Chapter 31
Vastion
For the first time since taking Esiree as my bride, I actually felt as though she were my wife; and more importantly, that she had accepted me as her husband.
My days of navigating her desires with trepidation had given way to a fervor that summoned feelings long dormant.
Dare I say, love? It was perhaps the last hurdle, and the one I feared most. She had not said the words, nor had I, though I felt them with every fiber of my being.
I had wanted to shout it from every corner of the Heart for all to hear, yet I guarded this final affection intensely, a sentinel protecting the only part of me that could still be broken.
The trip to Lyr was a long one by land, but Es and I made the carriage ride more than tolerable.
It granted us time to know each other more intimately; the kind of discoveries usually reserved for a courtship, filled with bashful flirtations and humorous recountings of youth.
During long stretches, we’d find our noses in books; occasionally, I’d read to her, my voice lulling her into slumber.
At other times, we made use of the bumps and vibrations of the path to explore one another more explicitly, snickering at our inability to keep our pleasure quiet.
“Let’s give them a show,” she’d declare shamelessly.
Seeing my wife shed decorum to embrace her wilder nature was a revelation I cherished.
Our bond deepened with every mile, her laughter lending a rare lightness to our grim task.
On the warmer days of our journey, she opted to join me on horseback—though it did nothing to quiet my hunger when I saw her straddling the saddle.
She’d slap my hand away with a grin each time I reached out to tease her.
Esiree mastered her speech in Lyr, carrying the same overall sentiment.
She made meaningful adjustments here and there; these impressed me even more than when I had witnessed her move the audience in Muir.
Esiree may not have been raised or educated as an orator, but she was proving a quick study.
I struggled to determine which side of Es I cherished most: the quippy Lady of Leto; the well-spoken, unassuming lecturer; the earnest queen supporting my secret cause; or the fiery Goddess writhing in my bed.
Esiree seemed a simple sketch, but beneath was a master’s composition of light and shadow.
A mystery I loved to study, lingering over every stroke of her character as it was revealed to me.
The Hive of the Forlorn sat between Muir and Lyr.
By far the largest nest we were aware of, its inhabitants took advantage of a massive cave system.
It would be our most difficult challenge; one we would only attempt when we were fully prepared, and then only after the smaller nests along the territories had been resolved.
Lyr, on the other hand, posed a different challenge.
We knew it was likely there would be multiple nests as a result of migrations from the Hive.
Orin had accompanied me, leaving his best sentry to attend to Es while we were away.
With that many nests, we would need more time, likely well past evenfall.
Esiree had fruitlessly tried to convince me to allow her to come with us, but I would have no discussion of the sort.
I was already uneasy leaving her in Lyr without myself or my commander at her side.
When we returned to the Heart, we brought the records to Mina for her calculations. I would have been a fool to hope that it would alter the latest round of rations. Orin shared the news of our successes with Tyber, poring over the details while Atticus took meticulous notes and Cade nodded along.
Tyber, curious for crucial details about the weapon’s performance, chastised Orin for speaking in generalizations when what he desired most were accurate measurements of distance, height, and width.
But our recollections, hazy from the thick of action, were the best we could offer him.
He emphasized that we must do better in Enud.
Atticus and Tyber were insistent that one of them travel with us on the next attempt so they could make their own precise observations.
I would not hear of it. The last thing I needed was explaining to my sentries where these humans suddenly came from and why they had joined our excursion.
The sentries were entrusted to our cause, already carrying out these missions in secret.
I had no intention of exposing them to the origin of the weapon.
More importantly, I would not allow the Parcaetes to be distracted from the search for a cure in between visits to the territories.
Our approach in Lyr included a most advantageous adjustment. Fires were set at the cave mouth before the weapon was deployed, ensuring all who fled its explosion would be met with flame, thus, easier to exterminate.
Beyond the mouth, however, the caves narrowed, twisted and split hazardously in multiple directions, offering little leverage for defensive maneuvers.
Orin devised a strategy where one of the groups walked in formation behind the others, carrying a flammable oil so that if we were overrun, he could set a large area ablaze, aiding our retreat.
Upon returning from Lyr, Esiree was pleased to find a letter from her family.
She did not share the contents with me, though her enthusiasm was obvious.
Her mood soured, however, when I informed her that we would need to sit for a royal portrait before our trip to Enud.
She tried to evade the task at every turn.
“You merely wish to add me to the collection of wives you’ve already captured on canvas,” Es scoffed. “Then I can someday gather dust in a closet when number eight comes along.”
Her remark stung me more than she could understand.
“What must I do to convince you? It is tradition.”
“Hmph, I don’t know. I just don’t want to sit for hours in some gaudy room while they struggle to capture my likeness.”
“I don’t believe any artist possesses the talent to truly capture your beauty, my dear, but as I said, this is tradition. For the history books, as they say,” I mused, trying to sound more convincing than I felt.
“Fine. I’ll do it. Under two conditions…”
Those conditions ended up being a complete departure from custom: she alone would choose the location and the attire.
To the surprise of both myself and my painter, Esiree would not allow our portrait to resemble the others.
Instead of the usual dark halls, we waited for a sunless day to trek up to the clifftop.
She picked plain attire for us both—no frills, military embellishments, or symbolic embroidery.
She wore a long, flowy yellow dress with her hair down, while I wore a loose tunic and trousers.
We posed in a field of tall grass, our hair and clothes windswept with every gust. She refused to stand still, instructing the painter that while he was welcome to be inspired, she would not pose in one static position for his benefit.
Most of the time we carried on as if the painter wasn’t even there.
We walked and talked; we lay in the grass, tracing the shapes of clouds through the heavy, overcast sky.
We picked flowers and studied insects, imagining a miniature world where the Vampyr did not exist. I couldn’t fathom what sort of portrait might be achieved from such a lack of staging, but it was the most enjoyable session I’d ever endured.
The rush of the wind, the occasional call of a bird to its mate, and the buzzing hymns of tiny creatures were the only sounds, save for our laughter and conversation.
When darkness claimed the land, making the heights inhospitable for Esiree, we prepared to retreat to the Heart.
“But, Your Majesty! I have not yet finished!” he pleaded, attempting to convince her to return at first light.
“Then let the memory of our joy be your inspiration, wherever you choose to conclude your endeavor,” she told him, her voice light with mischief. “For a true artist’s muse is etched permanently in the mind.”
“He’s a painter, Es, not a poet,” I reminded her, leaving my most esteemed talent slack-jawed in disbelief.
Enud brought with it a tide of memories, some sweet, others edged with a bitterness I’d rather forget.
It would always be the place where we first met, a permanent landmark for how far we’d come since those first tentative days.
But the territory offered more than nostalgia; it presented a new theater of war.
While the cave-nests of Lyr and Muir had posed their own challenges, the Parcaetes would have to adjust our weaponry once more for the terrain of Enud.
The flat, open lands meant the Forlorn had exploited existing tunnel systems and forged vast new networks beneath the soil.
They’d become true ground-dwellers, exceptionally skilled at surprise attacks.
Because of the narrow passageways, we determined that we would need multiple deployments as we made our way deeper.
To ensure our sentries didn’t fall victim to the smoke’s incapacitating effects, they would have to deploy the canisters and fall back quickly.
However, any delay in the smoke’s activation could also allow our enemies to awaken from their stunned state before we could reach them.