Chapter 4 #2
“…I think that’s enough for tonight,” Bastian said, getting to his feet.
“We have more to discuss, but some among us are still recovering from their travels into this kingdom. Rest is in order. Tomorrow, a small company and I ride for the camps on the outer edge of the revived circle, and we’ll have clearer notes to share with you regarding how things are progressing. ”
With that, most of the gathering dispersed, save for King Marius, Lord Renvar, and a few of the louder naysayers. My brother lingered as well, speaking with this group, trying to further mitigate their grievances.
I started to turn around and go back to help, but Thalia put her hand on my arm. “He’s fine. He’s very experienced at dealing with those assholes.”
Eamon moved closer, blocking my view of the assholes in question.
“You should get some rest,” he said, and Thalia added an encouraging nod toward my room as well. “We’ll help keep things under control here, don’t worry.”
I wasted no time arguing. I was tired, and I still had one last duty to attend to before I could retire to my private chambers for the evening.
Bidding them goodnight, I steeled myself with a deep breath and turned left instead of right when I reached the top of the stairs outside the meeting chamber, making my way to a quiet, mostly empty hall of the palace.
Tucked away at the end of this hallway was the room where we were keeping yet another victim of Lorien Blackvale: Zayn Caldor. The cousin of Aleksander and—until a month ago—the host of Lorien himself.
Decades ago, that monstrous other half of the Vaelora tandem had possessed Zayn’s body following a failed attempt to overtake Aleksander’s. For nearly twenty years, he’d walked in Zayn’s skin, lied with his voice, and poisoned every relationship and alliance Zayn might have had.
We’d managed to extract Lorien’s essence, but he’d been in and out of consciousness ever since. Mostly out. The few times he’d woken up, he’d been entirely disoriented, unable to do more than choke down just enough substance to keep him clinging to life.
It had been several days since his last awakening.
It was impossible to say what was left of the real Zayn; what sort of rot or corruption Lorien had left in him. Not even Aveline had much hope or insight to offer, despite how gifted she was when it came to healing.
I greeted the maid at his bedside, pausing to swallow down the lump in my throat. “How is he today?”
She busied herself with changing pillowcases as she spoke. “Still very much the same, Highness—though he did seem to be trying to respond, earlier, when we were speaking to him. A weak attempt, but…”
I breathed in deep, trying to inhale the pinch of hope I thought I’d heard in her voice. “Keep trying.”
She bowed her head.
My eyes shifted to Zayn once more. Fixed there. I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop thinking about how desperately I needed him to wake up so we could talk.
Like the ruined palace in Midna, I suspected he had answers buried inside of him. But much like that palace, he was broken and battered, in danger of collapsing and taking far too much of this world’s complicated past with him.
“Thank you for taking care of him,” I said quietly.
“Of course.”
I turned to leave, but found myself lingering in the doorway, watching him a minute more, hoping for a sign of life. A promise of return.
He remained perfectly still.
I made myself move, even though part of me wanted to linger.
And now came the hardest part of my day.
Always, always the hardest, even when my days were filled with a seemingly endless number of hard things.
My bedroom felt like a mausoleum. A tomb of velvet curtains, gilded walls, and perfumed linens.
But I had to retire to it. Had to attempt rest despite the nightmares waiting for me, because tomorrow was another day full of tasks that needed doing, problems that needed solving, and I couldn’t sleepwalk my way through it all.
After readying myself for bed, I went to the cabinet where I kept the wine, reaching for the largest bottle and uncorking it with slightly dazed, well-practiced motions.
A knock on the door made me jump, splashing some of the dark red liquid on my wrist.
“…Come in,” I called, reluctantly.
I expected Aveline, or maybe one of her well-meaning minions. She was forever checking on me under the guise of needing to bring me clean linens or other small comforts; the stack of extra blankets and pillows in the corner of this room was nothing short of obscene at this point.
But it wasn’t Aveline; it was my brother who pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside.
“Sorry to barge in so late.”
I waved off the apology, focusing on pouring my glass of wine.
“There’s been a slight change in tomorrow morning’s plans,” Bastian said. “King Marius insists on accompanying us during our trek to the edge camps.”
I took a long drink.
“I thought you’d appreciate a warning.”
Another long sip. Burning, bitter, comforting.
Another sip, then another—until the cup was empty.
I’d drained it alarmingly fast. A slight buzz was already humming at the edge of my thoughts, which was perhaps what made me bold enough to say, “Marius can bring his entire fucking army along with him tomorrow morning, I couldn’t care less. ”
Bastian’s eyes were troubled, but he acquiesced with a nod before letting his attention slide to the glass clutched in my hand, and then to the bottle on the side table, still open and waiting for me to pour myself more.
I made my way to that bottle and did precisely that.
“You’re going to have a hell of a headache in the morning,” my brother commented.
“I’ll manage.”
He didn’t reply right away. A minute passed before he took a step closer and said, “Aveline tells me this is becoming a concerning ritual with you.”
“It’s hardly that concerning in the grand scheme of things.”
“There must be something else you can use to help you get some rest.”
“I’ve tried everything else.”
He sighed. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
I stiffened. “I wake up sober enough. And I haven’t missed a beat outside of this room, have I?
I’ve attended every meeting. Every training.
Every diplomatic dance. What does it matter what I do behind my closed bedroom doors?
I’ve played my role perfectly outside of them, despite what Lord Renvar and Marius and all the other naysayers think. So what does it matter?”
“It matters because I don’t stop caring about you the moment you lock yourself away behind closed doors,” Bastian said, his voice gentler now. “I don’t care about you being perfect, either. Whether outside of this room or otherwise.”
I made a face, lifting the glass to my lips, inhaling the wine’s bittersweet aroma—but I stopped short of taking a sip as my eyes met Bastian’s.
Cursing to myself, I clenched the glass tighter and walked to the window, staring out into the darkness.
“Don’t be angry with me,” Bastian said.
“I’m not angry.”
“No?”
“No,” I said, truthfully. “This sort of thing is just…strange.”
“What do you mean?”
“Having so many people care about me. My life before, in the Above, it was just…different.”
“You had Orin, didn’t you? He cared.”
“Orin.” I scoffed. “Who mostly left me to my own devices, and who…”
Bastian said nothing, patiently waiting for me to find the words.
I exhaled slowly. “Who lied and withheld so much from me. And who abandoned Thalia—his own daughter—years ago. All of which makes me question every ounce of affection I ever felt from him.”
“…He’s a complicated man,” Bastian admitted.
I snorted, looking back over my shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
“You don’t have to, then.”
Nodding, I took a sip. Habit, at this point.
It really was becoming a habit.
I heard Bastian circling the room behind me. Biting his tongue a little harder, I imagined, every time I started to lift the wine glass to my lips.
“Drinking is the only thing that keeps his voice from getting in,” I said after draining the last of the soothing liquid. My words were quiet, tight from the effort of not breaking. “Lorien’s, I mean. And…and sometimes Aleksander’s, too.”
I felt my brother’s eyes shifting my direction. Restlessness overcame me. I made a few of my own laps around the room before finally settling onto the bed.
“I don’t know if it’s the innate bond the Vaelora share, or something that happened during our battle…
some spell residue, or something else…but I hear them more and more here lately.
And it’s always loudest at night, whenever I close my eyes to try and sleep.
” I swirled the glass, studying the few drops of red still in it.
“The alcohol dulls my mind in a way that none of Aveline’s sleep remedies have managed to do. It…it protects me.”
Bastian started to reply only to fall silent. Letting out a soft sigh, he came to sit beside me on the bed, sinking heavily onto the edge of the mattress. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. It was a long moment before he spoke.
“I wish I knew how to make all of it stop,” he said.
Do I want it to stop?
The question startled me as it slid quietly into my mind.
It was torture, hearing Lorien’s voice. And hearing Aleksander’s—but not being able to answer him—wasn’t much better.
But never hearing Aleksander’s voice again would likely have destroyed me completely.
I never found the courage to say any of this out loud, but my brother was studying me as though he understood, all the same.
I stared at my hands in my lap. He put an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer. His strength was comforting, as was his scent—like ink and old books, and something woodsy that reminded me of the little cedar chest I used to store treasures in as a child.
Something in his embrace undid me, bringing the words I’d been fighting all evening to the surface.
“I miss him,” I choked out.
Bastian tightened his hold just slightly, grounding me with a simple, steady pressure. “I know,” he said. “And I wish I knew how to make that hurt stop, too.”