xxii. the queen and the crown
duty
// the sun climbs with the rising dawn; the moon descends as the night falls. they know their places in the sky, and never have they balked in fear of their duties.
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The moonlight lacked sympathy. It demanded that you close your eyes and rest your head, revel in its quiet joys, and when you hesitated, it moved to pick at your flesh—to prod and jeer and mock your reluctance. It did not care that your heart flinched when the shadows shifted, or that red-blooded terrors reared their ugly heads when your eyes closed.
Terror was foreign to Atia. Even in days of shadow, she was always surrounded by light: Nirmos and his many eyes, scrutinizing the path for her, clearing it of monsters and thorns. Could he spare an eye for you? Could he lend a second of his time—rake the dark shadows of the bed-chamber with his piercing light?
There was a knock on the door. It came without warning—a shatter of glass breaking the heavy silence—and a flinch grabbed hold of your frame. Your eyes fled to the door, and a nightmare pressed at the backs of your teeth. For a moment, you knew not how to swallow it, or if it could indeed be stomached, and in the silence, the shadows leaned forward to loom hatefully along the edges of your vision.
Then came a voice, familiar though muffled, from behind the door.
"Your Majesties, this is Sir Isil." He spoke loudly and quickly, as though the words were already leaping from his lips, and his voice was hurrying to catch up to them. "I'm—I'm so sorry to bother you at this hour, but I heard what happened and I," you heard him pause, and the shadows moved to wrap their fingers around your throat, "I wish to ascertain that you are, indeed, well."
The nightmare blocked your windpipe, and your tongue lay broken and useless in your mouth. But you curled your fingers into the bedsheets, and a sound, weak and quiet, dragged itself past your teeth.
"Come in."
Immediately, the door opened, and Isil's familiar shape stepped into view. Moonlight outlined his frame, and, in the dark, his eyes gleamed like pieces of silver. His stare flitted about the bed-chamber, and his gaze was wide and brimming with concern, with an apology that had already advanced to the tip of his tongue. He was not breathless. No, air was all that filled his lungs; you heard it rush from his lips when his stare found yours, and you saw how the line of his shoulders relaxed as he sighed.
"You're alright," he started, and his voice sounded raw, like someone had tried to skin it, and he paused to swallow, "good. Very good. My—My sincerest apologies for taking so long, Your Majesty. I swear, I shan't ever...."
Then his eyes fled to the side, where the sheets that had once covered King Orelus had been thrown aside, and his voice trailed off. The linens sat as the king had left them, wrinkled and empty, beholden to a memory so fresh that it flared to life when you closed your eyes.
"Where is the king?" Isil's eyes, so wide and bright, narrowed, and his voice deepened. It was still raw, puffy and bleeding, but now darker—angrier.
The shadows grabbed for your tongue, but you managed, for a moment, to evade their grasp.
"He left to secure the castle," you replied, but the words were little more than an echo. Thoughts repeated until you forgot their meaning, until you made them as hollow as a bird's bones.
"He did what?" Isil's expression darkened, and a flame as bright as the sun and as red as blood flashed in his eyes. "An assassin was found here, in this very room," his frown deepened as he spoke, and his nostrils flared, "and his first thought was to abandon you?"
The shadows reached now for your lips, but their hands found your mask, instead. Pins pressed at the backs of your eyes, and a heat, sharp and red, climbed up the back of your throat and spilled out into the skin of your face.
The moonlight was too bright, too harsh. The outline it cast about Isil's form was breaking before your very eyes, and the splinters dug sharply into the night's cool flesh. The first night; the first assassin. Echoes would follow—imitations hoping to walk in the shadows of their ancestors.
Something hot and wet slipped down your cheek, but your hands didn't move to wipe it away. They were frozen at your chest, desperately clutching the bedsheets, and suddenly, you felt again the linens against your bare flesh. The sensation began in your shoulders and crept downward, and when it bled into your stomach, your mouth ran dry.
You pulled at the linens, but the movement grabbed Isil's attention, and his eyes fell. He stared at your fingers, but then his gaze caught upon the skin of your shoulders.
The shadows paused, and their heads turned to face the moon. The silver light was in Isil's hair, in your throat, biting at your tongue and drawing blood as hot as fire. Metal filled your mouth, and rust had gathered at your temples and spread into the corners of your jaw.
He started as though to move forward, but then he stopped. He must've recalled the guards or the open door; the eyes that watched you both, that did not care for what lay in the depths of the water but could see for miles across its surface.
The fire in Isil's eyes flickered, and his gaze narrowed, but then his stare rose to meet yours. The fury that had sharpened his pupils had softened, but a new creature had risen in its absence. It was a dark thing, shameful and angry and pained, and as you watched him, a mournful wail rose from the creature's jaws.
"Was the room searched?" Isil's voice was tight and thick, but his frustration was not for you. It was much too dark, too biting and vain. He'd tried to soften it, but the edge still underlined his tone.
You managed a breath, but the shadows had not yet returned the mask, and your voice wavered.
"Not—Not that I recall, no."
The line of Isil's mouth was at first thin, but then his eyes caught upon the glistening trail that ran unbroken down your cheek. For a moment, he faltered, and the mournful creature whimpered.
"Well, I'll get to work on that, then."
Isil turned away from you and moved to search the room, and your eyes followed him. Without speaking, he pushed aside curtains and peered behind chests, and the shadows parted in his wake. Their grip upon the mask loosened, and you took it once more into your hands, but then you hesitated.
When he was finished scouring the room, Isil returned to stand at the foot of the bed.
"All appears well, Your Majesty," he began. His tone was smooth, and the cool tint of relief colored his voice.
Thanks sat at the tip of your tongue, but the words were too small. They couldn't dare hold the meaning welling your chest, the rushing or the pulling or the pushing. All the breath, so cool and calm, filling your chest and falling from your lips, but the shadows behind the door were lurking, and words were the only light that could keep them at bay.
"Thank you," you said, but the look that brightened your eyes was so much warmer than that which words could fashion.
Isil paused, and as the line of his mouth softened, the hard edges of his pupils grew round. For a moment, his face was as you had always known it to be: kind and familiar—the face of a friend whose heart was so dear that it was almost your own. A friend for whom the term was too small to adequately define, for he meant so much more than language could describe. A friend upon whose familiar lips your eyes now fell, and there they lingered, for a moment as brief as the blink of an eye, but thoughts could run so much faster.
They were filling your head, drowning you, but your hands had minds of their own, and they could operate well enough without assistance. The mask felt stiff and hard against your lips, but your fingers had not been trained to remove it.
Isil clenched his jaw, and the line of his lips thinned.
"If you have any further need of me," he began, and the knot in his voice was tight and hard, "I shall be just outside."
He turned his back to you, and your eyes followed him. You felt your voice rising, but the mask muffled any sounds that might've tried to worm their way past your lips.
The day arrived without haste. Its pleasant light crawled across the floor of the bed-chamber with all the speed of a snail, and you rose to its touch much too quickly. Sleep had not come willingly, and when it had arrived, it had done so unkindly. Nightmares and terrors had advanced in its wake; horrible dreams punctuated by flashes of cold, sharp metal and red-hot blood.
Adalleth's body—the broken shell that Isil had brought home. You'd seen his face, the pale lips and empty eyes—the thing that had once been a joyful and wonderful and kind young man but was now nothing save torn flesh and broken bone and dried blood. And you had asked what had happened. You had asked where they'd taken your lover; what had they done to your Adalleth?
But Isil had disappeared, and when you'd turned around you'd found yourself on the battlefield, staring out at grass soaked with the blood of men dead and dying. There, you'd seen the monster. The one with bear teeth and cruel eyes, who towered like a mountain above the ruins of war.
He'd watched you—peered through you—and his pupils had gleamed like metal in the fog. A growl had been rising in his throat; he was an animal—a beast with jaws strong enough to crush a man's skull. Hunger brightened his glare, and when he snarled, the teeth he bared were sharp and bloodstained.
There had been a flash of metal, lightning in the shadows, and then it had descended upon you. A murder of crows, a thousand arrows, bleeding into one final, fatal blade.
You could still see his eyes: the dark, cold anger that had colored them. The daylight could not burn away the nightmare's memory, and the afterimage had already been branded upon the backs of your eyes.
Servants entered with the dawn, and you moved readily to examine them. The majority were your own, and the two Ceorid maidservants who had offered their aid yesterday had returned, but a new woman now entered with them.
The newcomer immediately bowed her head to you, and when she spoke, her voice was polite and clipped.
"Good morning, Your Majesty," she began. "My name is Helesis, fourth daughter of Lord Pelrus, of the house of Hennel. His Majesty, King Orelus, has bestowed upon me the honor of waiting upon Your Majesty, our queen." She rose to her full height, but she was careful to keep her sapphire blue eyes focused upon the floor. "I hope that I can prove deserving of such a distinction."
You watched the woman as she spoke. Her hair was an ashen brown and fell as straight as an arrow down her back, and though her expression was guarded, intelligence brightened her gaze, and you could spy determination gleaming behind her careful wall.
The servants had begun gathering the clothes that were still strewn about the floor, and when you finally stood up from the bed, those with free hands took immediately to readying you for the day.
"I'm certain you shall," you said, your tone light.
The mask felt again comfortable upon your skin. The awkwardness of its shape must have been softened by the night—the memory of Adalleth, chiseling away the discomfort.
A glassy look briefly invaded Helesis's stare, clouding her eyes and drawing the light from her face, and she paused for a breath before speaking again.
"Your confidence is much appreciated, Your Majesty," she replied. For a moment, her voice wavered, as though she were uncertain of her words. "How do you wish to go about your day? I have devised several potential schedules. Would you like me to list them?"
You saw something flash in the corner of your eye, and when you turned your head, your stare snagged upon a piece of metal gleaming between a maidservant's careful fingers. Lightning flashed; the assassin's blade bore down upon you.
"Wait," you spoke without thinking, and the women froze. Their pupils were small, but their eyes were wide.
You tightened your hold upon the mask, and a small frown pulled at your lips.
"What's that you have there?" you continued, your tone again light. The women's eyes shifted to the metal object in the maidservant's hand, and though the other servants began to relax, the one to whom you spoke remained frozen. "May I see it?"
The maidservant slowly stood to her full height. You didn't recognize her face: she was a Ceorid woman, but she wasn't of the duo that had cared for you yesterday. Carefully, she moved over to you, and when she placed the object in your hand, her motions were almost reluctant.
"Thank you."
Your attention shifted away from her, and as you examined the object in your hands, the other servants slowly returned to their tasks. It was a pin; the maidservant had found a copper cloak pin. The metal was just slightly warm, and no real design had been etched into it. It was a simple cloak pin: built for use and little more.
Someone must have dropped it, but the king had not been wearing a cloak when he'd entered the bed-chamber.
Ice dug into the pit of your stomach, but you fought to keep your breathing even.
Should you not have expected this? Were assassins not part and parcel in the reigns of tyrants? Perhaps the suddenness of it all was what had caught you by surprise; the flash of a blade shone differently when gleaming in the shadows above your head.
How true was an assassin's aim? Were their blades meant only for crooked kings, or did their arrows find homes in the hearts of his court?
"I'd like to speak to the king today," you turned the cloak pin over, and though ice was in your stomach, your voice was smooth and warm, "if it can be arranged."
Your eyes rose to Helesis, and the woman nodded.
"Of course, Your Majesty," she replied politely. "I shall have a servant sent at once." Her bright, intelligent eyes shifted briefly to one of the maidservants before returning to you. "In the meantime, there are several other matters to which you can attend."
You rubbed your thumb along the length of the needle and then set your hands in your lap. A frown still pulled at your lips, but waiting was half the battle, and patience was a deadly weapon.
"Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any." Your voice was smooth and even, and once the maidservants had finished readying you, you stood and made your way to the door.
The servants opened it for you, and once you crossed the threshold, your eyes flew immediately about the hall in search of Isil. Quickly, you found him; he stood to your right, and his stare was already upon you.
The familiarity of him thawed the ice in your stomach, but a smile did not belong upon your lips, and neither did the thoughts of last night have a place in your mind.
Isil was a friend, nothing more.
"Your Majesty," he greeted you politely, but the warmth in his voice was obvious. He bowed his head to you, but when he straightened to his full height you spied fatigue, hanging just beneath his eyes.
The frown that pulled at your lips threatened to deepen, but you felt Helesis at your side, and her blue-jewel eyes moved carefully betwixt the knight and her queen.
"Sir Isil." You allowed yourself a narrowed stare, and when you spoke, your tone was courteous. "The night was well to you, I hope," you began lightly. "We've quite the day ahead of us."
Isil's gaze fled to the guard who stood at the other side of the door, and his stare sharpened. "Worry not; I can, and will, fulfill my duties to Your Majesty."
The line of your lips thinned and concern bit at the back of your mind, but in reply, you could do little but hum.