35. Mare
Mare
There was a hole in my side, and I was sitting in the middle of a theatre troupe. It was a fitting metaphor for my fraudulent, farcical life.
Reese had filled me in on his history with Brighid. Bláth had introduced them, and despite their clashing personalities, they got along well enough.
I shifted on the cold bench, staring up at the theatre stage. The actors ran around behind the curtain, preparing for a show.
For whom, I wondered?
After much coercing, Brighid had convinced Reese to stop here. Lady was exhausted from carrying a double load and needed to rest. Reese was off tending to her, and Liam had disappeared into a tent, harassing the bards over what rations they had to spare.
Bláth sat beside me, hands pressed to the bench, feet crossed, like she was eagerly waiting for the show to begin. Warmth radiated from her golden curls and seeped through my fur cloak.
Brighid fluffed the skirt of her dress and sat opposite me. Her ruby eyes bore into me, and I got the impression she knew far more about me than I did about her.
“Tell me, Lady Rohan,” Brighid said, folding her hands on her lap. “How much do you know about the Empire’s history?”
“Ha!” Bláth smirked at me. “Brighid is so boring. She always wants to drone on about history.”
Brighid closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “It's been half an hour, and I already miss the silence your absence brings, Bláth.”
“Really? I recall a drunken confession along the lines of 'I ache for the comfort your voice brings,'” Bláth teased.
She leaned forward, and her cloak parted. I noticed a speck of crimson peeking out from her cleavage. It didn’t match her purple coat.
“Is that?” I pointed at her, admittedly, generous bosom. “Liam’s handkerchief?”
“No.” Bláth pulled up her shirt, covering the crimson fabric.
Brighid made a sound of disgust. “You’re a pig, Bláth. Quit playing with your tits; I’m trying to talk with a lady.”
My eyebrows nearly met my hairline. Liam had been keeping secrets from me, if this Solheart was wearing his favor.
Secrets I needed to know.
I studied the collection of colorful tents, searching for my brother.
“Well?” Brighid pressed.
“Oh.” I looked back at her. “I know what my tutor taught. Enough.”
“Essentially nothing, then.” Brighid flicked her hair over her shoulder.
“Forlaith has been around for as long as written history. Two thousand years, give or take. It was a city-state—the seat of an alliance between four nations. Over the years, it grew in power and became much of what we know today—the ruling force that owns us all.”
I nodded, eyes flicking to the stage. History had never particularly interested me.
“The nations rebelled, and the empire collapsed. Over the centuries, countries broke apart, dynasties rose and fell, but Forlaith remained eternal. Eventually, the Solhearts grew to power again, and thus began their conquest of us once more.”
A striking man strutted across the stage, black shirt cut deep to reveal his bronzed skin. A half-mask covered his face, but one golden eye—the same shade as Reese’s—met mine. He smirked, brushing back his black curls.
Was he a half-blood, born from the union between a Solheart and an Earthborn? I’d never seen anyone with features like that.
My attention settled on his lovely purple cape as it swirled across the stage. Brighid snapped her fingers in front of my eyes.
“Pay attention to me, not the bard.”
“Sorry,” I said. “Go on.”
“As I was saying, during that time, Forlaith burned many of our histories and customs. But a few records of ancient beliefs survived.”
I must have missed something between her last words and these.
Every ounce of my being wanted to glance back at that purple cape. It was such a lovely shade—I needed to ask who his tailor was.
“Is Brighid boring you with history?” Reese stepped over my bench and stood beside me. I tried not to look at him.
“She is not boring me.” I lifted my chin. “Every lord worth his salt should know his history.”
Brighid pursed her lips. “Lucky for you, I prepared a lesson best suited for imbeciles.” She gestured to the stage behind her.
"Imbeciles?" Bláth protested.
“How generous,” I said, ignoring the slight. “No one’s ever prepared a play just for me.”
Reese sighed. “Brighid, what’s this about? It's not like you to make light of matters.”
“Believe you me, it wasn’t my idea,” Brighid snapped. She closed her eyes. “I’m getting married soon.”
"What?" Reese and Bláth blurted out in unison.
I glanced between them. What was so surprising about a noblewoman getting married?
Reese stared intently at Brighid. “To who?”
“To precisely who you’re thinking,” Brighid answered. She raised her palm. “And spare me whatever you’re about to say—I had no choice.”
A vein pulsed in Reese’s neck. “I can’t let you—”
“I said spare me.”
I glanced down at Reese’s hands, clenched into tight fists. Whomever Brighid intended to marry, Reese didn't like him. At all.
Which meant this man was the worst kind of bastard.
Bláth’s bright eyes widened in horror, and she mouthed the beginning of a protest. Pressing her lips together, she stared down, cheeks flushed with rage.
“I made a deal,” Brighid explained. “There’s something I want to see, before my life essentially ends. It has everything to do with the play, and it will help you.”
“A deal?” Bláth echoed, looking up at the stage. “With a bard? I thought you hated bards.”
“I do. Especially this one.” Brighid rubbed her temples again.
Reese searched the stage for the bard, but he'd disappeared.
Brighid sat upright. “The show is starting. Pay attention.”
The curtain shrouding the stage drew back to reveal darkness and fire. Father had taken me to countless plays—but I’d never seen this one before. Actors took to the stage bearing torches, marching in a ritualistic procession, clad in burgundy robes.
Reese hopped over the bench and sat beside me. He shifted closer and braced a hand on the back of the seat, offering his shoulder for me to lean on.
This was because I was injured. Not for . . . for anything else. I reminded myself of that.
And that meant I had no reason to refuse. I let my weight fall against him, and the pain in my side lifted, if only a little. Brighid glanced back at me, ruby eyes filled with scorn. Flashing her a smile, I gave the stage my full attention.
I wouldn’t have been able to look away again, even had I wished to.
The torches flared and blurred together, overtaking the world in red and orange. I blinked, but the strange vision did not lift.
Then, it changed. The fire swirled into the shape of people and burned away, leaving dancing cinders in its wake. The stage vanished: a landscape of golden fields stretched as far as the eye could see.
I lost awareness of myself, of the people around me. It was as though I floated above a story playing out in the world around me.
And for some reason, I was not disturbed by this in the slightest.
I was engrossed.
The ballad told the story of Ellis, a Fireborn man with a mane of flaming hair.
He held the banner of dragons aloft and marched against an enemy kingdom, their fields golden wheat, their buildings purest white.
In the chaos of war, he commanded all the world’s flame.
The world burned beneath his feet, enemy magic bent to his will.
At the height of their clash, he transformed into the dragon itself—becoming an enormous beast of flaming scales and jagged claws.
Men and women rallied to their king's side, dressed in light leathers with short tunics painted in every color of fire and ash. Reverence shone in their eyes, less like they looked upon a king and more like they followed the footsteps of their god.
But this tale was a tragedy. The white kingdom gained ground until those who remained of the dragon’s army were pushed into their last surviving city. The dragon held aloft his banner one final time and valiantly marched into a fight he knew he would not win.
His dying embers rose into the sky, emblazoning the dragon on the heavens.
The white kingdom claimed the dragon's city, but could not keep it. Flaming rain hailed from the dragon's dying embers, and lava burst from the ground, flooding the streets.
The invaders were entombed in obsidian with their foes; their dying screams rose as one.
And so the city remained for the next century: an inhospitable wasteland of ceaseless lava and burning skies.
I blinked, and the fire overtook my vision again, wrapping the actors and scene in its embrace.
Then it was but a stage in a Muirashin clearing, surrounded by a sea of white birch trees. A sole actor stood alone before the falling curtain and bowed.
The odd man with the beautiful purple cloak and strange half-mask.
The curtain fell, and I snapped from my trance.
Shaking my head, I turned to Reese, but he was staring forward, wearing a bored expression. Liam had joined us and stood behind the benches, hand on his hip. He raised an eyebrow and shot me an amused look.
My eyes snapped back to the stage, and I felt like my world flipped on end.
Several actors in elaborate costumes performed a play I’d seen several times before: The Ballad of Burgundy Rose. The lead actor was dressed like a rogue, pantomiming climbing into the prince’s room to steal his crown.
My head spun. I blinked hard and noticed Brighid looking at me.
She smirked and pressed a finger to her lips.
Had only we seen that?
Reese looked down. "Are you alright?" He whispered.
"Fine," I whispered back. "The lead actor we had in Aenir was better, is all."
He chuckled and turned away.
I fidgeted through the remainder of the show, mind racing. I knew the Ballad of Burgundy Rose by heart. It had been one of Father's favorites: a classic tale of adventure and romance. Reese's foot started tapping impatiently, and his gaze shifted toward Brighid's back.
When the curtains fell, his glare intensified. "That was something we needed to see?"
"You caught me." Brighid showed him her palms. "It was a ruse to get you to take a break and breathe."
"You could have just said so."