speech. Nevertheless, she continued.
“It was the third anniversary of my mother’s death. I shut myself in my room for the day; to mourn alone, as neither had the king nor Rudis ever cared. But I came out once; at night, when I believed everyone to be asleep. I was hungry. And stupid…
I was walking and saw Rudis’ light on. On in the dead of night, and I couldn’t leave for curiosity. So I pushed open his door a little bit….and saw my friend. Yesenia Ekin of Dorme. She and I were supposed to depart for the kingdom of Mespheme in a few days, and she had never met Rudis – to my knowledge. But there she was. He....seemed to be aggressive towards her, and so I ran in like a fool to intervene. She left while we yelled at each other...and then he killed me. That night, he murdered everything I had ever known, everything. And my eternal judge condemned me to hell...
She testified, you know. That ungrateful halfwit, Yesenia, testified. She said I voluntarily entered Rudis’ room, and of course that sealed my fate. I should have just left her there. I should have just ignored the light. If I had dared to do either, she might have been the one to crawl here in this street instead of me.”
Suddenly, Lyla laughed bitterly and opened her eyes. “No, her father is not as benevolent as mine; the king who sacrificed the lives of both his daughter and her unborn son just to give his bastard heir an edge in society. How I wish that sacrifice had been in vain, but everyone loves the victim…the guilty ones anyway.” Lyla looked back at her audience. Her eyes narrowed. “Forget it,” she said, impulsively clutching at her sad stomach, “Just leave me be.”
There was a pause. He did not leave. Instead, he stepped through the sea of objects and sat down next to her, looking too much at ease for her taste. “That’s not what I meant,” he repeated, and she looked at him, confused from both words and actions. “What are you – “ “I –uh – actually don’t live here. In Acror. I arrived last night, and I haven’t had a chance to find lodging since being kicked out of Eleanor’s. So…”
“So you don’t have a house I can eat at,” Alsius finished for him, but she regarded him suspiciously. “You’re just a boy," she said, "Why were you all alone at Eleanor’s yesterday if your family doesn’t live nearby?” He smiled. God, it had been so long since she had seen a smile. “Ever heard of a runaway?” he answered.
“Runaway?” she repeated bewildered, “You?” It was not as if he looked wealthy or well-bred in any sense of the word, but the statement surprised her nevertheless. Looking slightly amused, he replied, “Yeah, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”
He paused, looking at her with a strange expression. Then he added, “I am...I'm also sorry for before, for...assuming the worst. I – there is no excuse for such stupidity, and I shouldn’t have just…” he trailed off as Lyla stared at him. “You…believe me?”
Did she believe him?
“I do,” he replied quickly, “Of course I do.”
It was as if he had embraced her. Inexplicably, a lightness quite unconnected with her dizziness filled her, and Lyla could not prevent the escape of one small smile.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. The boy bounced quickly back from his brief solemnity, and responded with a glimmer of banter in his tone, “I’m also terribly, terribly sorry for ruining your evening the night before. I hope the entertainment provided some just compensation?”
Her smiled morphed into a smirk. “You can forget the apology.”
Despite their sudden amiability, however, Lyla still felt a nagging curiosity. She asked therefore, albeit more kindly, “How did you know me then, if you come from a different kingdom?”
He did not answer immediately, but picked up an object from the mess. To her slight surprise, she saw it was her apple. The boy bit into it. He chewed upon his bit of her lucky apple as he answered, “You’re pretty well known among…other kingdoms.” Here he swallowed and continued, “I hazarded a guess that the woman mass-attacked by fruit, balloons and whatever else surrounding us right now was you. Anyway, with everyone telling me I had sex with you last night I knew you were in the area.”
“Pretty well known…” she muttered to herself. Just how far away was his kingdom?
“What?” the boy asked curiously. Lyla answered quickly, “Nothing.” Shaking out of her fleeting reverie, she continued to say, “I accept your explanation and apologies. Thank you…for your company and your kindness. You have no idea….” She faded off, unwilling to say her next words, but she quickly cleared her throat and continued, “However, I really can’t go to a restaurant. I suggest you just leave now, for your own safety. People already believe that we…um, had sex, and this really won’t help matters.” He simply smiled, not leaving. She was glad. “This?” he asked. “Talking to me,” she answered flatly, “Being seen with me.”
“Do you think I care?”
“Everyone cares.”
“Even you?”
“Especially me.”
He gave her another strange look. “How about this,” he finally said, “How about I go buy something to eat at the restaurant and bring it over to you?” Lyla thought it over, trying to ignore the fuzzy purple stars that seemed to follow her wherever she went. “Fine,” she finally replied, and he was gone in a second.
She smiled faintly, still feeling his warm presence. The stars, however, were getting more persistent in the silent emptiness, jumping and dancing with a high-pitched taunt. Suddenly, the street darkened and, gasping, Lyla fell to the ground. Even on the floor dizziness overwhelmed her, and she desperately clung to the gray cement, squeezing her eyes shut.
This could not be happening. She would not faint, not now and most definitely not here.
With a gasping breath and inexplicable tears, she opened her eyes. Ignoring every instinct, Lyla scrabbled for the wall behind her and slowly began to crawl her way back up. “I can’t…” she muttered, trembling with the strain. Her head swirling with the dancing spots, Lyla stumbled, but her nails pierced into the dirt between the bricks, and finally, finally, she managed to drag herself up to a sitting position.
Lyla laughed with giddy relief, but then doubled over as hunger pierced her, unbearably potent. Right then, she thought bitterly, simple bread - just a bite of bread - would have been infinitely more precious to her than the ignorant air blowing through. “Boy,” she mouthed, unable to utter the sound that normally followed. The accumulated sweat of her struggle turned cold, and the blackening dots threatened to carry her to oblivion. Am I dying? she thought. She felt a beat of fear choke her, dragging her back to the floor in curtained darkness. Had she fallen, was she floating, was she dying? She didn't know...all she knew for certain, even in the dizzying darkness, was that she was weak.
In the Fecund Country, year 31 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 532 of the Old Era
Raven 14
Raven woke up in semi-darkness. She could see the sun rising through the closed curtains, but the room clung to night. Wait. The room? In cold sweat she instantly froze, convinced that her drumming heart would rudely awaken the emperor. With bated breath she waited….but only soft snores met her fearful patience. Relaxing slightly, she quickly decided against escape, taking the chance that he would be more angered to see her gone than present. Upon this decision, Raven reluctantly attempted sleep. Anxiety, however, continued to clutch at her heart. Sleep subsequently eluded her, and she found herself reflecting instead.
What had happened last night?
They had dined together as usual, each focusing on their separate objects of interest; she her food and he her. It had been silent. As she was finishing however, that anxious silence startlingly shattered with an empty dinner plate, which the suddenly livid emperor had groundlessly flung at the opposite wall. Raven had frozen in the act of wiping her mouth, her mind immediately racing for an acceptable plan of escape when he then completely and unreservedly exploded. He sprang up yelling to her insensible phrases, demolishing the room; even extending his fit of violence towards her. She could feel the ghost of his vice-like grip bruising her arms and throwing her into the table as she remembered.
The fact that those very same hands now wrapped around her did nothing to dispel this sensation. Nevertheless, that certain aspect of the previous night did not truly shock her. Raven had been forced to dine with the emperor every night for two years now, and these wild fits – though frightening – did happen. No, it was the following event that demanded most of her attention.
He had kissed her.
He had told her he loved her.
But…that was impossible. She must be trapped inside some horrible nightmare, one that would end just before she faced a horrible death. He cannot love her, not when she so detested him, not when she so feared him. He would kill her if his irrational love went unreciprocated….
Yes, he had always given her a peculiar attention – ever since her first entering slavery – but that had lessened somewhat over time. He had long since taken away her lavish room and moved her into the proper slave quarters, even subjecting her to the mercy of the slavers.
Yes, they had spent copious amounts of time alone at dinner every night, but they usually dined in silence; only occasionally engaging in shallow conversation. Indeed, rather than enforcing a comforting familiarity, he often grew angry, even furious, though to a lesser extent than the previous night.
Yet, he had kissed her. He had asked her to sleep beside him. Lastly, she could not think of a rational reason as to why he would say he loved her if he did not. Of course, the emperor was not the most rational of people.
Either way, however, the crazy emperor was focused on her in some fashion. But this she had always known. Now, she had to survive not just his regard but his love.
But why? Why?
His shocked face filled her mind. She knew it started there; that expression he had worn when he first saw her. She remembered that odd recognition - odd because it couldn't have been recognition. They had never met before then. Had they? Her thoughts sifted through the years as they had so many times before; through his rambles, through his actions, through her own childhood memories, but none of it made any sense. Her life here had never made any sense. He always spoke intimately with her, acted as if they had known each other for years - even murdered her family - but there had never been any cause. Never.
In the land sof Acror, year 52 of Emperor Lebinus' reign, year 243 of the New Era
Lyla 15
The stone chilled her gaunt body as Lyla sat, leaning her back against it. No one would notice her there near the splintered back gate, she reasoned, this dying beggar shivering at the palace walls. Anyway, the ghost of the banished Lady Rapist would be invisible to the world, especially here.
Why had she come again?
Help. She needed help. That's right...He could not refuse her this time, not as she sat dying at his doorstep. She was his daughter. Despite everything, she was still his daughter.
Lyla took a rattling breath, then crawled up from the floor and shuffled up to the guards at the gate. "Guards," she said, her desiccated throat scratching at the word, "I am Lady Lyla Cassiel Vindican, daughter of King Belial Vindican. I've come to see my father." The guard to her right scoffed, "If you want to see your father go back to the Pinch with the other niggardly bastards." The bite stung, but she expected no less. "Please," she said, her head pounding with the effort, "Grant me an audience or bring someone out to confirm my claim. I-I'm dying, I need my father, please -" "I can confirm your claim," the left guard piped up. Lyla looked up incredulously; she had not expected such a rapid consent. "You - ?"
"What's my name?" he said, stepping towards her, "My true name?"
She stared at him, her heart racing as she struggled to remain upright. "I-I don't..." His face had green eyes, sparkling even in the gloom of evening, and a sharp nose puncturing the fog. A black mop brushed by his face, giving youth to that grave visage. She stood stunned. The unusually shaggy night hair and solemn grim mouth could not fool her - she knew this man. "Haldon," she finally answered, whispering with shock, "Haldon Bur 'Devil' Derius - that is your name."
He too stood stunned, but only for a moment. Then he laughed in amazement, stumbling towards her like the phantom she was, but she could feel his light fingers on her face, brushing back her ragged hair and soulful tears. "Lyla," he breathed, "Are you really here?"
"This is me," she sobbed, "This is me."
The other guard strode over, confused. "What's going on? Haldon, you know this girl?"
"Don't you?" She gave him a slight smile, which disappeared in disapproval as he lifted her up into his arms, ignorant of her smell, dirt, and fleas. "Haldon," she warned, but weakly as relief from standing rushed through her. "You need the Vitals Centre. I'll take you there and -" "Haldon." The other guard placed a halting hand on Haldon's shoulder. Lyla had closed her eyes, but she could hear annoyance prick his voice.
"What?"
"Have you lost your mind?" the guard replied, "You can't just let that beggar woman into the palace. There's no way she's Lady Lyla, and even if she was, that bloodscrewer was banished remember? You can't just -" "I'm not letting this woman die," Haldon forcefully interrupted, "Prevent me from helping her and you die in her stead."
Lyla heard no reply but the creak of the opening gates a few minutes later, and then she was home. She could tell by the sudden scent of dewy grass and unmolested air, by the faint whiff of the peach trees and the silence in crickets' songs, by the feel of the fresh breeze. After two eternities...she was home.
She woke in a blanket and a bed. Lyla almost laughed with joy at these old friends, feeling the comfort from so long ago as she had never felt it before. That softness, that silkiness, that perfumed scent; they slipped her smiles and sighs, but the cleanness she awed the most.
Lyla could have drifted again to warm slumber, but despite her return, hunger and thirst still jealously clung on. "Haldon?" she whispered, her voice still hoarse, though easier to use.
No answer.
No Haldon, but neither was there anyone else. A bubbly feeling of pure joy erupted into laughter despite her parched throat. At that moment, she wanted to die; to escape before the devil could come and drag her back to hell. Kill me now, she thought, just take me now.
A muffled sound echoed. Lyla lifted herself off the pillows in surprsie and took her first glance of the room. Raining colden crystals spotted the walls and an embroidered grandfather clock ticked away to her left. Next to the clock, blood-red curtains cracked open to reveal a sliver of daylight as an opposite fire bled through white gates. Only the plain wooden chair and table clunked down by her bed stood conspicuous in this finely wrought room.
Lyla had never visited the Vitals Centre, but even she could tell this place held no resemblance to one. This was undoubtedly a guest room, used for royalty; a class that now excluded her.
Lyla's wish for death quickly morphed into curiosity. Why did they bring her here? Who had "they" been? Haldon could not have sneaked her here and she had obviously been cared for. Her soundless questions broke off suddenly into a spoken one as she again heard the quiet muffle. "Who's there?" she croaked nervously. She only half-expected an answer, so gasped when a familiar voice immediately bounced back. "Who's Haldon?"
Lyla laughed in disbelief.
To the darkness, she hesitantly whispered, "You imbecilic. Insane. Lackwit. Moron." His voice came out to answer her, and she fell back in shocked relief.
"How many times do we have to go through this?" he said exasperatedly, comping out the shadodws with that easy comic smile and sparkling blue eyes. "Milen. Mi-len. Is that so hard to say?"
Lyla shook her head, never losing sight of those eyes.
"You're insane."
He walked up and poured her a cup of water from the pitcher on the table. She accepted it hungrily as he sat cross-legged on her bed. "I'm not the one who came running home to the father that banished her," he said, shrugging. Just once - was it too much to ask that he put aside the annoyances just one?
She answered sharply, "How many times do we have to go through this? It turned out well for the both of us in the end, so drop it. Can we talk of more pressing matters? Have you anything to eat?"
He rolled his eyes, but mutedly slipped his bag over his head and handed it to her. Lyla opened it eagerly and smiled at the three peaches she found inside. "You should restock soon," she said casually as she began her meal. He groaned and stretched out on the bed. "Am I going to have to start stealing for two? They're bound to notice when half their storage goes missing."
Lyla wiped some peach juice off her face and said, "Very funny. Especially considering you eat double any portion of mine." He laughed and sat up. "No, I drink twice as much as you do. You really need to learn how to drink like a man, Lyla."
"Are you implying you are a man in this scenario?"
He pulled an indignant face and replied, "I've protected you. I've put food on your plate. I've got my deep voice. I might as well be twenty-five." Lyla shook her head. "Then I might as well be forty."
"Just because-"
He paused - so did she. Frozen, they listened to the soft yet unmistakable ping of an elevator.
Lyla quickly stuffed her half-eaten peach back into Milen's bag, ignoring his scowl of disgust, and shooed him away. "I know," he mouthed. Then with a silent goodbye, he bounced behind the curtains, out the balcony, and, finally, out of sight.
Lyla smiled with that warm glow only Milen could induce and lay back down on her bed, waiting patiently for her visitor.
In the Fecund Country, year 32 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 533 of the Old Era
Raven 17
The raised points of the ceiling swirled in her mind as Raven lay in her ocean of a bed. This gargantuan circle had been hers for almost three years now, and she had grown used to its comfort. A disadvantage, now that she thought about it.
The knock rang through her room and she sighed at its meaning. Carefully, Raven scooted to the edge of the endless satin sheet, conscious of her new dress, and crossed the room to open the door. “Already – “ she cut her speech short as the doorway revealed a man far from the regular messenger. “Your majesty,” she said evenly once having mastered her surprise. Beyond this, she knew not what to say; nor did she dare deviate from the regular scripts. “As pleasant as ever,” he whispered in return, placing his hand on her cheek. This was a harmless act, so she let it lay. “Shall we leave for dinner, your majesty?” she said. “No,” he replied faintly, “I-I just sought your company. Please, we must sit.”
Nodding her consent, she stepped aside to let him in. They sat around the clear glass table she rarely used, and, as usual, they sat in silence. She looked out the window to the setting sun, to the beginning of new night...achingly aware of his haunting stare.
As always, he began the conversation. “Why do you never look at me?” he asked, still mutedly, still safe. Immediately she shifted her gaze to him. “I’m sorry, your majesty,” she answered, “I never thought about it.”
“Have you ever thought about love?”
Her blood spiked and she responded carefully, “No, your majesty.” He laughed, though she saw pain in his eyes. “No, I thought not,” he said, “Although I hoped…No, it was my mistake.” He paused again, contenting himself with his eyes’ perpetual object.
The gold of evening held her wonder.
Abruptly, he said, “You can’t know, Raven, my torture in loving something that's never existed, my torture in loving both you and her and never knowing if I love you or her. She's nothing but a memory, yet you are…you are real and tangible and beautiful.” He reached for her hand and she provided it. “We are different people now in this world I chanced to create; I chose to ignore this, and I am so - so sorry. For all these years I couldn't see you...Raven, I could not see you with that power, patience, and wisdom your life had pushed on you. You are...a different person entirely.”
She looked now as his eyes seemed to mist like overhanging skies. He continued speaking but distantly, “I'd give the world for our past...for us to be...us. I still live with the past; the world that never existed...where we loved each other and scorned everything else. You…Raven…can you feel this pain that still shreds my soul - whatever's left of it? It lets me see those violet eyes laugh again, those parched lips smile again, that jagged, mussed hair again…It lets me see your fiery eyes, your impassioned will, your glowing beauty…You had always been so sad, and now…now I love you, I loved you, I will always love you and I’m…so sorry…so sorry…”
Still with misted eyes, but now through a small smile, he said, “Raven, you will never understand who I had once been, and I’m sorry for what I've become. I’ve always ignored the hate and disgust in those fierce eyes, but I've finally learned that you can never love me. Not as I am. But I hope... that when we next meet…” he paused to place in her hand a thick, gray bracelet as smooth and as hard as glass.
“…We meet in peace.”
He looked at her expectedly and she placed the strange adornment on her wrist. She gasped as it conformed to her like an extra layer of skin, and panicking, she quickly tore it off. The creature slid off easily. Smiling, the emperor picked it up from where it fell by his feet and handed it back to her. “Trust me when I say you don’t want to lose this,” he said almost pleasantly. Taking the thing, she stared at him in confusion. For a second…she thought she had seen a different man.
“I stole this many years ago,” he said, snapping her back to reality. “It is a priceless device. With it, a man can possess time. I have misused it for much too long, and time has finally come to exact her revenge. I...accept my punishment. But before she takes me, I knew I somehow had to lessen my evil…So take it. I beg you to use it.” She placed the bracelet – no, device back onto her wrist, ignoring its constriction.
But she could no longer ignore his rambles. After a brief hesitation, wherein she struggled not to blurt, “You’re crazy!” she warily ventured to mutter, “Your majesty – “ But a ringing knock interrupted her. They both looked to the door, she with confusion and he with a certain resignation. “I will leave you then,” he said, getting up. He looked at her almost nervously. “Will you…allow me one last kiss?” Raven hesitated as the knock came again, beating like a drum. “I…” she stared at those beseeching blue eyes. “Why, your majesty?”
He looked confused for a moment, but then suddenly he laughed, bringing unnatural sparkles to those eyes. “Because I love you,” he answered.
Virtue or death? The knocks rang louder and more frequent.
“No,” she finally managed to say, her hands shaking, “I’m sorry, your majesty.” The sparkles disappeared, but he still smiled. “I hoped,” he said, taking one of her trembling hands, “But I didn’t deserve it.”
He sighed. Letting her go, he backed away through the room.
“Goodbye then, Raven.”
“G-goodbye, your majesty.”
His eyes leveled with hers before he revealed a gray bracelet identical to the one on her wrist; however, this one glowed a faint, shimmering white as he spoke. “In the Fecund country,” he said, his voice nearly inaudible, “year 64 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 565 of the Old Era.” Suddenly, he was fading, fading, fading…and finally…gone.
She could only stare.
The door, however, cracked open, and that common messenger poked his head in. “My lady?” he said, “His majesty's waiting.” She looked blankly at him. Then she looked blankly at where he had disappeared. “Yes,” she eventually whispered, tearing her gaze from the spot, “His majesty will be waiting.” Slowly, she walked out of the room. Glancing at her new bracelet, a small smile graced Raven's features for the first time in countless years.
“Until we meet again,” she whispered.
In the lands of Acror, year 52 of Emperor Lebinus’ reign, year 243 of the New Era
Lyla 15
Haldon.
All six feet of his lean, loping body and shaggy black hair entered through Lyla's doorway, and all she could do was breathe his name. Seeing her, he cried her name back and rushed up to her bedside.
"Lyla! You're finally awake, you're okay, you're okay, you're okay..." he rambled as his arms wrapped around her, each reveling in the warm embrace. They broke apart and, ignoring his own, Haldon wiped the tears from her eyes as he had a lifetime ago.
"You're so tall," she murmured thickly, "Have you always been so tall?"
He smiled a watery smile, with his hands still on her face. "I'm sorry I went on growing without you," he said, biting with that sarcasm he had imparted to her. Laughing, Lyla suddenly remembered the guest room and she took Haldon's hand. "Haldon, why am I here? Why am I not at the Vitals Centre? And what of my father? Does he know? Has he come to see me? Is he -" But here, she stopped herself. She could not bring herself to say it, for whatever reason.
"Sorry?" Haldon supplied for her, and her hand clenched around his. "I wouldn't know," he said quietly, "but he moved you here once he realized you were at the Vitals Centre. That was over a week ago. If he's given you any recognition since then, I don't know about it."
Lyla tried not to let her disappointment show. Instead, she said, "So you're a guard now. What happened? I thought you had sworn off that path." She saw him tense, and she knew his next words would be lies. "I changed my mind," he said easily, "I should try it out while I'm still young. I still study on my days off." She hated his lies; she had almost forgotten. Lyla narrowed her eyes at him, but let it pass. "I'm glad for you," she said. He smiled. "Thank you."
There was silence then, the frivolous formalities unable to sustain them for long. Lyla could sense his questions, and she hoped he could not sense hers. Or her answers. "Haldon," she whispered against her will, before he could ask, "Haldon, you know, you must know -" "That his majesty lied?" he interrupted, supplying her words again.
A sticky, black plague lifted from her chest at these words, leaving behind a shaky laugh and shaky tears.
"You knew."
"Of course I knew."
He kissed her hand. "And I'm sorry." She used that hand to lightly hit his head. "Stupid," she said, "I don't need those words from you." He came closer, taking her hand back into his. "What about 'I missed you'?" he muttered, "What about 'I love you'?"
"Hal-" She stopped, or was stopped, with his kiss now on her lips.
She pushed back almost violently, her heart thundering, her eyes wide, her breath impossible to find. "Lyla -" "No," she interrupted, "I-I'm sorry, really, I'm sorry I - you just surprised me, um, Haldon, I'm sorry -"
"You said that already."
"Right. Yeah..." Stupid, she thought bitterly.
"You weren't actually pregnant were you?" he suddenly blurted. She looked at him again.
"What?"
"That's what you said to his majesty, do you remember? That day, you said you were pregnant. But you weren't, were you? You used it as an excuse, right?" He looked hopeful then, but hopeful for what? Lyla could feel it, the 'what', and never had she felt so tainted. Never had she felt so much like a whore.
"I...no. Of-of course I was not pregnant. Don't be stupid."
In the Barren country, year 27 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 528 of the Old Era
Raven 17
The colorless wasteland stretched before her, the ragged bones of decaying trees littering the scene for miles. Raven breathed in that ashy air of her childhood, tightly clutching her warm woolen cloak.
She started walking.
She was close, she knew; she had stepped through here before. The trees had loomed so much more intimidatingly then, but Raven had more to be afraid of than dead trees.
An embroidered knapsack, the plainest she could find, rubbed against her hip as her boots cracked harshly against the frozen soil. Raven had bartered them from the palace’s tanner, and had traded clothes with the servants. She had crept back to her room for the travel, taking her bag from the closet and her boots from under her bed. The comforts had surrounded her as she stood for one last look at the emperor’s palace. It had sickened her and frightened her just as much as when she first laid eyes on it.
Before long she would miss it.
Now, however, with food by her side and a cloak hiding her from the piercing winds, this world held an infinitely greater appeal. Seven years separated her from his majesty, his savagery, her prison, and this dead, gray desert spoke of nothing but freedom.
Suddenly, she stopped. The silence rang in her ears with the absence of her crunching steps, but Raven willed them to hear more. Moments passed, but she could not identify the source of her sudden foreboding. Standing as still as the land, she waited. Then she heart it: a raspy whisper of death. Raven slinked slowly towards the sound, and within seconds, she had found its source.
A skeletal shape of a young girl lay stretched out on the ground, her cracked lips blue, her wispy hair faded, her deadened eyes glazed. Raven was now close enough to clearly hear the skeleton's harsh breaths - or was it the bones rattling in the wind? The skeleton's gaze seemed to find hers and Raven kneeled down beside it.
Then it spoke. "Wa-ter..." it rasped weakly. Raven looked down at it for a moment, and then took one of its hands. All the fingers had been chewed off.
Slowly, Raven took her free hand out from under her cloak, staring silently at the gleaming knife it held.
This was the price, she though bitterly.
Still holding onto her hand, Raven slit the girl's throat.
In the lands of Acror, year 52 of Emperor Lebinus' reign, year 243 of the New Era
Lyla 15
They sat there, the two of them, though she was no longer an invalid. Lyla pictured his windswept hair and sparkling blue eyes, herself filled with envy, with longing, with jealousy. "Milen," she said, staring at the peach in her hand. "Mm?" came his voice from the bed, and she could imagine his body sprawled out behind her as usual, while she sat on the chair to face the open windows. "Why have you not brought any grapes? Are they not yet ripe?"
"I suppose."
"...I see." And she could, almost.
The sun glittering on the palace walls, the back garden in full bloom with little young grape vines, the splashes of fountain water, the fresh green grass, the shining sidewalks, the elegant little outhouse for the servants. She could almost see it...but in her mind's eye it was little more than a mirage. Still. All Lyla had yet seen of her former home were the four sparkling walls of her dull sickroom, while Milen ran through the halls and lawns and gardens like a ghost; unseen yet seeing all. It had been six days. Six days since she had woken up to her soft bed, to Milen's smile, to Haldon's – to Haldon.
Lyla 19
A woman mounted upon a brilliantly white horse rode in haughtily through the palace gates. In the gray mist of morning, in the muted brisk of night's end, the few servants mingling in the court bent low in her wake, and their hushed conversations colored the rising dawn.
They eyed a nose as straight as the ocean’s horizon, peered at a soft and slender mouth. They murmured of a stubbornly set chin, and scrutinized two slim and powerful shoulders. Her sheathed arms were appraised, her callused fingers were dissected, and arching straight and proud, her back was disdainfully admired.
They furtively gaped at this woman riding haughtily by; however, her own violet eyes witnessed neither the world above nor the world below. Her lofty nose was the ocean’s horizon and these bright globes were its dark, pure, and scintillatingly impenetrable depths.
Her clothes, then, were reckless abandon.
From her muddied boots, to her patched trousers, to her frayed and dirtied cotton shirt, she dressed as a man; a pauper man. Her nubs of nails screamed with dirt, filth, and ungodly sweat; not even her once-envied searing black hair had been spared, with its greasy locks mercilessly pulled back to a peasant’s braid.
The servants, however, still whispered of this woman as if her very face was the moon, shining, despite the black stains or because of them, brilliantly, luminously, distantly.
The woman reached a modest meadow, muted by high hedges but hidden from peering eyes. Within this meadow, she slowed her horse to a stop. After a moment’s wait, she dismounted. Slowly, meticulously, she began walking up to the edge of the monstrous carving that stood grandly in the deserted meadow. It loomed above her, the glaring whiteness of its harsh angles and shadowed pits startling the gray-green calm. In the light of the yawning sun, she observed in its one hand a blackened sword of valor and in the other a garish staff of wisdom. She observed the cruel grimace it directed towards the heavens; the crushing sneer it cast at the unknown.
She looked with a heartless gaze upon her father, neither saying nor doing anything else.
“So the rumors were true.”
The woman hardened at these words, and said nothing.
A man appeared next to her. The detested sight of hair the color of vomit, of eyes swimming like green excrement, of a smile like torn parchment - though glimpsed only in her periphery - turned her stomach, twisted her mouth, and tattooed in her chest a beat of erratic fear.
“Lady Lyla,” he said.
She flinched.
“I had almost forgotten of your…beauty,” he said, gazing disdainfully at her obvious brown.
A flash of anger.
He smirked. “After almost four years since seeing me last, my lady has nothing she wishes to say? Or do?”
She remained silent, staring resolutely at the statue.
“You swore that you would tear out my heart and feed it to the palace mutts if ever we met again, or do you not remember?”
Do not rise, do not rise...
“Evidently not, though I am not surprised as you…” He faded off as Lyla continued to respond in muteness. Suddenly, his hand shot into her view and violently grabbed her face, twisting it to his. Fear and blinding hatred coursed through her as she viciously pried at his filthy fingers, tearing mercilessly at that sinning skin. She cried in pain as she slipped from his grasp, then immediately struck his face, using nails to drag on bloody paths.
“How dare you touch me,” she hissed, her heart pumping dangerously in her ears, “How dare you act like you’ve forgotten.”
He did not look even remotely ashamed, rather, a twisted smile grew on his face.
A sliver of unease went through her. “I haven’t forgotten, Lyla,” he said, taking a step towards her, “In fact I -“ “My lady?” He stopped abruptly, as did she in breathing, and they both turned, he sharply and she gladly, towards the would-be witness.
It was a servant, walking forward apprehensively.
Once upon them, the servant first bowed to Lord Rudis saying “My lord” and then to her, merely mumbling the words “My Lady.” She felt a stab of pain at this difference. “Have you a message for me?” Rudis asked in a voice mixed between annoyance and forced calm. “No, my lord,” said the messenger, “for her.” He glanced towards Lyla, hesitant.
“Well?” she replied, her voice cold.
The servant cleared his throat, and said shakily, “My lady, His Grace has asked for your immediate, uh, presence...” he paused looking, as had the others, uncertainly at the dirt of her clothes, then added, “He said it was very urgent.”
Suppressing a scowl, she ignored his slight criticism and nodded.
“Thank you. You may go.”
As the servant left, Rudis turned to her, immediately raising her defenses. Glowering, he spoke simply but with hatred, “I suggest you hurry to meet the King, my Lady; I will not be blamed for your tardiness.” He turned to leave, but she refused him the last word.
“Rudis.”
He faced her, though reluctantly. “It is ‘Lord’ -"
“I will die before I address you as such, so don’t waste my time.”
She paused, her mind blank but for the pounding of her heart. But as Rudis moved, clearly to speak out in annoyance, she hurriedly said, “No. No, you don’t get to speak. You’ve no right to address me…or even to look at me for that matter.” Her voice was shaking, but she breathed and faced those hateful eyes.
“Have you no shame? None, whatsoever? Are you so stupid as to have never realized what you’ve done? This is only the second time I’ve spoken to you since then, and not one word of reference, not one word of apology – I -“ Anger boiled maddeningly inside her, and she could not contain it any longer. She burst into six years of deep loathing, yelling at its despicable object,
“I birthed your child! I birthed it in filth, in poverty, in isolation, from no will of my own! No, you took that will away from me! You took my life away from me! Do you know what I hear in every field, in all the pubs, in every single village every single day?! Slut! Blood-screwer! Whore! Witch! Vampire! Despicable, disgusting, pitiful, perverted demon! But, evidently, my misery has been as insignificant to you as the merest fly!”
She paused, shocking herself with her volume. Rudis seemed stunned to stillness. Looking at her hate with cool fury, she nevertheless finished,
“You don’t deserve to live Rudis, and I would kill you. But you must first endure the pain that I’ve been forced to live because of you; the humility, the abandonment, the hatred, the despair. Only then will I allow the Devil to take your tarnished soul from those stupid, rude cages, and make no mistake bastard, I will deliver it to him.”
Her heart must have been beating somewhere in her skull because all she could see, feel, or hear was blood as she climbed back onto her horse and rode out of the hated place. After several seconds of furious animosity, however, a small drop of shame welled up inside of her. Six years, it admonished, six years and still he could evoke such violent reactions from her.
Lyla exhaled sharply to be rid of it, struggling to cleanse herself of emotion. Two minutes later and her heart was once again beating silently in her chest, her legs walking mechanically through His Grace's hall. And her guide announced her presence.
"Lady Lyla Cassiel Vindican has come to seek audience with His Grace."
“Enter.”
His Grace sat upon a great armchair by the fireplace, staring in what others would have believed to be formidable contemplation. She stared coolly at him, undeterred by his ‘grand’ image. Nevertheless, she forced herself to bow and say, “Your Grace, I give my sincerest apologies regarding my lateness, and dearly hope I haven’t kept you from further engagements.” He merely frowned at her impeccable civility and with clear disdain over her dress.
“Sit.”
Lyla thought fleetingly of turning around and walking away, but her feet could only move forward. The second she had seated herself across from him, His Grace clipped by way of greeting, “I do not wish to endure the annoyance of your presence any longer than I must, so I shall be direct.”
She felt a twinge of irritation, and discovered that, from the man that had habitually treated her like the dust on the walls, she had nevertheless hoped for a few words of welcome.
She said nothing in reply.
He continued, “Opime, the lands belonging to Lord Crudus, has been rumored to be preparing for war against us, so in response to this-“
“Why?” she interrupted, cursing herself for her curiosity. He glared at her, and replied sharply, “For our resources, you senseless whore, why else?” She gripped the arms of her chair tightly in controlled anger, but said nothing.
Obviously, he required no answer, so he continued, “So in response to this, I have decided to send you as my representative in order to demand reconciliation before further actions could be made towards conflict.”
She sat stunned, and could not help the question that came forth, “This was why you summoned me home? After four years of silence you call me back to ‘conciliate’ with some pompous lord like one of your council dogs?”
His eyes flashed and he glared viciously. However, after a moment of tense pause, he answered.
“This kingdom as well as I was better off without you," he started slowly, "However, in this matter, sending my daughter in place of a diplomat would be a sign of peace and trust, no matter how I wish it were not so. Moreover, I trusted a woman such as yourself would prove more effective in these sorts of...negotiations than any man on my council.”
It was as if, instead of blood, ice flowed through her veins. After a moment’s roaring pause, she stood up and spoke - cold, monotonous, dead.
“Is that all, your Grace?"
He stared intently at her, weighing, she knew, the worth in challenging her insubordination. Finally, he nodded.
"You are dismissed."
Lyla bowed painfully then turned to the door, her fingers prickling with shard of ice. But she could not move. "Is that all?" said a voice so detached, so empty, that it took a moment to realize it as hers.
His response whipped through the air.
"You are dismissed."
She closed her eyes, shaking. "Is that all?"
He said nothing. At this, she turned back around, facing his glinting eyes and cold mask. "There's more," she said, "You did not have me dragged all the way back here simply for this."
"You were dragged because you are too simple-minded to recognize a golden offer from the odorous waste that so often crawls into your lap."
Ignoring the slight, she said stiffly, "You mentioned no offer."
He looked haughtier than ever with a sudden sneer - a look he had no doubt planned for this occasion. "It needed no mentioning," he said, "But if your thick ignorance cannot yet comprehend then allow me to elucidate your situation. The offer, put simply, is the official reversal of your banishment in exchange for Lord Crudus' subordination."
Her heart stopped. Or perhaps that odd tightening in her chest was the feel of it finally beating. "Official?" she repeated breathlessly. How could he say that so carelessly? He was cruel - so cruel to have tossed her this whisper of false hope. She knew he could see the weakness in her face, in her arms, in her knees.
"Rudis has not proved himself to be an advantageous investment," he said by way of answer, "You, however, might still be useful. More so now than in your youth, actually. Your insolence then hardly made you valuable to anyone. Now, however, you seem to have learned the value of control."
She wanted to scream. The value of control? The value of control?! All she could manage was a scoff of disbelief. "You want me then, to crawl from one prison to the next?" she said, trying to muster scorn through her incredulity. He looked almost amused.
"If that is how you wish to view it; yes. However, the prison I offer has wealth and power, while the one within which you currently reside has only death and shame."
Staring, Lyla almost stepped back; his blatancy affecting her like a blow. Still, she spoke. "I see shame in both, but not pride. Is this your sick idea of fun? To not only brand me as a whore but to turn me into one as well? Then allow me to explain something to you, your Grace, one whore to another: I am innocent. I will not sacrifice that innocence to the starved society who ostracized me in the first place to gain their tenuous love and pity. I will not give it up to your power simply to wake up in a bed everyday, to eat three meals everyday, and you are a fool to think that I ever would. No - not exactly a fool, but a shallow whore, stained to black. And I promise you, whatever you may believe to the contrary, that you are nothing more."
Without a second’s pause, her father rose and whipped his hand across her face, his eyes and face finally betraying fury. “How dare you speak to me like that? When I fed you, clothed you, and debased myself to keep you and give you shelter; all despite the fact that you tore your clothes, spat at my food, fraternized with peasants, and could not interest any royal even with your dowry! You chose instead to live keeping your legs open for any breathing creature that is unfortunate enough to cross your way, and you dare speak to me like that?!”
With thick poison coursing through her, she stared straight into his soulless eyes, spitting with venom.
“From the moment I was born you’ve loathed me. You knew a girl couldn’t clear your infamous blemish and you loathed both me and mother for leaving you with an illegitimate man-child as your heir...though you were the one to have sneaked into that poor whore in the first place. Now you stand there, proud-backed, and dare to lecture me on virtue? You, who even now continues to bed different woman as often as when mother was still alive? I have more virtue than you’re even capable of recognizing! Tell me your Cowardice, do you remember that day? Do you remember that sad day six years ago when I came to you as your daughter, your flesh and blood child, and told you of what your bastard son had done to me; do you remember that day when I learned of your virtue and you of mine?!
When you scorned your daughter for proving powerless against a man four years her senior, when you ostracized and banished her and then lowered her to the level of a prostitute and a whore, do you remember that day?! I was thirteen years old. Thirteen, a child...yet you forced me to grow beyond such years.
I spent nine months filled with nothing but pain, sorrow, and humiliation; after which I birthed a dead child on the floor of an alleyway a world away from home. But of course, you didn't know this - you were not there. And when you finally allowed me to arrive on your doorstep two years later, you could not debase yourself enough to ask. Instead you chose to torment me with the praise and lavish given to your perverted half-child as I stood by ignored, isolated, unloved, stuffed not even to the back corner of your mind but to the space where no space exists.
You never loved me.
You need not admit it, not here, not today, but do not continue to insult me as if I were still your child. I renounced the titles of both child and daughter the instant my son hit the cement floor.
But as a woman - one of the many that taste acid with your name - I say to you that your Grace is nothing but a despicable, aged whore. I look forward to the day when your feeble existence perishes from this world and I will never again have to suffer the filth of your presence.”
Lyla turned away from the King and, without another word, exited his chamber.
In the Fecund country, year 23 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 524 of the Old Era
Raven 6
A house of rich proportions stood grandly in a neighborhood containing rows upon rows of houses much like it. It stood undeniably stark and bland, but nevertheless offered the aura of safety and wealth.
Currently, its bare backyard, adorned with a single tree, held the presence of a little girl. She stood thin, ragged, and gaunt; obviously not a resident of the affluent house, but there she stood nevertheless. A large shirt hung lank on her small frame, serving as a dress for the slight child, though also as the only article of clothing she possessed. Her midnight-black hair had been roughly hewn so that it lay tangled above her shoulders, and it curled wildly around her face. The face too suggested neglect and malnutrition in its hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes.
However, those eyes remained the sole difference between her and the dead. Although shadowed from starvation, these brilliant eyes gave her appearance a vivacity and boldness not often found in those of her condition. They shined bright, intelligent, and as violet as the dawning sky, showing the capability of compassion but also of reserve.
This young child now removed two picks from her matted hair. Within seconds she had unlocked the back door of the house and slipped through. She smiled silently at her luck - the door had led her directly to the kitchen. Thinking of the foolish naivety of the house’s designer, she moved quickly to the cupboard, opening it like a present on Christmas day. Nearly salivating at the sight of food, the child took a large bite from a loaf of bread, and then began to stuff as much as she could carry into her cloth bag. Suddenly, she stiffened. Rapidly turning around, she saw a black shadow swinging towards her, and a star-punctured blackness filled her vision as pain filled her senses. Then she saw no more.
She woke to a pounding headache. Grimacing, the little creature gathered her grey surroundings. She was surprised to find the cool, tiled floor of the kitchen stretching before her. Next to her, obviously placed, was the loaf of bread she had bitten. After an uneventful pause, she grabbed it and then stood up through bouts of pain. Despite her beating skull, she forced her mind to focus on the odd situation, though no guess about it came to her.
She had her bread, she could leave and find more food elsewhere, but curiosity overwhelmed all other instincts. The girl padded her way silently across the kitchen, then looked furtively out into a lavish living room. She saw a soft couch, a glass table, and a window. The rising sun was beginning to peek its way through the feebly flowered curtains, and though it made her wary, she couldn't help but revel in its life. Suddenly, she noticed a young boy, sleeping peacefully upon the soft couch. He was as small as she, though he radiated the soft and conspicuous glow of one having been well nourished and well loved. Dull, bed-ridden hair lay gray on his pillow, and she noticed slight circles under his eyes. He clutched a small stick.
All at once, the light of the dawning sun rose to shine upon the sleeping child, warming his pale cheeks to a tender glow of rose, and his rustled hair to a soft ring of gold. No blemish appeared upon this child’s face, no hint of shadow or grime stained his angel frame. He was a cherub, unmarked, untouched, and gay even in slumber.
Wonder held her as this child slept on, unaware of his silent watcher, oblivious to her gleaming tears. Hesitantly, she made as if to brush his ruffled hair, to approach his haloed frame, but her leaning body and outstretched hand fell regretfully back. She closed her eyes, and breathed a distant sigh. Opening them, she cast her eyes once again upon the ever present barrier that lay between the living and the enduring. Wiping her grubby face with her grubby hands, she did not bother to shake her head clear. Instead, she simply found her ragged bag and parted wordlessly from the house, leaving the gray boy behind snd still clutching her bitten bread.
In the Barren country, year 24 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 525 of the Old Era
Raven 7
“In the twenty-third year of Emperor Milen, seventeen of our number left us. Tonight, we have gathered before the Light of the Dead to honor those seventeen.”
The priest gestured to a grave woman of thirty-four who sat nearest to the front.
“We begin with Jeidan Nelil. Rise, Anelda Rue, as his eldest daughter, and help to ease his passage.”
In silence a woman rose to face the crowd of solemn bodies, and she spoke quietly but firmly. “To my father, Jeidan Nelil, I give his lucky coin, made from pure silver. He never went anywhere without it in his pocket, and my sisters and I couldn’t bear him leaving now, forever, without it near him.”
Turning around, she cast the small object into a blazing basin of fire.
The crowd chanted mutedly, “May you find each other again, and love once more.”
“For Keyla Rue, rise, Menny Rue, as her second eldest daughter, and help to ease her passage.” A slightly younger woman rose to take Anelda’s place in front of the glowing fire, clutching a bundled object stained to indiscernibility, choking on sobs.
“To my m-m-mother, Keyla Rue, I give my old doll Eena, so she can alw-w-ways remember the happy times, like when I was just a-was just a youngling, and w-w-we always played with Eena for hours an-and hours.”
She too cast the ragged stuffed cloth into the heart of the fire, and again the people intoned, now to Menny Rue’s tear-stained face, “May you find each other again, and love once more.”
Fifteen times more this was repeated, the beaten words weary, yet each time pressing more weight. In the end, the priest gestured towards the thirty-seven paupers seated in grief before him, and spoke.
“For the anguish we have felt in the death of those we love, rise, all, and listen to my words."
"My friends, always we have looked around us and seen nothing but the bleakness, the desolation, the unfairness of what we live, what we endure; what our world has left for the ones hapless.
But, my friends, my family, although the world may leave us to grovel in the bitterest dregs of life, although even God may turn a blind eye, the people we love – our brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers - never leave us to bitterness.
We may cry; we may feel alone and abandoned in this world, but we are never alone; we are never abandoned. In this world or without we feel the presence of the ones we love and the ones we have loved. They are there in our times of need, they are there in our times of desperation, and they are there in our times of utter hopelessness.
My friends, my family, my powerful companions; we are the survivors, we are the immortal, we are the glorious dead.
Never forget this."
A ringing silence followed. The priest saw his family looking upon him with eyes shining in the light of the dancing shadows; whether they shone with sorrow or with the sweet ache of power he did not know. However, as he bowed his head, every man, woman, and child within joined him in silent prayer. As they finished, the thirty-seven paupers slowly dispersed off in the grave calm; each into their frugal shelters, each one by one until only the priest remained.
There he stood, for hours or for minutes, he himself did not know. However, at the end of his prayer, the great shadow finally lifted his head to the moonless gloom, and endlessly he stared at the light from the burning trinkets of the dead.
Eventually, the end to the infinite came. Departing into the blackness, the ghostly man took one longing glance back. The fire swirled alive in his eyes while all else lay as still as death. Finally, he looked away, resigned, and finally, he relinquished his vigilance to that everlasting fire.
Farther away, under a canopy of trees bared, crippled, and grayed, lay the little girl. Her black hair lay splayed upon the empty ground, reaching out to join the shadows of the night. However, the innocent beam of the moon’s gentle glow illuminated the girl herself. She snored softly as harsh lines of fatigue, hunger, worry, and grief was lost in slumber’s kind and tender arms, smoothing away in one gentle stroke seven years of suffering. This nightly peace cast her no suffering end, no inevitable death, granting only eternity to her innocence. So the little girl slept serenely on throughout the creeping night, radiating ethereal heaven with neither wings nor halos, but as an angel born in hell.
In the Barren country, year 27 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 528 of the Old Era
Raven 10
"Raven."
A girl, wearing the child's ragged shirt paired now with ragged shorts, turned towards the name. She saw the group's priest before her, an aged man as thin as her very arm, but with a strength that radiated with his every step. The family had always revered him, but she had always found him too distant and much too cold.
“Raven,” he said again. “Yes?” she answered, monotonous – she could not help but respond in the same manner. If he noticed it, he did not give any indication. Not one flicker of the eyes.
“Can you spare a few minutes?”
No, she thought silently, she was cold enough without his own icy manner cutting through her. He saw her refusal in her eyes, but with a slight twitch of his head, his own refusal triumphed over hers. Reluctantly she replied, “Okay then.” The priest turned sharply around at this begrudged acceptance and swiftly glided forward. Resigned, Raven trailed behind.
As they walked, the pair passed black trees long stripped of leaves, and their family that huddled underneath them. The latter consisted of patched and unpatched blankets, clothes, and people as deadened and forlorn as the former. Despite their raggedness, however, the family lay basking in the rare sunshine that flooded through the thin branches, attributing nothing less than peace to the scene. Raven herself felt a delicious shiver in passing beneath the sun’s warm touch, the motherly embrace keeping at bay the climate’s natural chill. As she and the priest passed, a few sunken faces turned to grace them, or rather, the priest, with a smile, but most would not spare the few seconds away from the light’s warmth.
Raven felt a definite drop in spirits when the two left behind the last of the family, and entered a deserted clearing. She associated the place solely with the Ceremony for the Dead, though they also gathered there for the rare celebration. The others did not mind it or gave the place much thought, but she inexplicably hated it.
The priest stopped here, and turned towards her.
“Raven,” he repeated. Despite being yet a child, she faced him with an adult’s detachment, crossing her arms and staring straight into his dulled eyes. “Yes, Father?” she replied. Was that a flicker from his eyes? She could not tell. If it was, indeed, a flicker, then he rid himself of it before her own eyes could take a blink. Raven burned with sudden curiosity, which was tempered by his next words.
“You are aware that Nina has just birthed a child." It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. "In turn," he continued, ignoring her response, "I am aware that the entire family, including you, has already contributed a share of their store to Nina. However, I have brought you here to tell you to contribute a small extra sum. I am sorry to ask this of you, “ his blank voice added, “However, in addition to having the most to spare, you are the most capable of replenishing your store.”
Raven stared in shock, her stomach growling in protest. “I –“ She will not. Her store was already low enough as it was. Giving up that portion to Nina earlier in the week had been a tremendous blow, and Raven had barely enough to give out her usual rations the day before. The priest had his strict rules on regulating food stores, but some of them resented the rigidity, and so sneaked out extra portions to the more famished when they could. However, at this point, Raven herself would not last the week.
Presently, she was choking on panic - she did not know what to do. She will not give up more of her store, she will not. But she had no reason not to. Rather, she had no legal reason not to. She did not know what to do.
At her pause, the already grim set to the priest’s mouth seemed to deepen into an even grimmer set, and he interrupted her train-wreck of thoughts to say, “I see.” Seizing at the chance to divert the conversation, Raven looked at him questioningly. He elaborated, “I see you are reluctant to relinquish further contents of store although you are registered to have a great amount. I also see that despite your great amount, you are always as equally haggard and starving as the rest of the family."
"I had been suspicious for some time of your illicit activities. As I know you do not possess overt selfishness, your hesitation just now has confirmed these suspicions.” He paused, but then added almost curiously, “It seems it is within your nature to disobey.”
Raven ignored the last comment, deeming it an insult, and simply did the thing most sensible to her at the time. Lie. “Illicit activities, Father?” she said calmly, though her hands shook, “I don’t understand.” She saw his eyes narrow, and she tried to still her faithless hands. She continued, “I hesitated because I don’t want to give away any more food. I just don't understand. There are others that have more than me. It's not fair.”
There was silence in the clearing, and she stood on edge, indecisive on breaking it. Finally, finally, he spoke, though his response was far less than satisfactory.
“I see,” he said. There was never a more ambiguous phrase.
Thankfully, he elaborated, “I had simply sought to confirm my suspicions, and see if you required extra food for your journey. I now see that you do not. Therefore – “
“For my what?” Raven interrupted, mixed between assurance on having misheard and sudden panic. “For what, Father?” she repeated when he did not immediately respond.
“For your journey, Raven. Away.” Raven searched his face, but there was no need: she already knew he had meant every word.
“Father, I don’t understand. Why do I have to go away? Is it because I didn’t follow your rules? I’ll never do it again, Father, I swear, trust me Father, never again. I’ll follow all your rules from now on; I was only trying to help. I swear. I was only trying to help! Your stupid rules don’t help anyone! Without us, they would’ve died! They would’ve died!”
She backed away from him, her breath hitched and her blood pulsing in her ears, suddenly aware of how close she had gotten to him; suddenly aware that she had just yelled at the leader of their family. To them, he was like God. She had just yelled at God. “I – I’m sorry, I – “ but she didn’t know what to say. It didn’t matter – he spoke over her.
“Before I begin, I will reassure you in saying that no matter what you could have said upon entering this clearing, you would not have changed my mind. And you have not. You will leave the family. You will gather your belongings tonight, part from us, and then never return. Do you understand? You have never listened to me before, but you must listen to me in this. You must not return to the family.”
Raven felt nothing at his words; nothing but pure, incalculable, fury. “Why?! Tell me why!” she shouted. His eye twitched, but it was irrelevant – she forgot it instantly. “I haven’t done anything to deserve this! I work; I contribute, so much more than the others! This isn’t fair; I’ll die out on my own!”
He grabbed her shoulder, and she immediately quieted. The complete shock of his contact had ripped her from her anger. “Listen to me, Raven. Your behavior has nothing to do with this. You say that you would die without us? Well I assure you that your death is imminent if you stay. Look-look at me!” He kneeled down before her and forced her eyes to his. Her anger was diminished, but not vanished; she glared at him.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“I am sorry,” he replied, “but there is not time to explain. Just when you leave, do me this one favor, my child.” He paused, and her curiosity overwhelmed her desire to interrupt.
“Just remember,” he said finally, “that I have always, at the very least, tried to love you as if you were my daughter…my flesh and blood. Now, and even then, I have always tried. I hope that one day….you will be able to forgive me.” No words came to her; there seemed no acceptable response, but she was spared the moment. He released her, and both gasped, both turned, towards the bloody screams that came from the direction of where their family last lay. They looked back at each other. “Go my child,” the priest whispered.
“I will, Father,” she replied. And turning away from him, she did.
In the lands of Acror, year 50 of Emperor Lebinus’ reign, year 241 of the New Era
Lyla 13
There existed very white, very large, very ornate, marble doors. They stood three feet over the average man, but towered over the incomer as if they stood twenty. Crystals dripped from the edges like glassy stalactites, and thin black lines intertwined with thin gold lines to swirl across the surface, crawling up the massive figures. Small carvings also peeked out, secretly tucked away between the adornments, hidden by their blind beauty.
Presently, these palace doors groaned open, and through the sudden break, a tumble of tangled black hair and crumpled fine clothing stumbled upon the scene. Every servant and royal, there for the grand ball that evening, turned in shock towards the unsightly sight. One nearby and, to everyone in the vicinity, bold Lord hesitantly moved forward.
“Lady Lyla?" he asked, "Is that you?”
The tumble’s salt-wet face rose up in response, confirming her identity, and the people gasped at the verification. “Lady Lyla– !” the Lord exclaimed, but got no farther. At that moment, a sudden boom of unmistakable fury shook the very walls of the palace, and people stared at the newcomer to the bewildering scene.
It was the King.
“My Lords and Ladies!” he presently cried, “You see now before you my whore of a daughter. Look at her, the filth,” he added, and at this, the wreck seemed to rise; her eyes flashing at the accusation. “This does not become you, your Grace,” she interrupted, her voice quivering with anger, “Lying to gain your own ends? Why – “
“You are the liar, Lyla,” he said, overpowering her, “You were the one who was always too forward, you were the one who went to his room that night, you were the one who never stopped him; YOU. ARE. THE. WHORE!”
“But father – “
“Look at her!” the King boomed, addressing the bewildered crowd, “attempting to sweep away her sins with a few pretty lies and an appeal to our kinship!”
“I appeal to nothing but your fast fading honor!” she screamed over him.
“But I am not so easily fooled!” he continued, ignoring her, “My lords and ladies, listen to this story to which my daughter claims: a few weeks past, my ever benevolent son, timid from having always been looked down upon for his illegitimacy, seemed to have forced what had always been her strong, forward, and overly bold body. Many of you have met both my children; tell me my friends, does this make even the smallest of sense? Would it not make much better sense that my daughter had simply seduced my innocent son that night, and now that a consequence has emerged, is today attempting to scrabble together what’s left of her honor by shifting the blame over to him? This transparent – “ he stopped, finally interrupted by a ringing slap.
“You liar,” Lyla whispered, “I. Am. Your. Daughter. You dare try to lift your bastard heir up at my expense?”
There was a deadly silence, within which every breath was held.
“Go see if the brothels will have you,” the King finally responded, his voice laden with crackling ice, “Your shameful and disgusting tendencies are no longer welcome under my roof.” Nodding at the guards by the dazzling doors, he added, “Get her out of my sight.”
“What of your tendencies, father?” said Lyla quickly, “What of yours?! You’re the whore, father! You’re the liar!” As the guards approached her, Lyla stopped abruptly and looked around.
Undoubtedly hundreds of accusatory and disgusted eyes glared in her direction, and she could feel the ice of cold judgment rapidly solidifying between them. A sickening sense of dread trickled through her.
“Please,” she said desperately, her dread growing, “Believe me, Rudis is much older than I, with a man’s build – “
“See her shameful reasons for targeting such an innocent boy?” the King swiftly interrupted.
“That’s not what I – !”
“Guards!” he shouted, overpowering her, “What are you doing? Take her away!”
“Father!” Lyla now cried frantically, struggling against the guards, “Father, please! You can’t do this, I told you, I’m with child! I’m with child! If you cast me away I’ll die!”
The King had started to head back inside the palace, but at her words, he looked back, stifling her pleas with a look of piercing scorn. With cold, soulless eyes, he replied, “With your skills, I doubt it.”
She had no words.
Her father then turned and walked calmly through the ornate white doors, leaving her to be dragged out, crying, through the gates.
In the Barren country, year 28 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 529 of the Old Era
Raven 11
She lay huddled against the cold, stark wall of an overarching bridge. Against the backdrop of this massive piece of architecture, Raven herself was inconspicuously miniscule. And so there she huddled.
Casting out furtive glances to the empty desolation that surrounded her, she evidently deemed herself safe as she finally tended to the little cloth bag secretly stashed in her lap. With her fervent gaze fixed upon the tiny object, it was obviously a prize most jealously guarded.
But as she lovingly opened the hand-sized pouch to reveal its contents, a man suddenly sprung out and tackled her to the frozen floor, franticly scrabbling for that guarded bag. Unfortunately for the crazed man, Raven had immediately clutched the pouch in a vice-like grip at the first semblance of attack, and now clung to it with a force equal to its priceless nature. She quickly slipped out from under him, as his wild attack had not given him enough time to secure her, and sprinted with what she hoped was the wind.
However, the man’s longer legs gave him the advantage, and sooner than she had hoped, she felt him yank her legs out from under her. She yelled as her arms and face hit the ground, and, keeping her hold on the pouch, kicked the man, clawing at the unyielding ground as he dragged her towards him. She screamed when his scrawny yet considerable weight dropped on top of her, though reacted to the new development immediately by curling into a fetal position, with the pouch at the center. Dismay filled her as his hands painfully plunged under her protecting arms and finally grabbed hold of the precious pouch. He yanked it and her following arm out from her defensive hold with a force that pulled her from the ground, to the air, and to the ground again.
As she struggled to regain her footing, she found herself being dragged as he attempted to jerk the pouch out of her death-grip. She used him to struggle her way up, kicking at any part of him she could reach, ignoring the fact that his teeth had sunken into her flesh, ignoring the fact that he was ripping her hair out from the roots, ignoring the fact that her foot felt inflamed...but all for naught as the poor pouch finally ripped open, forcing both her and the man back onto the ground.
A scattered handful of variously shaped nuts rained upon the parched floor. The two skeletal competitors immediately sprung up, scrambling wildly for them. The frail nourishment blended convincingly with the darkness, but it is undoubtedly assured that not one was missed.
In the lands of Acror, year 51 of Emperor Lebinus’ reign, year 242 of the New Era
Lyla 14
The night was dark. Purple clouds bruised the inked sky, shading from view the beams of both moon and stars. Lyla stood alone in this emptiness, her midnight hair smearing into the blackness, and her eyes darkened to the same shade. The balcony upon which she stood was ornate yet decrepit, full of color yet visibly faded.
In her arms she held a child. No, not a child. It was a newborn infant – a spot of long-dried blood still adorned its blanched, ghostly skin. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to him, softly rubbing off the flakes of dulled red, “I wasn’t strong enough.” Clutching it to her with trembling hands, she said through thick tears, “I will never be strong enough.”
She placed it down onto the edge of the black balcony, and closed her eyes. Once they had opened, her back turned away from the darkness, and its will carried her away.
In the Fecund Country, year 29 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 530 of the Old Era
Raven 12
The hustle and bustle of the town was quitted today in favor of a more exciting event: the annual slave-selling festival. Men and women dressed in pearls and silks ambled around a place similar to an outside market, examining detained criminals, sold relatives, and desperate, voluntary slaves. The criminals, all petty, were separated by prison; the relatives and volunteers by different sellers. All of which was, of course, for the convenience of the buyers.
This year the event was especially fascinating as the emperor himself had chosen to attend. This fact was reflected in the most elaborate decorations, the best entertainment, the most delicious foods, and the most slaves the festival had ever seen. Upon his arrival, carried in upon a throne of gold, all people bowed onto the begrimed floor; all except the future slaves, who were not deemed worthy enough to do so. The bearers set him down.
“My people!” he cried, standing, and witnessing the world before him rise also, “It has been too long since I have left my palace to look down upon your faithful faces. And, after this, I hope that I may have more chances to do so! But for today, I urge all of you to wander and buy just as aimlessly as you would in your everyday lives, and in doing so, name me your Happy Emperor. Furthermore! As a sign of my benevolence and charity, I myself will wander and buy a slave from every seller in this fantastic event, and arrive home just as satiated, if not bloated, as you all will doubtless be by the end of the day. So finally, I thank you all for the generous invitation to this year’s most prodigal slave-selling festival, and I dearly hope that we enjoy ourselves.”
The crowd cheered at the end of his speech, faces as passive as adoring, though an indignant few stood conspicuous to the emperor. Marking their faces and names for future retribution, he simply smiled at them in return. Meanwhile, shallow music floated through the scene, overlain by talk, laughter, and sellers’ unctuous persuasions. “Shall we get on with it then?” the emperor drawled to his new advisor. “Yes, your majesty,” the man replied smoothly, bowing as he spoke.
The day went on as a blur of flesh, sweat, and tears, but as he reached the, as his advisor said, 26th stand, the monotony abruptly ended. The emperor stopped dead. He could feel his own sweat, his own flesh, and his own tears from so long ago. His ears were ringing, but he did not care. He did not care if he fainted right then and there.
It was her.
All these years he had been ignorant, wallowing in sudden and intense fits of despair for the greatest loss of his life; the occasional bursts of wild hope forever crashing down to nothingness.
But it had all been in vain.
She had survived.
And she was standing right there.
“Your majesty, are you all right?” he heard his advisor say, as if from an incredible distance. “Yes, of course,” he replied, barely aware of his words. Then sharply turning towards the seller, he asked forcefully, “Who is that girl?” Looking taken aback, the slim man asked in return, “Which one, your majesty?”
The emperor looked at him incredulously – it seemed so obvious to him. “The-the little one with black hair,” he answered. And fire in her eyes, his mind added with an almost unfamiliar ache to his chest. Surveying his stock, the seller finally alighted upon the desired product, and unlocking her cage, he pulled her from the mutinous crowd.
“This the one you mean, your majesty?” the man asked dubiously. “Yes,” he breathed, staring at her sunken violet eyes. He knew it. There was no doubt it was her. “Never mind who she is, how much for her?” he said, looking fiercely upon the slim seller. The man was shocked, he could see that much, but nevertheless he replied, “60 argents, your majesty.” With a quick glance at his advisor, who was regarding him curiously, he looked back to the seller and said in as calm a voice as he could manage, “I’ll take her then.”
In the Fecund Country, year 29 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 530 of the Old Era
Raven 12
Raven sat upon a seat as soft as nature’s breeze, within a carriage with gold-inlaid walls. The young emperor sat upon the bench across from her, but she did not know why. She did not know why he had bought a weak little girl like her. She did not know why he had stared at her like a ghost when he first saw her. She did not know why she alone, out of all the other slaves bought that day, rode in his majesty’s carriage. She did not know. All she knew was slight hatred and definite fear, borne from his infamy among her family – her former family – in the Barrens. Being the emperor, he had been talked of often, and although the stories varied, all accounts of his character condemned him of neglect, brutality, and an absolutely merciless nature. He presently spoke.
“What is your name?” he asked.
She thought she detected a slight tremor in his sudden speech, but she did not know what to do with this information. Quickly deeming it unwise not to reply, she simply answered, “Raven.”
“What an adequate name,” he said smiling.
“I guess,” she said. Adequate?
“How old are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“We have that in common.”
He was still smiling that curious smile. She simply struggled not to look disgusted by the idea of commonality. “Have you bled yet?” he asked, yet another question. This one was even weirder than the rest. Hesitantly, she replied, “I’ve bled before, yes.” Thinking of her answer, she quickly added, “But I’m careful so it doesn’t happen often, and it’s only little cuts.” She had no idea what he wanted her for, and did not want him to think her inadequate. She had heard rumors of what he did to inadequate slaves – death was the kindest of the lot. His mouth quirked into a smirk but otherwise did not respond to her answer. It made her uneasy, but she preferred the silence to his questions. Unfortunately, they did not end.
“Where have you been living for all this time, Raven?”
“In the city,” she answered automatically, determined not to reveal the location of her family. It was the same answer she had given the slavers, and anyway, it was partly true. Every good lie needed an element of truth. Nevertheless, his reply cracked sharp as a whip, “There’s no need to lie to me.” She flinched slightly at his abrupt change in tone, but stared at him boldly.
“I’m not lying.”
“So that decrepit group of filth my soldiers raided in the Barrens,” he said casually, but too quickly, “you never made contact with them?”
Her stupid hands started to shake. He reached out as if to grab them, but she immediately recoiled.
Collecting herself, though her hands still trembled, she said, “I’ve never been to the Barrens.” He paused, then leaned back into his chair. “A pity,” he said vaguely, as if to himself, “They died for nothing then.”
Slowly, she blinked once, twice. “Yes, a pity,” she finally replied. Looking out the window, her hands stilled of their own accord. She said nothing else.
In the lands of Acror, year 51 of Emperor Lebinus’ reign, year 242 of the New Era
Lyla 14
The scene was loud, smoky, brown, and warm. Men both smelly and clean, both loud and reserved, sat around wooden tables while meals, drinks and entertainment were served. Lyla was among the reserved, though also among the smelly. Despite this acquaintance, she sat alone, drinking nothing and eating nothing as she lacked the money to buy either food or drink. Why she was there, she did not exactly know, rather she’d thought it simply preferable to the dank emptiness of her room upstairs. She still had plenty of time before she could sneak leftovers, and this scene provided an excellent distraction.
The crowd was interesting. There were so many different people, living so many different lives. It was fascinating, how full of life they were. She felt dead in comparison, and to the world, she might as well have been.
Strangely, this thought did not bother her. In observing these people talk, laugh, sing, or drink, she almost felt as if she were doing the same. Though she too was human, though she too was born as empty as any of them had been born, she was of a different species, of a different world. These people reminded her, but she did not care when she was this close to their warmth.
But she had never intended to burn. A boy, a mere boy, had presently climbed up onto a table, emerging from the smoky haze in a drunken haze of his own, and started to put on a show for the people of the pub. He flailed and he wailed, but Lyla did not bother to pay him much heed, as many men – though admittedly not boys – did much the same, and often. But today, with no food or drink to entertain her, she chose, with some disdain, to eventually tune into the boy’s sadly tuneless song:
A plucky girl, one day I greeted,
“Good day!” I said, but was not meeted
With a glance, with a smile, nor manners at all
But my lads! Though she at first appalled,
How I did love her in bed that fall!
This, my lads, is how I found her,
This, my lads, is how I had her!
A girl much prettier, once gave me shock
With golden hair; such wondrous locks!
But what was more that made me love’em
Was rosy cheeks, that ample bosom,
And loose morals, oh what a woman!
This, my lads, is how I found her,
This, my lads is how I had her!
Later that year, at spring of youth,
A Lady doth said, I was uncouth!
Yet she tossed her hair with a smile so coy
And swayed those hips that brought me joy
Said, "I'll teach you manners, you naughty boy."
This, my lads is how I found her,
This my lads is how I - "
But before he could finish his enchanting song, he tripped off the edge of the table and landed with a spectacular and quite shocking jump right onto hers. The shock, however, came mostly from her end. The drunken boy had hit the table so that both he and it, both haplessly and painfully, toppled right on top of her.
“Ah!” she screamed – that was really all she had time for. Then she was hit with tankard, boy, wood, and a potent perfume of alcohol. The people around them simply laughed at the blunder while her eyes watered with pain. Gritting her teeth against it, she struggled to push herself away from the mess she had been most unfortunately involved in. “Disgusting, stupid, son of a bitch mother– “ she muttered before she was interrupted.
“Hey, don’t you go insulting mi mother there.” The boy had come to and was hovering over her with a drunken, and slightly bloody, grin. “Oh god,” she said while trying to hold her breath against the smell of alcohol reeking from his mouth. Suddenly, the table vanished from its location on top of them, and she immediately kicked him away from her.
“What’s going on here?!” A tall and scrawny yet furious looking man appeared in her line of vision, and she immediately recognized him as the pub’s owner. He was holding the wrecked table, and looking none too happy about it. “The boy – “ she started, grimacing and pointing to said boy.
“Tune – wuz jus’ singin’ a tune, good ser,” he slurred once aware of her accusing finger, “You know, A plucky pirl one day I feeted – wait, no -” Getting up painfully, Lyla looked incredulously at his sorry sight. She could not help it – she laughed.
The owner zoned in on her and, looking between the two, assessed their similar states. “Both of you – get out,” he said, “GET OUT!”
“Geez, no need to yell,” the boy mumbled. Still holding the handle to his now nonexistent drink, he stumbled away towards the door. Lyla, however, approached the crazed owner. “Sir, I paid for a room here,” she said firmly, “Anyway, I have nothing to do with that boy. It wasn’t my fault that he happened to fall on my table. I am simply an unfortunate victim.” The man glared at her, then seemed to do a double-take. Her stomach seemed to plummet as a look of disgust replaced the one of anger.
“’Unfortunate victim’?” he repeated, scoffing. He spat at her feet then said, “Even if you weren’t screwing that boy I’d have no place for you here. Now get outta my sight.” Fury licked through her, hazing her gaze with a transient red before she managed to control herself. Clenching her teeth, she looked straight at the stupid man. “I still paid for a room,” she said. He smirked, an action that forced her hands into fists, and said, “I don’t doubt it. Now get out.” She tried clenching and unclenching her hands before replying, “What?” She could see his own temper starting to rise. Pointing to the door, he said, “You whores got a brain in there?! I said Get. OUT!”
“NO!” she yelled, unable to contain her fury, “I PAID FOR A ROOM!”
The man slapped her across the face and forcefully grabbed her arm, dragging her towards the pub’s entrance. She struggled and yelled in pain, forming her yells into words, “I paid for a room! I paid for a room! I PAID FOR A – oomph!” He threw her out onto the cold cobbled street, unnecessarily screaming, “OUT!” and then slammed the pub’s door shut.
Immediately, she stood up and strode angrily towards the pub before being stopped by a hand on her arm. She flinched and turned towards – the boy. Great. He grinned at her glare and said, “I just want to say sorry fer – fer -” His less-than-adequate apology ended as the boy drifted off into unintelligible mumbles and dropped to the floor. A second later, Lyla could hear snores emitting from his evidently unconscious form. She scowled, but his comically sprawled out form did humor her somewhat. She sighed – now she had to do something. She was aching, undoubtedly bruised, and blood trickled from her head, but she knew it would be inhumane to leave him out there to freeze.
She prodded him with her toe. “Wake up.”
Nothing.
She crouched down and pushed his shoulder. “Hey.”
He groaned, but snored on.
“Wake up!” she pushed him so that he flipped over onto his back, but all she achieved was another bruise as he flung his out arm and hit her head with the empty tankard. She cursed as a few passerby laughed at her attempts. Choosing to ignore them, she quickly assessed her options. She looked back at the pub, then back at the boy. The pub. The boy. The pub.
Giving a frustrated growl, she got up and strode back to the pub. “HEY!” she yelled, pounding on the door, “OPEN THE DOOR!” This went on for a few minutes until the manager finally gave up.
He opened the door. “I SAID – !” swiftly interrupting him, Lyla shouted, “Give the boy my room!” She had not expected him to acquiesce to her demands instantly, so the man drew no surprise when after an excessively long pause, he yelled, “What?!”
She had also deemed him a bit slow.
“You have an empty room, right? The one I bought just earlier today?” She struggled not to scowl. He just frowned at her, but since he did not yell or slam the door in her face, she took his silence as a yes.
She continued, “Since I’m obviously not using it, just give it over to the boy. It is the middle of both winter and night, he’s drunk, and no one else is going to provide him shelter. Anyway, it would be bad for business if people found a customer frozen to death on your doorstep.”
She could see him mulling over her words. It took an excruciatingly long time, but eventually, he grunted, “Fine. Whatever. But I’m not dragging that piece of crap up to the room.”
She quickly nullified the problem with a hasty, “No, I’ll do that.” Then forcing a smile, she added, “Thank you.” He scowled. “Bring that boy in and leave quickly whore, before someone recognizes you and drives out all my customers.”
He turned away, she flipped him off, and the boy suddenly grunted awake. “’S goin’ on?” he said sleepily – or drunkenly, there’s really little difference. “I got you a room at the expense of my pride, filthy drunk,” she muttered, wrapping his arm around her neck and struggling to hoist him up to his feet. Either he didn’t hear her or chose to ignore her, probably somewhere between the two, but either way, he didn’t respond to her comment.
Once up the stairs to her room, she gratefully deposited her load onto the plain bed. He quickly fell asleep, and she regarded him with mild disgust. Then quickly and quietly she snuffed out the candle, walked out of the room, and closed the door to this fiasco of a night.
In the Fecund Country, year 29 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 530 of the Old Era
Raven 12
Raven, on the other hand, had just opened the door to hers. She descended steep stairs, scrubbed viciously clean and gaudily clothed, following a pompous-looking man who had arrived at her room, imperiously stating that “His majesty demands she join him for dinner.” Having, at this point, long surpassed her limit for shock, Raven simply took it in stride and trailed meekly behind him in silence.
The odd pair detracted to one as they arrived at an open doorway. Raven’s obviously reluctant escort loudly announced, “Slave Raven, your majesty,” and, ushering her into the chandeliered room, he abruptly left.
Raven looked around curiously. Having already toured the grandiose parlors that absolutely stuffed the emperor’s palace, this room was smaller than she had imagined, although as outrageously ornate. The sparkling gold chandelier was the adornment she first perceived, and with good cause – it seemed in danger of swallowing up the room it inhabited. However, once she had gotten over the imposing metal creature, Raven cast a quick glance at the long dining table, the plants blending with the walls, the hints of violet flushing the walls and ceiling, and the dead fireplace lurking in the shadows of it all.
“Good evening,” came the emperor’s voice from the far end of the room. “Good evening,” she replied obediently, descending the considerable length of the dining table. He indicated the chair on his right – he sat at the head – and, command or not, she sat down.
The two were silent for several moments, he staring at her and she gazing at the empty hearth placed slightly to her left. Finally, he commanded quietly,
“Speak.”
“I don’t know what to say, your majesty,” she replied, turning her gaze over to his. She actually did: the burning question of why. She had been asking this to herself the second she noticed his haunted eyes on her, and wanted more than anything to have it answered. But his pointless murder of her family solidified her fear of provoking any emotion from him at all; the constant proximity to him only increasing her anxiety of sudden and irrational death. She did not want to die.
“And yet words flow from your lips,” he said, inexplicably amused. Struggling to conceal her wariness, she did not reply. “Speak again,” he said, somewhat sharply, as silence once again threatened to reign. She dared not ask a question, so simply stated, “I love the palace, your majesty.”
Upon first seeing the gold, finery, glass, and crystals, Raven became so disoriented she felt she would either faint or vomit; but glancing up at the blinding sparkles of the chandelier, it was the first comment that came to mind.
A spasm of anger seemed to cross his face, but it quickly went away. Calmly, he said, “I told you not to lie to me.” You said there was no need, she thought grimacing slightly. To him, she said, “I’m sorry.” Then immediately realizing these words as a form of confession, she quickly followed with, “I mean –“ but was interrupted by the arrival of the food.
“Dinner, your majesty,” yelled the servant at the doorframe. “Enter,” he said lazily, his eyes never wavering from her. They lapsed into silence as the silver dishes were placed in from of them, the delicious aroma springing forth the ill-practiced saliva in her mouth. However, once the steaming heaps of unknown yet heart-wrenchingly scrumptious foods were neatly arranged, Raven waited. She had never having eaten at a table before. Was she supposed to wait?
Apparently so, because at that moment, the emperor waved his hand unnecessarily at the feast before them, saying, “Eat.” While she resented being given the command like a dog, Raven nevertheless eagerly and ravenously dug into the pile of food.
She ate as if it was her last meal, consuming everything from the meanest stick of celery to the juiciest piece of meat. One thing, however, gave her pause: his majesty watching her scarf through her plate, his own untouched, just as greedily as she ate her dinner. It was immensely unnerving.
Finally, she could not take it anymore. Swallowing a baby tomato whole, Raven said, “Aren’t you eating?” She suppressed a following burp, then hastily remembered to add, "Your majesty?" He seemed to snap out of some daze. After a short pause in which he glanced at the nearly empty table and the object of his dinner-long study, he abruptly said, “That’s enough. Return to your room.”
Deeply afraid that her enthusiasm had affronted him in some way, and growing a little nauseated, she timidly acquiesced and quickly walked out of the place. Once in her room, Raven ran to her private bathroom and threw up what seemed to be every morsel of food that had ever passed her lips.
Feeling shaky, clammy, and definitely sick, Raven crawled out of the revolting smell of vomit and collapsed in her bedroom. The carpeted floor felt as comfortable as any softened piece of ground, and, content in resting there, she silently mused on her situation.
It could not last.
She definitely didn’t trust that – there was no other word for it – crazy man. However, his intentions were hard to determine. He had bought her as a slave, but then gave her a fairly furnished, private room. He was the emperor, but allowed her to eat with him, and, even she knew, messily at that.
And he had killed her family.
A chill went through her, enhanced by her recent bout of retching.
The man that had provided her with food and shelter was an insane murderer.
Huddling tiredly yet uneasily on the carpeted floor, she reluctantly closed her eyes with that last musing. She will be wary here, she thought determinedly, but for now….sleep closed the scene.
In the lands of Acror, year 51 of Emperor Lebinus’ reign, year 242 of the New Era
Lyla 14
Lyla walked back down the stairs of the pub after ridding herself of the boy, thinking of where she herself could find shelter from the freezing winter night. Then it started.
“Finished screwing that boy, bloodscrewer?”
She involuntarily stopped on her way to the entrance, cringing at the disgustingly popular insult. To no one in particular, as she had no idea who had spoken, Lyla said through gritted teeth, “I didn’t have sex with him, so why don’t you shut your ignorant mouth.”
Someone shoved her hard from behind so that she fell to the floor with a yell of shock. She turned angrily around to see a young man’s scowl directed down at her.
“If you’re going to lie,” he said scornfully, “I suggest you pick your moments, bloodscrewer. That boy was drunk enough to screw a chair, much less you.” The remaining words were so obviously implied they were not spoken: of course a whore like her would never pass up such an opportunity. Her hands balled into fists. Standing up furiously, she said, “Why don’t you – “
He shoved her again, though this time she did not fall. Undeterred by her stability, he said, “Simply possessing a mouth doesn’t give you permission to use it. With so many rats running through that – “ Just as she did to her father so long ago, she stopped the man’s words with a forceful slap across his face.
However, unlike the echoing silence that had followed her first great defiance, this sneering surrounding instantly erupted.
“You’ve really the nerve to touch a man?!”
“Go back to screwing the gutter rats!”
"Did that black blood choke the stupid drunk?!"
“You should have gone to hell with your demon-child!”
Someone viciously tore at her hair, painfully yanking her into the suddenly maniac mob as she struggled and yelled and fought and cried.
“Blood-eating slut!”
“Sick bloodscrewer!”
“Gore whore!”
“Whoring witch!”
For a panicked eternity, she felt fury on all sides; it would not end, it would not end. Then came harsh screams, a slapped face, cold stone, a slammed door, and finally, silence.
Lyla lay sobbing.
Sobbing, sobbing, sobbing – then true silence. Slowly, painfully, she stood up. The world still blurred with her falling tears, but through the darkness Lyla stood. She was utterly, excruciatingly, absolutely, alone…but this, for the moment, did not matter.
The pub did not matter. The manager did not matter. The insults did not matter. The looks did not matter. Rudis did not matter. Her father did not matter.
They would not matter. They will not matter. They will not, they will not, they will not.
Sighing, Lyla slipped into a make-shift bed of leaves in the nearby woods.
They don’t.
In the Fecund Country, year 31 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 532 of the Old Era
Raven 14
Raven sat in a mess of scattered food, splintered wood, and broken china. She herself had huddled into the corner of the dining room, staring, not at the jumble of carnage before her, but at that perpetually empty hearth. In seeming ignorance of her blooming bruises and trickling cuts, there her gaze and attention lingered; mesmerized, entranced. Her focus was, however, rudely interrupted by one of her fellow slaves.
“His majesty’s callin’ you, Raven,” he said nervously, glancing quickly around at the room’s destruction, “Better hurry.” Steeling herself, Raven stood up, ignoring the slight pain, and silently walked past the messenger. Raven traveled those familiar steps to the emperor’s chamber, but the voyage was filled with intense apprehension that only increased as she came closer and closer to her destination.
Finally, she arrived before the dreaded door. There was no avoiding the inevitable: she opened it.
He was standing by the windows, looking out of them like some pensive observer, though they revealed nothing but black night. At her appearance, he closed them as if concealing something indecent and walked over to her. “Raven,” he said, calm. She immediately relaxed at his tone. “Yes, your majesty?”
He looked her over and…was that….sadness that crossed his features? Why – ? Her thought was thoroughly shocked into silence by his next words: “I’m sorry.”
By now he was uncomfortably close to her, and she tried not to flinch away from him as she struggled to hide her utter surprise. “It was my fault, your majesty,” Raven ended up saying warily, “I apologize – “
“No!” he said fiercely, grabbing her already bruised arm. She flinched, but he did not loosen his grip. His gaze, however, did soften, and with his other hand he pulled her even closer to him.
Then he kissed her.
A battle immediately roared into existence within her, as if in preparation:
Her lips were in ghastly contact with a murderer.
Then he would surely kill her if she struggled against him.
But would she really sacrifice virtue over cruel life?
Virtue wouldn’t matter anymore if she were dead.
The conflict clashed back and forth, neither conquering the other.
The result was her complete immobility in the emperor’s arms.
He, however, pushed his lips deeper against her frozen ones, sparking panic and the fleeting victory of the second instinct.
She kissed him back.
Perhaps he misconstrued her squeak of distress in that moment as a moan of passion because, right after, he picked her up in his arms and placed her upon his bed. Blind panic threatened to overwhelm her as the intense anxiety of indecision increased tenfold. The internal war reduced to two rapid and powerful words: Virtue. Death. Virtue. Death. Virtue. Death.
Then with a different kind of alarm, he noticed. However, to her momentary relief, he responded not by fury but with the cessation of his kisses. “Raven…” he said. She could not tell if it was warning or worry. If he had not apologized to her before, she would have believed him incapable of the latter emotion. Now, she knew nothing.
“Your majesty,” she said at his pause, deciding to throw caution to the winds, “Why are you doing this? I d-don’t – “ her lips started to form the words ‘want this,’ but her courage was failing, and instead she heard herself say, “understand.”
He looked at her, clearly bewildered, thereby bewildering her, and in a voice that hinted at disbelief, he said, “Because I love you.”
The shock was complete; paralyzing and numbing all at once.
Seeing his, he said in a confusion that in no stretch of the imagination paralleled hers, “You did not know?” Looking at him in complete disbelief, Raven thought of answers from “Of course I knew.” to “Are you kidding me?” to “How the hell was I supposed to know?!” to just “No.” “I-I didn’t know, your majesty, I’m sorry,” she finally replied. He moved off of her - to her relief, as his weight was beginning to surpass painful.
She also sat up, fighting the urge to shift as far away from him as she could. After a blissful moment of complete silence, the emperor asked, “Then why did you kiss me back?”
“I…” was afraid “don’t know.”
He took one of her trembling hands, those ceaseless betrayers, and said, “Would you kiss me now?”
“I don’t know.”
This time, she truly did not. The bloody battle tore her apart into two extremes and she could not yet reconcile them into one decision. Virtue? Death? There was no answer.
“Well,” he said, sounding and looking disappointed, “I will not force you. Not you.” Raven struggled not to regard him incredulously - that might cause him to take offense. She did not want him to suddenly rescind his offer of refreshingly uncharacteristic generosity. “Thank you,” she managed to choke out through her concealed surprise. This night was simply full of them.
He smiled at her and lightly kissed her hand. The strain from suppressing her mounting shock was sure to soon break her, though for now she hid it well. Her hands barely shook. “So,” she said, trying to keept her voice level, trying to keep her world normal, “May I leave now, your majesty?” She half-indicated to her captured hands, but he did not let go. Rather, his grip on them tightened, and he replied, “No. Spend the night here beside me. I have…missed you. So much. You…Raven, you cannot understand just how much.”
Raven hesitated, unable to bring forth the slave's quick compliance in this matter. However, she knew her place. Raven stared unwaveringly at his burning eyes and tensely said, "Yes, your majesty." An almost humane smile broke on his face, up even to his eyes. Completely disregarding her cut, disheveled, and frankly unclean state, he pulled back the covers of the bed and ushered her in. She entered mechanically, her own body feeling unreal; only part of a nightmare. He followed and, after shutting off the lights, enclosed her in his arms.
The sudden darkness did nothing to allay her deep fear as she lay trapped in the arms of her mortal enemy. However, several hours following his first snore, her heavy lids eventually overcame her racing mind, carrying her, fitfully yet finally, to unconsciousness.
In the lands of Acror, year 51 of Emperor Lebinus’ reign, year 242 of the New Era
Lyla 14
Lyla woke up to streaming light. Although a beautiful sight to a waking mind, the hard ground on which she lay captured more of her attention – to her displeasure. Groaning, she shifted the scattered leaves off her stiff body and attempted to stretch away the night-long discomfort. Kinks in her joints cracked harshly against the innocent morning songs that filtered through the light woods. After a few blank minutes spent lying on nature’s floor, Lyla regretfully got up. Her makeshift bed disappeared the second she moved away from it, though she mentally noted its relatively comfortable spot.
For only a few minutes she walked through the woods, then like an otherworldly wanderer Lyla emerged from the trees into gray civilization, where she was determined to find some nourishment.
It had been so long.
Traveling the still waking streets, Lyla bitterly reflected upon her ruined plan for finding food the night before. That stupid drunk, she remembered, much more acidly now that her rumbling stomach reasserted its presence. She had spent the last of her money on that ridiculous room, reasoning that leftovers would be easily found in a pub. What a stupid reason.
Desperately grasping at her growling belly, Lyla wondered of her options. She had already sold off every valuable and invaluable belonging she had chanced to carry with her when being kicked out, leaving only her stolen rags. She was not above begging, but by now most would know that she was in the area, and generosity would be thin even if she mustered up a disguise. She was not an adept thief either. Anyway, amateur though she was, even she knew not to go poking around in the brightness of morning; while everyone was just waking from their slumber no less.
With no other option forthcoming, Lyla soon found herself rooting through the dumpster of a nearby alley. For over an hour she looked, but came up only with a fly-infested pie, some rotten meat, and…an apple. A whole, complete apple.
Delighted, Lyla grabbed her prize and walked away from the cornucopia of decaying mess. Compulsively wiping the unharmed apple on her filthy shirt, Lyla slowly ate through it while walking the now people-infested streets. In keeping her head down, she doubted whether any of them would have recognized her in her current state; however, she refused to bow to these people. Subsequently, a bubble of isolation seemed to form around her, with scathing looks its main component. She tried to ignore it.
A thing suddenly smacked into her head, splattering her face on contact, and Lyla fell. Dizzy from the hit, the dumpster fumes, the walking around, the lack of sufficient food, and the lack of sufficient drink, she could not get back up.
A barrage of what she recognized as water balloons then followed, pummeling her while she lay immobile, and other objects soon imitated their example. Bruises and cuts mounted on top of the ones she had received the night before, and still she could not rise.
The beating eventually ended, the attackers grown bored at her lack of resistance. Although an odd object would occasionally fly towards her as someone passed by, she was generally left alone. Chilled to the bone and aching all over her body, Lyla struggled to emerge from the mound of random weapons, forcing herself not to search for food among them; or for her glorious apple, which she had dropped at the first assault. She could hear some other poor soul foraging through the contents nearby, and she paid him no heed, focusing solely on her current task. Suddenly, however, a hand grabbed her own, pulling her to her feet. She shouted out at the abruptness and the accompanying wave of dizziness, terrified at the newcomer but too weak to fight.
“Lady Lyla?”
She stiffened with shock at the name. “Get off me,” she growled; anyone who knew her identity, she knew, would not wish her good will. He – whoever he was – did not follow her command. Although she had not really expected him to, she felt a plummet in her stomach all the same. “Can you stand on your own?” the man replied. She could not. “Go away!” she yelled with as much strength as she could muster. Lyla struggled against him, and to her surprise, he let go.
She dropped to the floor.
Cursing, Lyla used the nearby wall to crawl her way up, determined to meet the stranger eye to eye. Adding to her annoyance, she discovered that one of her eyes was sealed shut.
Great.
She still had full use of the other, however, and with that she accomplished her goal. Staring straight at him, Lyla saw piercingly clear blue eyes, soft blond hair, and a thin mouth.
She stared at and absorbed all these features in her first cursory glance, yet in that glance, she felt a strange tingle of familiarity.
She looked closer. His mouth was currently curled down; why, she dared not guess, though it seemed wholly against his nature. Anyway, it was not the mouth that really worried her, but those blue eyes. She would have likened them to ice if they had not held such warmth.
These attributes stirred no memory yet Lyla knew she knew this boy…this boy….boy…..gasping, she almost fell back to the littered floor in shock. It was the boy.
“You - !” she started furiously, though her lightheadedness took away some of its ferocity. “So it was you,” he interrupted. He had the nerve to look disgusted and ask, “I-I didn’t have sex with you right? I remember being outside, but I woke up in the pub room…” She had originally decided to keep a dignified silence after her impulsive outburst, but his look infuriated her. “No I didn’t have sex with you,” Lyla spitted acidly. “Oh,” he replied, looking insultingly relieved, “Thanks, I just – “
“Get away from me.” His insolence was the last thing she wanted deal with right now.
“No,” he said innocently, not backing off in the slightest, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean – “ He cut himself off. Unable to hold herself up any longer, Lyla had fallen down yet again. She felt relief from the pain of her struggle but also intense irritation at her weakness. In the pause of his speech Lyla yelled out in frustration, and this was unfortunately accompanied by another wave of severe hunger.
Without her consent, Lyla's eyes briefly roamed around the objects surrounding her, and unwillingly she thought, there has to be food in there somewhere….but she quickly shook her head against this temptation. As a precaution, Lyla tucked her arms tightly around her, restraining them from the beckoning mess.
“Are you okay?” the boy asked, reaching out to her as she fell. At her following glare, he quickly retracted his hands, hastily adding “My lady?” She flinched in annoyance at the address. But she wavered in her anger and almost asked him for food and drink. So close...please…but pride does not surrender.
“Yes,” she answered, though her voice cracked, “Now leave.”
He took a step forward, “I can help you, my lady.”
“Stop calling me that,” she said sharply, holding herself tighter. “I’m sorry, my – uh, er, anyway, you look badly hurt, and since I remember, um, crashing into you last night – “ Her impatience and frustration growing, she swiftly interrupted him, “Thank you for your concern…whoever you are, but I can take care of myself. I only require an official apology for the night before.”
This she said, however, with another growl of her stomach her resolve again wavered. The word unwillingly passed her lips: “Unless….” The boy had dimmed at her flat rejection, but perked up at this word.
“Unless…?”
Looking at his eager eyes, Lyla struggled with herself for a moment. With a third yet most distinct rumble of her stomach, she finally came to a decision and sighed. There was no need to starve to death over her (admittedly endangered) pride.
“Unless you have some food and drink to spare?” she reluctantly asked, refusing to look away in shame. The boy seemed taken aback by this pleading, provoking a flush to creep its way up her face; however, he quickly recovered and answered, “Yes, of course! There’s a restaurant – “
“No!” she cried. People were the last thing she needed. “I – where’s your house? Can we not eat there?” “Um,” he replied, looking uncomfortable, “There’s better food at the restaurant…” “But I’d rather – “ she started, but then she understood. How could she not after two torturous years? The insults rang back, keeping alive the tale of the royal rapist. He was afraid of her.
“Why and how would I have sex with you?” she asked harshly, “Are people in Acror really this stupid?”
The boy looked at her sharply. “That’s not what I meant.”
Lyla stared back at those iced eyes. “No,” she said, “I know what you meant. Like everyone else in this world, you ignore the image of a starved, ostracized, and beaten woman and see only the infamous Lady Lyla: Bloodscrewer. Bloodeater. Gore whore. Lilith.”
She cast her eyes away, shutting them in her red revulsion. “But I hated Rudis; I never even sought his company. That day, the rape…I didn’t seek his company then either, though what my – the king said wasn’t a total lie.” She paused, unsure of her sudden speech. Nevertheless, she continued.
“It was the third anniversary of my mother’s death. I shut myself in my room for the day; to mourn alone, as neither had the king nor Rudis ever cared. But I came out once; at night, when I believed everyone to be asleep. I was hungry. And stupid…
I was walking and saw Rudis’ light on. On in the dead of night, and I couldn’t leave for curiosity. So I pushed open his door a little bit….and saw my friend. Yesenia Ekin of Dorme. She and I were supposed to depart for the kingdom of Mespheme in a few days, and she had never met Rudis – to my knowledge. But there she was. He....seemed to be aggressive towards her, and so I ran in like a fool to intervene. She left while we yelled at each other...and then he killed me. That night, he murdered everything I had ever known, everything. And my eternal judge condemned me to hell...
She testified, you know. That ungrateful halfwit, Yesenia, testified. She said I voluntarily entered Rudis’ room, and of course that sealed my fate. I should have just left her there. I should have just ignored the light. If I had dared to do either, she might have been the one to crawl here in this street instead of me.”
Suddenly, Lyla laughed bitterly and opened her eyes. “No, her father is not as benevolent as mine; the king who sacrificed the lives of both his daughter and her unborn son just to give his bastard heir an edge in society. How I wish that sacrifice had been in vain, but everyone loves the victim…the guilty ones anyway.” Lyla looked back at her audience. Her eyes narrowed. “Forget it,” she said, impulsively clutching at her sad stomach, “Just leave me be.”
There was a pause. He did not leave. Instead, he stepped through the sea of objects and sat down next to her, looking too much at ease for her taste. “That’s not what I meant,” he repeated, and she looked at him, confused from both words and actions. “What are you – “ “I –uh – actually don’t live here. In Acror. I arrived last night, and I haven’t had a chance to find lodging since being kicked out of Eleanor’s. So…”
“So you don’t have a house I can eat at,” Alsius finished for him, but she regarded him suspiciously. “You’re just a boy," she said, "Why were you all alone at Eleanor’s yesterday if your family doesn’t live nearby?” He smiled. God, it had been so long since she had seen a smile. “Ever heard of a runaway?” he answered.
“Runaway?” she repeated bewildered, “You?” It was not as if he looked wealthy or well-bred in any sense of the word, but the statement surprised her nevertheless. Looking slightly amused, he replied, “Yeah, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”
He paused, looking at her with a strange expression. Then he added, “I am...I'm also sorry for before, for...assuming the worst. I – there is no excuse for such stupidity, and I shouldn’t have just…” he trailed off as Lyla stared at him. “You…believe me?”
Did she believe him?
“I do,” he replied quickly, “Of course I do.”
It was as if he had embraced her. Inexplicably, a lightness quite unconnected with her dizziness filled her, and Lyla could not prevent the escape of one small smile.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. The boy bounced quickly back from his brief solemnity, and responded with a glimmer of banter in his tone, “I’m also terribly, terribly sorry for ruining your evening the night before. I hope the entertainment provided some just compensation?”
Her smiled morphed into a smirk. “You can forget the apology.”
Despite their sudden amiability, however, Lyla still felt a nagging curiosity. She asked therefore, albeit more kindly, “How did you know me then, if you come from a different kingdom?”
He did not answer immediately, but picked up an object from the mess. To her slight surprise, she saw it was her apple. The boy bit into it. He chewed upon his bit of her lucky apple as he answered, “You’re pretty well known among…other kingdoms.” Here he swallowed and continued, “I hazarded a guess that the woman mass-attacked by fruit, balloons and whatever else surrounding us right now was you. Anyway, with everyone telling me I had sex with you last night I knew you were in the area.”
“Pretty well known…” she muttered to herself. Just how far away was his kingdom?
“What?” the boy asked curiously. Lyla answered quickly, “Nothing.” Shaking out of her fleeting reverie, she continued to say, “I accept your explanation and apologies. Thank you…for your company and your kindness. You have no idea….” She faded off, unwilling to say her next words, but she quickly cleared her throat and continued, “However, I really can’t go to a restaurant. I suggest you just leave now, for your own safety. People already believe that we…um, had sex, and this really won’t help matters.” He simply smiled, not leaving. She was glad. “This?” he asked. “Talking to me,” she answered flatly, “Being seen with me.”
“Do you think I care?”
“Everyone cares.”
“Even you?”
“Especially me.”
He gave her another strange look. “How about this,” he finally said, “How about I go buy something to eat at the restaurant and bring it over to you?” Lyla thought it over, trying to ignore the fuzzy purple stars that seemed to follow her wherever she went. “Fine,” she finally replied, and he was gone in a second.
She smiled faintly, still feeling his warm presence. The stars, however, were getting more persistent in the silent emptiness, jumping and dancing with a high-pitched taunt. Suddenly, the street darkened and, gasping, Lyla fell to the ground. Even on the floor dizziness overwhelmed her, and she desperately clung to the gray cement, squeezing her eyes shut.
This could not be happening. She would not faint, not now and most definitely not here.
With a gasping breath and inexplicable tears, she opened her eyes. Ignoring every instinct, Lyla scrabbled for the wall behind her and slowly began to crawl her way back up. “I can’t…” she muttered, trembling with the strain. Her head swirling with the dancing spots, Lyla stumbled, but her nails pierced into the dirt between the bricks, and finally, finally, she managed to drag herself up to a sitting position.
Lyla laughed with giddy relief, but then doubled over as hunger pierced her, unbearably potent. Right then, she thought bitterly, simple bread - just a bite of bread - would have been infinitely more precious to her than the ignorant air blowing through. “Boy,” she mouthed, unable to utter the sound that normally followed. The accumulated sweat of her struggle turned cold, and the blackening dots threatened to carry her to oblivion. Am I dying? she thought. She felt a beat of fear choke her, dragging her back to the floor in curtained darkness. Had she fallen, was she floating, was she dying? She didn't know...all she knew for certain, even in the dizzying darkness, was that she was weak.
In the Fecund Country, year 31 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 532 of the Old Era
Raven 14
Raven woke up in semi-darkness. She could see the sun rising through the closed curtains, but the room clung to night. Wait. The room? In cold sweat she instantly froze, convinced that her drumming heart would rudely awaken the emperor. With bated breath she waited….but only soft snores met her fearful patience. Relaxing slightly, she quickly decided against escape, taking the chance that he would be more angered to see her gone than present. Upon this decision, Raven reluctantly attempted sleep. Anxiety, however, continued to clutch at her heart. Sleep subsequently eluded her, and she found herself reflecting instead.
What had happened last night?
They had dined together as usual, each focusing on their separate objects of interest; she her food and he her. It had been silent. As she was finishing however, that anxious silence startlingly shattered with an empty dinner plate, which the suddenly livid emperor had groundlessly flung at the opposite wall. Raven had frozen in the act of wiping her mouth, her mind immediately racing for an acceptable plan of escape when he then completely and unreservedly exploded. He sprang up yelling to her insensible phrases, demolishing the room; even extending his fit of violence towards her. She could feel the ghost of his vice-like grip bruising her arms and throwing her into the table as she remembered.
The fact that those very same hands now wrapped around her did nothing to dispel this sensation. Nevertheless, that certain aspect of the previous night did not truly shock her. Raven had been forced to dine with the emperor every night for two years now, and these wild fits – though frightening – did happen. No, it was the following event that demanded most of her attention.
He had kissed her.
He had told her he loved her.
But…that was impossible. She must be trapped inside some horrible nightmare, one that would end just before she faced a horrible death. He cannot love her, not when she so detested him, not when she so feared him. He would kill her if his irrational love went unreciprocated….
Yes, he had always given her a peculiar attention – ever since her first entering slavery – but that had lessened somewhat over time. He had long since taken away her lavish room and moved her into the proper slave quarters, even subjecting her to the mercy of the slavers.
Yes, they had spent copious amounts of time alone at dinner every night, but they usually dined in silence; only occasionally engaging in shallow conversation. Indeed, rather than enforcing a comforting familiarity, he often grew angry, even furious, though to a lesser extent than the previous night.
Yet, he had kissed her. He had asked her to sleep beside him. Lastly, she could not think of a rational reason as to why he would say he loved her if he did not. Of course, the emperor was not the most rational of people.
Either way, however, the crazy emperor was focused on her in some fashion. But this she had always known. Now, she had to survive not just his regard but his love.
But why? Why?
His shocked face filled her mind. She knew it started there; that expression he had worn when he first saw her. She remembered that odd recognition - odd because it couldn't have been recognition. They had never met before then. Had they? Her thoughts sifted through the years as they had so many times before; through his rambles, through his actions, through her own childhood memories, but none of it made any sense. Her life here had never made any sense. He always spoke intimately with her, acted as if they had known each other for years - even murdered her family - but there had never been any cause. Never.
In the land sof Acror, year 52 of Emperor Lebinus' reign, year 243 of the New Era
Lyla 15
The stone chilled her gaunt body as Lyla sat, leaning her back against it. No one would notice her there near the splintered back gate, she reasoned, this dying beggar shivering at the palace walls. Anyway, the ghost of the banished Lady Rapist would be invisible to the world, especially here.
Why had she come again?
Help. She needed help. That's right...He could not refuse her this time, not as she sat dying at his doorstep. She was his daughter. Despite everything, she was still his daughter.
Lyla took a rattling breath, then crawled up from the floor and shuffled up to the guards at the gate. "Guards," she said, her desiccated throat scratching at the word, "I am Lady Lyla Cassiel Vindican, daughter of King Belial Vindican. I've come to see my father." The guard to her right scoffed, "If you want to see your father go back to the Pinch with the other niggardly bastards." The bite stung, but she expected no less. "Please," she said, her head pounding with the effort, "Grant me an audience or bring someone out to confirm my claim. I-I'm dying, I need my father, please -" "I can confirm your claim," the left guard piped up. Lyla looked up incredulously; she had not expected such a rapid consent. "You - ?"
"What's my name?" he said, stepping towards her, "My true name?"
She stared at him, her heart racing as she struggled to remain upright. "I-I don't..." His face had green eyes, sparkling even in the gloom of evening, and a sharp nose puncturing the fog. A black mop brushed by his face, giving youth to that grave visage. She stood stunned. The unusually shaggy night hair and solemn grim mouth could not fool her - she knew this man. "Haldon," she finally answered, whispering with shock, "Haldon Bur 'Devil' Derius - that is your name."
He too stood stunned, but only for a moment. Then he laughed in amazement, stumbling towards her like the phantom she was, but she could feel his light fingers on her face, brushing back her ragged hair and soulful tears. "Lyla," he breathed, "Are you really here?"
"This is me," she sobbed, "This is me."
The other guard strode over, confused. "What's going on? Haldon, you know this girl?"
"Don't you?" She gave him a slight smile, which disappeared in disapproval as he lifted her up into his arms, ignorant of her smell, dirt, and fleas. "Haldon," she warned, but weakly as relief from standing rushed through her. "You need the Vitals Centre. I'll take you there and -" "Haldon." The other guard placed a halting hand on Haldon's shoulder. Lyla had closed her eyes, but she could hear annoyance prick his voice.
"What?"
"Have you lost your mind?" the guard replied, "You can't just let that beggar woman into the palace. There's no way she's Lady Lyla, and even if she was, that bloodscrewer was banished remember? You can't just -" "I'm not letting this woman die," Haldon forcefully interrupted, "Prevent me from helping her and you die in her stead."
Lyla heard no reply but the creak of the opening gates a few minutes later, and then she was home. She could tell by the sudden scent of dewy grass and unmolested air, by the faint whiff of the peach trees and the silence in crickets' songs, by the feel of the fresh breeze. After two eternities...she was home.
She woke in a blanket and a bed. Lyla almost laughed with joy at these old friends, feeling the comfort from so long ago as she had never felt it before. That softness, that silkiness, that perfumed scent; they slipped her smiles and sighs, but the cleanness she awed the most.
Lyla could have drifted again to warm slumber, but despite her return, hunger and thirst still jealously clung on. "Haldon?" she whispered, her voice still hoarse, though easier to use.
No answer.
No Haldon, but neither was there anyone else. A bubbly feeling of pure joy erupted into laughter despite her parched throat. At that moment, she wanted to die; to escape before the devil could come and drag her back to hell. Kill me now, she thought, just take me now.
A muffled sound echoed. Lyla lifted herself off the pillows in surprsie and took her first glance of the room. Raining colden crystals spotted the walls and an embroidered grandfather clock ticked away to her left. Next to the clock, blood-red curtains cracked open to reveal a sliver of daylight as an opposite fire bled through white gates. Only the plain wooden chair and table clunked down by her bed stood conspicuous in this finely wrought room.
Lyla had never visited the Vitals Centre, but even she could tell this place held no resemblance to one. This was undoubtedly a guest room, used for royalty; a class that now excluded her.
Lyla's wish for death quickly morphed into curiosity. Why did they bring her here? Who had "they" been? Haldon could not have sneaked her here and she had obviously been cared for. Her soundless questions broke off suddenly into a spoken one as she again heard the quiet muffle. "Who's there?" she croaked nervously. She only half-expected an answer, so gasped when a familiar voice immediately bounced back. "Who's Haldon?"
Lyla laughed in disbelief.
To the darkness, she hesitantly whispered, "You imbecilic. Insane. Lackwit. Moron." His voice came out to answer her, and she fell back in shocked relief.
"How many times do we have to go through this?" he said exasperatedly, comping out the shadodws with that easy comic smile and sparkling blue eyes. "Milen. Mi-len. Is that so hard to say?"
Lyla shook her head, never losing sight of those eyes.
"You're insane."
He walked up and poured her a cup of water from the pitcher on the table. She accepted it hungrily as he sat cross-legged on her bed. "I'm not the one who came running home to the father that banished her," he said, shrugging. Just once - was it too much to ask that he put aside the annoyances just one?
She answered sharply, "How many times do we have to go through this? It turned out well for the both of us in the end, so drop it. Can we talk of more pressing matters? Have you anything to eat?"
He rolled his eyes, but mutedly slipped his bag over his head and handed it to her. Lyla opened it eagerly and smiled at the three peaches she found inside. "You should restock soon," she said casually as she began her meal. He groaned and stretched out on the bed. "Am I going to have to start stealing for two? They're bound to notice when half their storage goes missing."
Lyla wiped some peach juice off her face and said, "Very funny. Especially considering you eat double any portion of mine." He laughed and sat up. "No, I drink twice as much as you do. You really need to learn how to drink like a man, Lyla."
"Are you implying you are a man in this scenario?"
He pulled an indignant face and replied, "I've protected you. I've put food on your plate. I've got my deep voice. I might as well be twenty-five." Lyla shook her head. "Then I might as well be forty."
"Just because-"
He paused - so did she. Frozen, they listened to the soft yet unmistakable ping of an elevator.
Lyla quickly stuffed her half-eaten peach back into Milen's bag, ignoring his scowl of disgust, and shooed him away. "I know," he mouthed. Then with a silent goodbye, he bounced behind the curtains, out the balcony, and, finally, out of sight.
Lyla smiled with that warm glow only Milen could induce and lay back down on her bed, waiting patiently for her visitor.
In the Fecund Country, year 32 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 533 of the Old Era
Raven 17
The raised points of the ceiling swirled in her mind as Raven lay in her ocean of a bed. This gargantuan circle had been hers for almost three years now, and she had grown used to its comfort. A disadvantage, now that she thought about it.
The knock rang through her room and she sighed at its meaning. Carefully, Raven scooted to the edge of the endless satin sheet, conscious of her new dress, and crossed the room to open the door. “Already – “ she cut her speech short as the doorway revealed a man far from the regular messenger. “Your majesty,” she said evenly once having mastered her surprise. Beyond this, she knew not what to say; nor did she dare deviate from the regular scripts. “As pleasant as ever,” he whispered in return, placing his hand on her cheek. This was a harmless act, so she let it lay. “Shall we leave for dinner, your majesty?” she said. “No,” he replied faintly, “I-I just sought your company. Please, we must sit.”
Nodding her consent, she stepped aside to let him in. They sat around the clear glass table she rarely used, and, as usual, they sat in silence. She looked out the window to the setting sun, to the beginning of new night...achingly aware of his haunting stare.
As always, he began the conversation. “Why do you never look at me?” he asked, still mutedly, still safe. Immediately she shifted her gaze to him. “I’m sorry, your majesty,” she answered, “I never thought about it.”
“Have you ever thought about love?”
Her blood spiked and she responded carefully, “No, your majesty.” He laughed, though she saw pain in his eyes. “No, I thought not,” he said, “Although I hoped…No, it was my mistake.” He paused again, contenting himself with his eyes’ perpetual object.
The gold of evening held her wonder.
Abruptly, he said, “You can’t know, Raven, my torture in loving something that's never existed, my torture in loving both you and her and never knowing if I love you or her. She's nothing but a memory, yet you are…you are real and tangible and beautiful.” He reached for her hand and she provided it. “We are different people now in this world I chanced to create; I chose to ignore this, and I am so - so sorry. For all these years I couldn't see you...Raven, I could not see you with that power, patience, and wisdom your life had pushed on you. You are...a different person entirely.”
She looked now as his eyes seemed to mist like overhanging skies. He continued speaking but distantly, “I'd give the world for our past...for us to be...us. I still live with the past; the world that never existed...where we loved each other and scorned everything else. You…Raven…can you feel this pain that still shreds my soul - whatever's left of it? It lets me see those violet eyes laugh again, those parched lips smile again, that jagged, mussed hair again…It lets me see your fiery eyes, your impassioned will, your glowing beauty…You had always been so sad, and now…now I love you, I loved you, I will always love you and I’m…so sorry…so sorry…”
Still with misted eyes, but now through a small smile, he said, “Raven, you will never understand who I had once been, and I’m sorry for what I've become. I’ve always ignored the hate and disgust in those fierce eyes, but I've finally learned that you can never love me. Not as I am. But I hope... that when we next meet…” he paused to place in her hand a thick, gray bracelet as smooth and as hard as glass.
“…We meet in peace.”
He looked at her expectedly and she placed the strange adornment on her wrist. She gasped as it conformed to her like an extra layer of skin, and panicking, she quickly tore it off. The creature slid off easily. Smiling, the emperor picked it up from where it fell by his feet and handed it back to her. “Trust me when I say you don’t want to lose this,” he said almost pleasantly. Taking the thing, she stared at him in confusion. For a second…she thought she had seen a different man.
“I stole this many years ago,” he said, snapping her back to reality. “It is a priceless device. With it, a man can possess time. I have misused it for much too long, and time has finally come to exact her revenge. I...accept my punishment. But before she takes me, I knew I somehow had to lessen my evil…So take it. I beg you to use it.” She placed the bracelet – no, device back onto her wrist, ignoring its constriction.
But she could no longer ignore his rambles. After a brief hesitation, wherein she struggled not to blurt, “You’re crazy!” she warily ventured to mutter, “Your majesty – “ But a ringing knock interrupted her. They both looked to the door, she with confusion and he with a certain resignation. “I will leave you then,” he said, getting up. He looked at her almost nervously. “Will you…allow me one last kiss?” Raven hesitated as the knock came again, beating like a drum. “I…” she stared at those beseeching blue eyes. “Why, your majesty?”
He looked confused for a moment, but then suddenly he laughed, bringing unnatural sparkles to those eyes. “Because I love you,” he answered.
Virtue or death? The knocks rang louder and more frequent.
“No,” she finally managed to say, her hands shaking, “I’m sorry, your majesty.” The sparkles disappeared, but he still smiled. “I hoped,” he said, taking one of her trembling hands, “But I didn’t deserve it.”
He sighed. Letting her go, he backed away through the room.
“Goodbye then, Raven.”
“G-goodbye, your majesty.”
His eyes leveled with hers before he revealed a gray bracelet identical to the one on her wrist; however, this one glowed a faint, shimmering white as he spoke. “In the Fecund country,” he said, his voice nearly inaudible, “year 64 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 565 of the Old Era.” Suddenly, he was fading, fading, fading…and finally…gone.
She could only stare.
The door, however, cracked open, and that common messenger poked his head in. “My lady?” he said, “His majesty's waiting.” She looked blankly at him. Then she looked blankly at where he had disappeared. “Yes,” she eventually whispered, tearing her gaze from the spot, “His majesty will be waiting.” Slowly, she walked out of the room. Glancing at her new bracelet, a small smile graced Raven's features for the first time in countless years.
“Until we meet again,” she whispered.
In the lands of Acror, year 52 of Emperor Lebinus’ reign, year 243 of the New Era
Lyla 15
Haldon.
All six feet of his lean, loping body and shaggy black hair entered through Lyla's doorway, and all she could do was breathe his name. Seeing her, he cried her name back and rushed up to her bedside.
"Lyla! You're finally awake, you're okay, you're okay, you're okay..." he rambled as his arms wrapped around her, each reveling in the warm embrace. They broke apart and, ignoring his own, Haldon wiped the tears from her eyes as he had a lifetime ago.
"You're so tall," she murmured thickly, "Have you always been so tall?"
He smiled a watery smile, with his hands still on her face. "I'm sorry I went on growing without you," he said, biting with that sarcasm he had imparted to her. Laughing, Lyla suddenly remembered the guest room and she took Haldon's hand. "Haldon, why am I here? Why am I not at the Vitals Centre? And what of my father? Does he know? Has he come to see me? Is he -" But here, she stopped herself. She could not bring herself to say it, for whatever reason.
"Sorry?" Haldon supplied for her, and her hand clenched around his. "I wouldn't know," he said quietly, "but he moved you here once he realized you were at the Vitals Centre. That was over a week ago. If he's given you any recognition since then, I don't know about it."
Lyla tried not to let her disappointment show. Instead, she said, "So you're a guard now. What happened? I thought you had sworn off that path." She saw him tense, and she knew his next words would be lies. "I changed my mind," he said easily, "I should try it out while I'm still young. I still study on my days off." She hated his lies; she had almost forgotten. Lyla narrowed her eyes at him, but let it pass. "I'm glad for you," she said. He smiled. "Thank you."
There was silence then, the frivolous formalities unable to sustain them for long. Lyla could sense his questions, and she hoped he could not sense hers. Or her answers. "Haldon," she whispered against her will, before he could ask, "Haldon, you know, you must know -" "That his majesty lied?" he interrupted, supplying her words again.
A sticky, black plague lifted from her chest at these words, leaving behind a shaky laugh and shaky tears.
"You knew."
"Of course I knew."
He kissed her hand. "And I'm sorry." She used that hand to lightly hit his head. "Stupid," she said, "I don't need those words from you." He came closer, taking her hand back into his. "What about 'I missed you'?" he muttered, "What about 'I love you'?"
"Hal-" She stopped, or was stopped, with his kiss now on her lips.
She pushed back almost violently, her heart thundering, her eyes wide, her breath impossible to find. "Lyla -" "No," she interrupted, "I-I'm sorry, really, I'm sorry I - you just surprised me, um, Haldon, I'm sorry -"
"You said that already."
"Right. Yeah..." Stupid, she thought bitterly.
"You weren't actually pregnant were you?" he suddenly blurted. She looked at him again.
"What?"
"That's what you said to his majesty, do you remember? That day, you said you were pregnant. But you weren't, were you? You used it as an excuse, right?" He looked hopeful then, but hopeful for what? Lyla could feel it, the 'what', and never had she felt so tainted. Never had she felt so much like a whore.
"I...no. Of-of course I was not pregnant. Don't be stupid."
In the Barren country, year 27 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 528 of the Old Era
Raven 17
The colorless wasteland stretched before her, the ragged bones of decaying trees littering the scene for miles. Raven breathed in that ashy air of her childhood, tightly clutching her warm woolen cloak.
She started walking.
She was close, she knew; she had stepped through here before. The trees had loomed so much more intimidatingly then, but Raven had more to be afraid of than dead trees.
An embroidered knapsack, the plainest she could find, rubbed against her hip as her boots cracked harshly against the frozen soil. Raven had bartered them from the palace’s tanner, and had traded clothes with the servants. She had crept back to her room for the travel, taking her bag from the closet and her boots from under her bed. The comforts had surrounded her as she stood for one last look at the emperor’s palace. It had sickened her and frightened her just as much as when she first laid eyes on it.
Before long she would miss it.
Now, however, with food by her side and a cloak hiding her from the piercing winds, this world held an infinitely greater appeal. Seven years separated her from his majesty, his savagery, her prison, and this dead, gray desert spoke of nothing but freedom.
Suddenly, she stopped. The silence rang in her ears with the absence of her crunching steps, but Raven willed them to hear more. Moments passed, but she could not identify the source of her sudden foreboding. Standing as still as the land, she waited. Then she heart it: a raspy whisper of death. Raven slinked slowly towards the sound, and within seconds, she had found its source.
A skeletal shape of a young girl lay stretched out on the ground, her cracked lips blue, her wispy hair faded, her deadened eyes glazed. Raven was now close enough to clearly hear the skeleton's harsh breaths - or was it the bones rattling in the wind? The skeleton's gaze seemed to find hers and Raven kneeled down beside it.
Then it spoke. "Wa-ter..." it rasped weakly. Raven looked down at it for a moment, and then took one of its hands. All the fingers had been chewed off.
Slowly, Raven took her free hand out from under her cloak, staring silently at the gleaming knife it held.
This was the price, she though bitterly.
Still holding onto her hand, Raven slit the girl's throat.
In the lands of Acror, year 52 of Emperor Lebinus' reign, year 243 of the New Era
Lyla 15
They sat there, the two of them, though she was no longer an invalid. Lyla pictured his windswept hair and sparkling blue eyes, herself filled with envy, with longing, with jealousy. "Milen," she said, staring at the peach in her hand. "Mm?" came his voice from the bed, and she could imagine his body sprawled out behind her as usual, while she sat on the chair to face the open windows. "Why have you not brought any grapes? Are they not yet ripe?"
"I suppose."
"...I see." And she could, almost.
The sun glittering on the palace walls, the back garden in full bloom with little young grape vines, the splashes of fountain water, the fresh green grass, the shining sidewalks, the elegant little outhouse for the servants. She could almost see it...but in her mind's eye it was little more than a mirage. Still. All Lyla had yet seen of her former home were the four sparkling walls of her dull sickroom, while Milen ran through the halls and lawns and gardens like a ghost; unseen yet seeing all. It had been six days. Six days since she had woken up to her soft bed, to Milen's smile, to Haldon's – to Haldon.