Chapter 8
Some words have trigger effects. They cause a cascade of realizations, forcing seemingly incompatible puzzle pieces to slot into place. The moment Nessa made her bleak announcement, a deeper understanding slotted into place for Harald, and he understood what had transpired these past few days.
Nessa watched him, energy tremulous, expression half-defiant, half-resigned. Her chin was raised, her hands balled into fists, and she looked nothing so much as a startled deer, ready to flee at the moment he manifested a threat.
And in Nessa’s case, a threat could be anything from a patronizing tone or a demand for justification.
So instead Harald just nodded pensively as he stepped back, giving her room and wishing that there was a sideboard here, a shelf of expensive liquor or wine he could use to help ease the tension, transition them from a tense doorway confrontation to a less guarded conversation.
But this being Alabenthos’ domain, there was no such thing.
Or perhaps Vic had absconded with all the booze.
Regardless, Harald moved slowly, lips pursed, brow furrowed to move around the room, placing the settee between him and Nessa so that she’d feel less pressured. Less on the spot. There he came to a stop, his thoughts also finally ending their swirl, and looked at her.
“All right. We’ll go with you, if you’ll have us.”
She glared at him. “What are you talking about? You have to—”
“I don’t have to do anything except the right thing. And sticking by our delve captain? Sounds like the right thing to me.”
She took a quick three steps forward then foundered, like a ship running aground on a hidden shoal. “But… your obligations. You’ve made an oath to Lord Alabenthos to assault the 41st Level.”
“And we will. Together. As a team. We’ve already lost Vic.
I won’t lose you, too. If I have to, I’ll speak with Alabenthos myself.
Explain that where one of us needs to go, the rest of us follow.
Trust me.” He forced a smile. “He’s so worried about my turning into Vorakhar’s footstool that he’s not only assigned me a pet guardian angel—” And here he nodded at the mote of light, “but will, I’m sure, agree to any short term course of action as long as it’s righteous and good. I know this qualifies.”
She was frowning at him. “You make this sound so simple.”
“Maybe it is.”
“You don’t even know why I have to go back.”
“I can make an educated guess. But that’d be presumptuous of me. So rack it up to my just being a loyal friend. You tell me you need to face your old man? I’ll have your back. As will Sam and Kársek.”
Tears glimmered in her eyes, and then she exhaled in a rush and smiled her broken smile. “Damn you, Harald Darrowdelve.”
“You might have to get in line. But come on.” He gestured. “Sit. Tell me about it.”
She moved hesitantly to perch at the edge of the settee. Stared down at her folded hands, and then sighed. “It’s a pathetic story. I should spare you the details.”
Harald sat on the far end, leaned back and draped one arm over the settee’s back. “Maybe. One way to find out.”
Nessa sighed, then glanced up sharply. “What has Sam told you?”
“That you’ve compressed an entire love affair with Rovarik—who I still think is an ass, by the way—into about a week. But that you had a falling out with him these past few days, and been distraught.”
Nessa laughed softly. “He is an ass. Thinks he’s the world’s best fencer.
Even worse, he might be right.” She rubbed her thumb across her other palm.
“Well. I gave him a run for his money. I’m a Bladeweaver, after all.
And for a while that was enough. To fixate on piercing his guard, getting my edge to his throat.
And…” She canted her head to one side, as if allowing a point.
“We did enjoy each other’s company. Nothing like the court poets speak of, no tale of virtue and star-crossed lovers, but…
we had fun.” Her smile turned private, then became the slightest of frowns.
“But you know me and fun. I can’t help but try to ruin it. ”
“Uh-huh,” said Harald.
She glanced up at him. “In this case, it wasn’t even conscious. I… you recall, obviously, the difficulties I had after wearing the Twilight Crown and the Aureate Master? The forced epiphanies, the brutal self-assessment, and my inability to just… carry on, thereafter?”
“Sure.”
“Well. Turns out violence and swordplay and sex were just barely enough to keep me distracted. But after a few days of Rovarik’s company—once we had—you know—I found myself growing… peaceful. Or, perhaps… lowering my guard. And that’s never a good idea.”
“You sound like Vic.”
She smirked. “I learned from the best. Regardless. I lost the ability to relax, to enjoy myself. My own false sense of peace shattered, and it was due to my new powers.”
“Oh?” Harald leaned forward. “Your Level 7 ones?”
Nessa nodded slowly. “Precisely. They are quite formidable. But they depend on my…” She trailed off, trying to find the right words.
“On my trusting my companions—which I obviously do—but knowing they trust me in turn. Which I thought I did. Some broken part of me, it turns out, isn’t quite ready to believe it.
” She sat up abruptly and gave him a wry, self-deprecating smile.
“For the power to work, I must feel the equal of you all. Deserving. And. Well. I don’t. ”
Her eyes sheened and became glassy with emotion, which caused her to stand and stalk away.
She inhaled deeply, composed herself, and looked back at Harald.
“Rovarik tried to be a dear, but most men are asses, and he’s only slightly more refined than most. His words…
stung. And I decided to take some time alone.
I’m glad I did. Because my course has become clear.
The Crown showed me as much. I just thought I could ignore its lessons by staying busy. Turns out that was wishful thinking.”
“So. Your father.”
“Lord Ermarine. Whom I’ve not seen in years and years.
” Her smile turned predatory. “And I thought I need never see again. But. There’s a fatal flaw in my heart, my soul, my…
whatever. A weakness he planted there with his cruel fatherly love.
I thought I was freeing myself when I fled his house, but it turns out I’ve never stopped running.
Or trying to outrun his toxic…” Her face contorted with anger. “His toxic influence. His poison.”
Harald remained leaning forward, elbows on knees, listening intently.
“And now, on the precipice of real power, I find myself… stymied. Locked up. Unable to trust. Despite knowing I should, that you all are my companions, that I’ve earned…” Her voice twisted as she stumbled over that last word, her hair falling forward once more to hide her face.
Harald rose to his feet. “Nessa. I won’t annoy you with platitudes.
If you need to confront this man, let’s go.
Easy as that. But you know how we feel about you.
All of us. What we’ve fought through together.
I trust you with my life. More than that.
” Harald gave a scoffing laugh. “I don’t think I’d have gotten anywhere without your training, wisdom, and tactical brilliance—”
“Enough,” she cut in, half-groaning, half-amused.
Harald decided to pile it on. “Your raven beauty, your dark wit, your—”
Nessa glared at him, cast about, then snatched up a cushion which she hurled at his head with perfect accuracy.
Harald laughed, blocked the cushion, then raised both hands. “I surrender! Fine. Enough. I’ll go petition Alabenthos now. We’ll leave in the morning. Or whatever counts for morning here. I’ve a mind to check in on Anna as well. Make sure she’s all right.”
“For that matter, we’ve no idea what we’ll find above.” Nessa squared her shoulders. “We left Flutic in a bit of a rush. Who got the Crown? Is there a monarch? Or is everything just civil war and violence?”
“Good questions. My only concern is for Anna, though. But first we need transport to the surface. I’ll speak with Alabenthos. Get some rest. When we all awaken, we’ll head out.”
“All right.” She hesitated. “And Harald?”
“Yes, raven-haired queen of the perilous night? Bewitching enchantress of—”
She lunged for another cushion, and he skipped away, laughing.
He left her thus, watching him go, cushion clasped to her chest, expression thoughtful, but no longer haunted.
Harald strode lightly along the marble hallways.
His heart felt light. Sam had progressed, and those hours alone with her—and Exeros, to be sure—had been golden.
Nessa had found her own way out of the dark labyrinth in which she’d suffered for years.
Or at least the direction in which the exit lay.
Confront her father. What a terrible and fascinating idea.
Terrible in how hard it might prove for her.
The old man had loomed monstrously large in her memories and emotions for as long as Harald had known her. The source of all her pain and misery.
Could there be healing? Catharsis? Or would everything only get worse?
Harald would do what he could to ensure it turned out for the best.
The mote of light tagged along, just behind him. Harald looked back, considered challenging Exeros, but then let it go. What did he care for the petulant angel’s opinion, anyway?
He soon found himself in the grand throne room, and hurried along the green lake’s edge to plant himself before the throne. Alabenthos sat rigidly above, but there was something in his manner, indefinable, that made Harald think the lord was absent. His form was there, but…
“Excuse me? Lord Alabenthos?”
The angelic figure up above came to life and tilted its helm to regard him. Harald Darrowdelve.