39. Thirty-Nine
thirty-nine
"You'll wear holes in the floor tapestry." Erqis watched his sworn brother and right hand pace yet another circle into the carpet.
The huntsman huffed. "The boy is alive?"
"So the mirror claims."
It had been a fortnight since he had revealed the truth to Neira – a truth that he hadn’t known, until then, she was unaware of herself. Some strange truce had been brokered between them that morning, when Neira had told him how the mirror had confirmed what he had seen. Told him that there was so much more to her past, things she wanted to work through by herself before she told him – if she ever would. Erqis had not protested her decision, had not tried to press her into telling him everything, and that kindness had granted him Neira’s favour.
It had taken a shouting match, one that Qavor had joined in on, to convince him over the next few days not to torch the cursed thing. Neira wouldn’t even agree for it to be moved, convinced that such an insult would seal the entity’s lips.
After returning from her latest audience with it, Neira had looked beyond tired. Erqis itched to return to her side. He knew exactly where she was: curled up in bed asleep, drained as the encounter had left her, her cat nestled against her. Safe, by all accounts.
Yet he craved to be near her, watching over her.
Qavor halted to level a look that was almost a glare at the king. "So the queen claims. What if it isn't true?"
"Are you calling my wife a liar?" Erqis lifted an eyebrow, shifting on the low-backed cushioned bench he had claimed as his perch. This parlour didn't see much use, too far from the main halls as well as the court's private wing with all its chambers, and his slow shift of weight sent up little puffs of dust that had accumulated in the old cushions. But it was away from prying eyes and ears, which made it the perfect place for this conversation.
Qavor snorted. "What, will you fight me over her honour? No, I am not calling her a liar. I am saying that this mirror is evil. It might be lying to her. It speaks only to her, only in the dead of night, and only if she is alone. She is beyond distressed every time. That thing is malevolent." He crossed his arms over his broad chest. "You'd do best to throw it into the sea. Better yet, take it back to Brightmere to complete the cursed aesthetic. It can rot there until we are all long turned to dust."
"You're being very dramatic."
Neira had refused to tell him what the mirror had said to her that first night, but her unyielding stance on her brother – her son – had quickly evaporated after the encounter. It was delaying the auditing of the noble houses, much to Ira’s growing frustration, but if Erqis could reunite his wife with her son... it was worth it.
A letter had arrived just that morning – the Huldran officiars claimed the prince of Brightmere had never arrived, and that no boy of his age lived at court at all, foreign or otherwise. Erqis didn't look forward to discussing it with his queen, who was adamant that the prince was a guest of the Glacier Throne.
"You can't search all the realms for one child. You have plans for Malvea that need tending."
"There are only three outcomes. One, the boy is dead, sunken into the sea, and the mirror lies to distress Neira." Erqis counted off his fingers, each glittering with a ring in the dim light streaming through dusty windows. "Two, Huldra is lying, to one day hold the boy over our heads as a royal hostage. And three, he truly did not arrive, but is alive – in Green Harbour, perhaps. All ships go through Green Harbour."
"Which one do you think is true?"
"I don't think the mirror is lying." When Qavor opened his mouth to protest, Erqis held up a hand. "I think it is being very deliberate with what information it reveals, and how it frames that information. Neira said it is particular about how a question is phrased, and chooses for itself whether it wants to answer something that is not a question. And, listen: sending a handful of spies to the other realms is no skin off my back. That's what we have them for."
"I suppose." The big huntsman sighed and raked his hair back, dark like raven feathers. "You're expending a lot of effort on her behalf."
"I love her."
Qavor smirked. "Better not let her hear that. She'll throw something at your head again."
"As she should, honestly." Erqis sighed. "You said one of the spies returned?"
"This morning." Qavor leaned back against the unlit fireplace's stone mantle. "With interesting news from the other realms. You know how Huldra and Hertha are always warring over dominion?"
"My favourite petty quarrel. Yes."
"Remember how a few years ago, the Heather Throne welcomed a new princess?"
Erqis hummed. "They made quite a big deal out of it, yes. I remember. The one who was kidnapped soon after. Who'd kidnap an infant? And what for?"
"Turns out there is a suspiciously red-headed child growing up among the ice and snow right now."
Erqis chuckled. "They're blaming the Glacier Throne, I assume?"
"They're trying. The age is wrong, and the colour of someone’s hair is hardly evidence, but tensions are high again regardless." Qavor narrowed his eyes when his king fell silent. "What? You're planning something. I'd advise against sending more spies to Huldra until this is resolved, Erqis."
"What about sending an army?"
The room turned so silent they could both hear the bustle of the castle, even in this removed, unused space. Qavor gaped at him, his handsome face slack with surprise.
"No."
"It's my army, Qav."
"And Malvea is your life’s ambition," his huntsman rebutted, sweeping a hand wide, as if he could gesture to the whole of the continent from this forgotten chamber. "You'd leave it unfinished? Like this? Your hold over the realms is anything but secure right now."
As much as it stung to admit it, Qavor wasn’t wrong. Woodhaven, especially, had to be brought to heel, and he hadn't even begun to plan his conquest of the two northernmost realms. What he needed was what he loathed the most – time, and the patience to allow it to pass.
He'd never been a patient man.
Erqis groaned, raking his hair back. "Fine, fine. You're right. But I do want a spy in Huldra. Just to confirm that the boy is safe."
"I don't like it. If they're found-"
"They'll be killed. Yes. Such is the life of a spy." Qavor was quickly losing his patience with him, and while that was always an enjoyable activity for Erqis, he also didn't have time for it right now. "Just do it. The Glacier Throne will expect an influx of spies now anyway."
"That's exactly the problem. They'll be more vigilant than usual. A spy won’t be able to report back to you the colour of the curtains, let alone anything of use."
"Then we send an envoy. With offers of support, should war come to their door."
Qavor was pinching the bridge of his nose, his frustration visibly mounting. "That's not suspicious at all."
"Happens all the time, brother." Erqis rose and clapped both hands on Qavor's broad shoulders. "You know what, since you’re shooting down every idea I put forth, how about you do what you think is best. All I need is intelligence."
"That's nothing new." Qavor dodged the retaliatory punch with a smirk. "I'll think of something."
"Thank you." Erqis meant it and, by the way his expression softened, the Farn knew it. "Although, a succession crisis would be the perfect moment to strike…"
"They have more princes than they know what to do with. I wonder if anyone not related to the Heather Throne even lives there. It's not exactly a crisis if you have dozens to spare." Qavor shook his head. "We're not picking a fight with Hertha. That is final, Erqis."
"That's really no way to speak to your king."
But Qavor wasn't wrong – they were stretched thin as they were.
Neira was curled up in the same ball he had left her in, under a mountain of blankets and pillows that blocked out any light. When Erqis sat on the edge of the bed, her undead cat popped its head from a fold to chirp at him.
Gods, the thing had him on edge. While it was affectionate enough, it seemed to see and hear everything, and some of the servants had already begun gossiping that it reported secrets back to the queen. He was sure the cat had no such connection with his wife, but who knew? He reached out and petted the fuzzy head.
"Do you need anything?"
The cat tilted its head. He leaned further until his hand found Neira's back, warm and secure in her cocoon. She didn't answer, but by the way she tensed, Erqis knew she was awake.
"Some tea? Are you hungry?"
"No." The answer came slow, long seconds after he had asked, as if Neira had to think about it.
"You should eat something." When had he turned into such a mother hen? Neira was more than capable enough to make the decision for herself and have it respected. As queen, she should not be questioned, not even by him.
And still, when he looked at her… his chest tightened uncomfortably. Each audience with that blasted mirror sapped at her.
"Do you want a cuddle?"
A quiet scoff came from the heap. No, then. Strings stretched, tail twitching, and then jumped off the bed. Neira's hand emerged from the blankets to feel around for him, but the only thing she found were Erqis' fingers, sliding into the spaces between hers. She didn't pull away and so he sat, holding her hand.
"Why didn't you tell me?" She asked eventually, her voice muffled, thick like she had been crying.
"Tell you what, love?"
"That you know. About Ramin – about me. About what he did ."
Erqis frowned. "What did Ramin do?"
"Not Ramin. My…" She sighed and finally freed her head from her cocoon. Her hair was wild, her eyes red-rimmed. "I don't know what to call him. The Dread King. The monster who raised me." At the confusion on his face, Neira frowned. "You said you read his notes."
"Well, yes, what was left of them. They were badly damaged. I read that you spent your pregnancy on bed rest, and that he visited your bedside as often as he could. That the child was a boy. That there were wet nurses from the village."
Erqis shrugged, something uneasy churning in his stomach at the look on her face – and at the sudden realisation that those wet nurses had likely not been very alive. The boy had been suckled on death itself.
"That's… that's all you read?"
"Yes." He squeezed her hand. "I swear, Neira. That is all I read. What's going on? What did that thing tell you?" Gods below, Qavor was right about one thing – the mirror was evil. There was no need to distress the woman like this, no matter what the truth was. No matter if she asked for it.
"You don't know."
Again with the cryptic answers. Erqis felt the sharp reply on his tongue and made himself swallow it. She didn't deserve his ire. A simple misunderstanding. That's all this was. "I don't know what? What did he do?"
Neira's laugh was hollow. She turned onto her back and Erqis lay beside her, thumb stroking the back of her hand.
"My father…" She stumbled over the word, but pushed on quickly. "He wanted an heir he could… use. He wasn’t an alchemist. That superstition you told me about... he made a deal for immortality, for the magic he wielded. But he was tricked. He needed new bodies to possess as each one aged. Vessels, he called them."
Horror burst in his chest, sickly with implications. “How do you know this?”
"The mirror showed me the notes. The entirety of them. He… he was trying to breed a new vessel for himself."
Breed . Her voice broke on the word, and Erqis felt bile rise in the back of his throat. He wrapped his arms around her. Her pain was his pain as she breathed, deep and shuddering, against his chest.
"Easy," he murmured, stroking the back of her head. "Take your time."
And time it took as Neira tried to calm herself enough to continue speaking of something she had clearly not come to terms with yet herself.
"Ramin's father – his sire – he was Farn. He must have been, the notes spoke of his horns, and how Ramin didn't inherit them." Another shudder violently racked her. "He's been doing this for generations. My mother…” Her words began to trip over themselves, thoughts and feelings spilling out unorganised. “I never asked what happened to her, never thought anything about this was unusual. I don't know what he did to me …" Neira choked on a sob. "She threw herself into the lake."
Her voice was so plaintive, so hopeless. The horror in Erqis’ chest only grew deeper, colder. He had seen what lived in that lake, what waited in the murky waters. The woman's death wouldn't have come with water filling her lungs, no gentle drift into the dark. She had left her small daughter knowingly in the hands of a monster, because living with the knowledge, the memories of everything that had happened to her, must have been far too difficult.
Was it love that had made her not drown her daughter, too? A desperate belief that perhaps, somehow, Neira’s fate would be better than her own?
Or had she been so far lost in hopelessness, in pain and fear, that the only thing she could do was free herself?
Erqis pressed his lips against the top of Neira’s head. How could he support her through this? How could he even begin to understand what she had been through, sympathise with it, when she herself didn't remember any of it and hadn't yet come to terms with what she had been told? He mulled that thought over and over in his mind as he held the woman he had wedded partially just to prove her wrong, as Neira cried herself to exhaustion in his arms.
He had promised to let her go where she pleased after his rule was secure, his court in order – but how could he just allow her to walk out of his life?
He'd take the absolute chaos of uncertainty if it meant she'd stay with him.
"I'm sorry," Erqis said eventually, quietly into her hair, when her deep sobs had subsided and only the occasional sniffle fanned against his skin. "If you…" Gods, he was useless with these matters. "If you ever want to talk about it. I'm here for you."
If you stay with me. If you will still be my wife after our deal is done . He couldn't bring himself to say the words, hated to even remind her of her options.
Neira pulled back to blink at him. Thin strands of hair stuck to her temples, her cheeks; her eyes were swollen and red, her nose puffy and her nostrils chapped. The frown lines between her brows deepened.
She was the most beautiful woman in the world.
"You want to talk. About this."
The sheer doubt in her voice made him chuckle. Erqis stroked her hair back, wiped the remainder of her tears from her flushed cheeks.
"No," he admitted. "I don't know the words that would ease your pain. I don't know how to help you through this, how to be supportive in the ways you need. Seeing you cry makes me uncomfortable."
A glimmer of amusement sparked in the dark depths of Neira's eyes, the faint whisper of a smile touching her mouth.
"It's also making me hard, and I don't want to unpack the psychology of that." He grinned when she shoved at him with an exasperated groan. But he wouldn't let her go, and leaned in to kiss her warm forehead.
When he spoke again, his voice was pitched lower, quieter. More sincere. "But I will do everything and anything I can. Anything I can give you, you'll have, no matter the cost or effort."
"Why?"
"Because I love you."
Erqis hadn't meant to tell her. What Qavor had said was true; Neira was as likely to throw something at him as she was to scorn him. But it was the truth, and after everything, after a life built on lies… she deserved truth.
Her cheeks grew rosy, eyes flicking away, and closing fully when he rested his forehead against hers. "I-"
"I don't need an answer, Neira. I just need you to know. In fact, you know what, don't say anything at all. I think we're both uncomfortable enough."
She took a deep breath, her fingers tightening in his shirt. And then Neira tipped her head just enough to brush her lips against his in a sweet, soft cling of a kiss.
And that was answer enough for him.