The Mournful King

XXIII. The Gift

The remnants of the Ivory Palace were no more hope-inspiring than the crumbled remains beneath Zaeylael. The Silent stepped into the throne room and felt his blood run cold. Clouds of his breath formed in the air as they looked down the length of the room towards the throne. The bodies of people, withered and aged beyond their time, were imprisoned in layers of ice. The floor was cracked and broken as dark thorns grew up through the fissures. The blood on the floor was perfectly preserved, still a rich crimson beneath the layer of frost. Even as someone who was not a mage, the Silent felt the distortion in the air. Words of pain and loss echoed softly in the great hall, followed by laughter that cracked like broken glass.

The wight vanished when they looked away, no doubt off to find his other half. The sky above was visible through the holes in the great vaulted ceiling, a dark grey, and the first fluttering flakes of fresh snow started to fall.

Something whispered in his ear, soft and pained. It left him with an aching heart. Don't leave me! Please, Kája!

"What happened here?" Ekundayo murmured quietly. He had an arrow knocked on his bowstring, but it wasn't drawn back. Dain was fidgeting with his axe.

"The end of a world," Lieren said. Her voice was just as hushed as his.

"I can feel an elder fiend approaching," Andraste said. "And...something worse."

The Silent did not like the sound of that, but before he could say anything, there was a thunderclap as someone elf-stepped into the room, at the foot of the stairs leading to what was once House Vrana's throne. His breath caught in his throat.

Iona Velane was beautiful, in the way that a statue might be beautiful: cold and unliving. Her skin was sheet white except for the dark, bruise-like circles around her eyes. The Silent had never seen her eyes like this. They burned with some dangerous interior light and were ever so slightly unfocused. No longer did they look upon the world with care or tenderness. She moved with an otherworldly grace and he could feel the power radiating off of her, like the charge in the air split seconds before a lightning strike. The Silent once was accustomed to the company of mages, but never in his life had it felt so strong. He croaked and grabbed Andraste's arm.

"You came," Iona said. She smiled just a bit too widely. "I wondered if you would, if wisdom might have warned you away. You will die here, you know."

"Quite the invitation," Lieren said dryly. A moment later, she spoke more seriously. "It doesn't have to be this way, Iona."

"Doesn't it?" the half-elf said so softly that they almost couldn't hear her. "I promised. Bene will be here in a moment, and Gader'el with him."

"Iona, the voice that has been whispering to you is not Benedikt Hustovi," Andraste said gently. "He's right here."

"The imposter?" Iona said dismissively, her eyes flickering as she looked over at the Silent. "You mean to trick me, sorceress. I know better."

He saw the door behind the throne open. Gader'el stepped in alongside the demon wearing the Silent's face, but there was something behind them. A creeping horror started to form in the pit of his stomach as a shuddering figure took unsteady steps towards the light. It seemed to be finding its feet quickly, however. He heard the scrape of a sword's tip against the floor, the weapon dragged by an unfeeling hand.

"He brought her back to me," Iona said with feverish intensity, that too bright smile undimmed by her unfocused eyes. Tears started to drip down her cheeks. "It hurt so badly, what I did to her. What I broke. But to have her again, that means...everything. I love her so much."

"Iona, what have you done?" Lieren said involuntarily, her lips tightening in revulsion.

The thing stepped into the light. It was Kája's body, but given animus by Deus's sorcery and preserved from rot by Iona's necromancy. Its sandy hair hung loose in its face, half hiding cruel, hollow features and glassy, clouded eyes. It moved more and more gracefully as it approached Iona, clearly adapting to its animated body.