The Desolate Throne

IX. Fumbling Towards Perfect

Not for the first time, Holland reflected on how much could change in seven days as she scrubbed the oil from tending to her armor off her hands. The Baroness of Essen had vanished like a fever dream since the night she'd come to Holland's room. There was only the Queen of Yssa visible now. She wore armor thicker than the penitent's own, flames of winter fire wreathing her soul. Holland hated it because she knew that meant Seva was hurting and wouldn't let anyone close enough to do anything about it. They'd barely talked since it happened.

There were so many preparations to make to get the army equipped and moving. Daag and the dwarves were working as quickly as they could, but Yssa had a lot of soldiers to arm. Most of them weren't well trained despite the paces Cadeyrn had been putting them through. A farmer was a farmer at heart. It was the problem with levies. Holland understood, but she was accustomed to the discipline and rigor of professional soldiers, people who did nothing but fight and train all year, every year. At least they would have that with Murdak's orcs. They weren't as disciplined as the Imperial legions—no other force was—but their morale was incredibly hard to break and they were powerful, skilled fighters. There were also a lot of them. She had high hopes for them as shock troops. The Imperium had never encountered the orcish hordes before, as Murdak's people were too far north. It might be unexpected enough to force them to reconsider.

But it wasn't a real answer. They weren't going to be able to beat the Imperium with armies alone. They needed more. They needed the Desolate Throne.

Her last meeting with Orobas had been promising. He'd informed her that the answer would be clear to him shortly, though with demons it was always difficult to tell what shortly meant. It could be a few seconds or a few hundred years. Holland could only hope that in this case they were closer to seconds. She didn't have a long time to wait. Not when word was that the fires in the Wild Reach had gone out. That meant only one thing: the Imperial armies had reached the sea.

For some reason, however, knowing that they would have a key to understanding the Desolate Throne was not as reassuring as it should have been. She still remembered the Life-Giver's words about the power that they would likely have to resort to.

...It possesses the power to lay them to true ruin. The evil would consume you, shatter you, but you would preserve everything you claim to love. You have always been a creature of emptiness and shadow, a simulacrum of life. You are a pale imitation of the living, little different from the demons that ushered you into this world. The only echo of a soul you have is your will. It is a small price to pay for the survival of the world...

Holland shook the water off her hands and dried them on the small towel sitting beside the basin. At the moment, that didn't matter. She had something else to do, something that made the idea of facing Saraqael in single combat feel possible in comparison. She had to talk to Seva.

Whatever armor the queen wore, Holland would love her. Maybe this wasn't a good time to tell her, but there would likely never be a good time. And if they failed, there would never even be a time at all, good or bad. It was time to do as Orobas and Ardashir had suggested and take the plunge. It was killing her inside, standing so close but being so far away. She knew Seva would be in the library. It would be private enough and as safe as they could get in Tamaris. Holland started the fateful walk in that direction, her hands starting to lose their steadiness and her muscles tensing as if expecting a fight. If they were lucky, the armies would be on the path to Ethilir in a matter of weeks. Fionn would find out in the next few days if he didn't know already.

Seva was standing with her hands resting on the rail of the library's balcony as she took a rare break from the endless nightmare of preparations. It overlooked the blooming garden, a patch of life and serenity in the midst of the chaos. It was the last quiet they would likely see for a long time, perhaps forever, as the intensity of planning grew to a fever pitch and the war took on a life of its own. The circlet she wore seemed particularly heavy at the moment, judging from the thin line of those rosebud lips.  Holland stopped for a moment at the door, just looking at her friend. Even so serious and guarded, Seva still stole her breath away. The sun falling on her golden hair seemed to bestow a halo on her. The blue eyes that studied the distance were as crystalline as she remembered. It was hard to believe there had been a time before Seva was in her life. She remembered those days well, but they seemed so cold and empty by comparison that they might as well have been only nights.