RE: Monarch-Chapter 293: ??? XIV

RE: Monarch-Chapter 293: ??? XIV

Walking through the front door felt a little like waking from a dream. Going from the harshness of the wasteland to a still-lit, perfectly maintained manor was jarring to say the least.
The scent of incense hung heavy in the air, as if recently burned. Oil lamps glowed dimly, but remained afire just the same. Like most manors of house lords, the walls were decorated with trophies and weapons. House Erebus favored pelts and spears and displayed them in an endless array along the walls.
"Hello?" I called, audible to anyone within, but quiet enough that it should not carry beyond the walls.
Alongside a wall of bookshelves there was an empty platter beside a tall lounge chair, a painfully large tome opened on its spine.
Drephin: Decoding the Secrets of a Forgotten Dialect.
A smile graced my lips. "Always going the extra span, weren't you, Bernard?" The smile faded as the
rest
of the implications flooded me. We'd stowed my would-be assassin here for safekeeping. The drephin woman who'd stolen into my rooms. After the shaman's disappearance, we hadn't wanted to risk the dungeons. Lord Erebus had agreed to look after her. She'd been temporarily immobilized by life magic, with intent to undo it once we had somewhere more secure to hold her.
I stole through the house, growing more desperate as I searched for signs of life and found none. There was no dust, no frozen corpses. It was as if when all this had happened, either no one at all was present in House Erebus, or they'd all simply... vanished. But why? To what end?
Palm resting on the handle of the guest room that housed the drephin, I paused, steeling myself. Then opened it.
A scrawl of red greeted me. Looping, dripping letters that curved oddly, the language foreign and unknowable. The stink hit me a moment later, a terrible rotten stench of decay. I covered my mouth with a cloth.
Collapsed on the floor was my would-be assassin. She was bloated and disfigured from decay, though there were no flies buzzing around the remains as one might expect. Her second and third fingers were drenched in dried crimson. Her form was thin, though not nearly malnourished enough to have died from lack of sustenance. Beneath the scrawled writing, there were a series of marks on the walls, tallies to count the days. She'd stopped at six, though it was difficult to say if that held any accuracy, considering she'd been mad enough to write in her own blood.
Behind her was what appeared to be a small shrine. A white pelt—likely pulled from the wall—was arranged in a circular fashion, and several skulls and antlers were placed within it, a slash of blood across their foreheads.
In the center was a rod, shrouded by a black veil.
Something about it chilled me.
Suddenly, I started, realizing there'd been some luck after all. I went back out to the living area and collected the book, skimming through it, feeling great relief to find it was more of a translation guide to common than some useless, theoretical text. "Gods, Erebus. I owe you an Oteron."
With book and parchment in hand, I set about transcribing it, piece by piece.
Denmaiden
—no,
Denmother.
Denmother, I beseech thee, do not strand me in this accursed place.
I offer my blood as a sacrament to thee
Have I not pleased you?
I sought to strike down the scion of the desecrator.
I failed.
Spare me this miserable solitude.
Use of my legs means nothing if there is nowhere to go.
Take me into your arms Nychta. Goddess of Darkness. Denmother of the night.
Drain my blood in remembrance of those who have gone before me.
I am sorry.
It grew more unsettling after that. Ruminations on the flesh of fallen angels, reflections on some greater darkness that dwelled within the depths.
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, particularly at that last point. Because a "greater darkness beneath the city" read like an apt description of what should have been a very dead lithid. With sinking dismay I realized if I came up empty searching the castle, my next stop would likely be the sewers.
I did my best to finish the transcription, eventually giving up and copying the writing wholesale. It grew more frantic towards the end, diction rarer and more scattered, meaning exceedingly cryptic until the end.
If I'd found her anywhere but the one intact building in the entire city, with lamps still on, and a still-burning shrine despite the remains clearly being there for days, I would have presumed her understandably mad.
Double-checking my work for accuracy and finding it sufficient, I tucked the remainder of the untranslated text into my satchel, and approached the shrine, not entirely sure what I was expecting. Infaris—my only real experience with divinity to draw from—wasn't shy about making herself known. But seldom did so without invocation, preferring to wait until she was called upon.
"Well, Nychta? In ordinary circumstances, I'd be thrilled to learn there's another divinity that remains active on this plane, but your followers seem to have gathered a poor impression of me. It's clear that you carry some power. Enough to shield your chosen. Any chance you're willing to reveal yourself? Help me clear up whatever the misunderstanding seems to be?" I spoke, feeling utterly foolish.
Of course, there was no response.
"Pity. Perhaps we'll speak again someday."
I spent some time searching old stomping grounds for familiar faces. In truth, I can't really explain why I did it, beyond the queer observation that merely looking at the castle made me feel sick, the same way it had when I'd first spotted it in the distance.
There was no need to deny it. I knew what I'd find there. And who. In a way, my past experiences had prepared me for it. There was mercy in this end, compared to the one that had come before. As ridiculous as it is to compare two terrible realities.
Rather, it was the uncertainty that sat with me poorly, some unknown expectation lurking in the back of my mind, rattling my nerves.
There'd been some movement on the way to the castle, along with a whistle or two. But within a short proximity, all signs of life vanished entirely.
I took the long walk up through the gardens, the elegant planters now filled with nothing but foul dirt, decimated vines that crawled the trellises, once decorated with flowers, now stricken, bare and twisted. The doors hung open, the space between them a gaping void, from which no light escaped. I summoned my courage and strode through them, my footsteps echoing on the marble.
"How unhurried." Thoth said.
My feet left the ground, heart pounding like a hammer, and I pressed a hand to my sternum. "Elphion." I glared at her. "We should really—"
"—Tie a bell around my neck?" She raised an eyebrow. From the look of it she'd been posted up against the inside of the gate for some time. Her arms were crossed, one foot pressed against the stone at her back.
"Well... yes."
"It's come up before. Decided against."
I snorted, then considered her positioning and the thought behind it. "Were you... waiting for me?"
Thoth rolled her eyes. "Please. I was posted here to monitor any notable comings and goings. Entirely beneath me, but with the low magic, our options are limited."
Several pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. The wound on her sternum was practically gone, barely more than a jagged scar, and on second look, she looked far less disheveled than the last time I saw her—the pristine state of her armor incongruous, as if she'd stopped to clean it.
"Ah," I said, looking her up and down again. "You look better than last we met. Considerably better."
"An intact skull will do that to a person." She tilted her head to the side, towards the long central walkway, and began to walk, her boots silent on the hard stone.
I followed, my mind struggling to catch up. One of my many, many questions had been answered. Thoth
could
bring the spare back. It wasn't exactly good news, especially considering that it didn't seem to cost her much. Capability was still a huge question. I'd never seen the double fight. From what I'd witnessed, it was... durable. Capable of carrying out complex orders and tasks. But if she could re-summon it in an environment like this, the cost couldn't be exorbitant.
Which meant there had to be limitations.
"What are you scheming?" She didn't bother turning back as she spoke. Her sibilant voice echoed off the walls.
"Who says I'm scheming anything?"
"The trade of your silence is always machination."
Well, the spare was as sharp as the original. That much was obvious. I decided on an approach, somewhat grateful her back was still turned.
"It's difficult to reconcile."
"Really not narrowing anything down."
Careful.
I constructed the lie slowly, as if I was only just piecing together my impressions on the matter. "You are the very essence of my enemy. Her likeness, her spirit, both reside within your person."
"Hm." Came the noncommittal reply.
"Yet I watched you fall victim to that same enemy, helpless to lift a finger to stop her."
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
The spare stopped. Gloved fists clenched at her sides. "I am not, nor have I ever been,
helpless.
"
I backpedaled. "Perhaps the term was too crude. My point is, I've stood in your place. Endured savagery with no alternative."
"My alternatives are endless. If I so desired, it would be child's play to slit her miserable throat in her sleep." She snapped.
"Then why don't you?"
The spare turned, gaze every bit as withering as her adjunct. "Whatever the play here, it isn't working. Stop. If I'm asked to recount the events of these scant few minutes in detail, I will happily do so, with no temptation of deceit."
"This isn't about seeding sedition. And I don't think I've said anything Thoth herself isn't already aware of. Rather, I'm trying to reconcile my hatred with what I can see. Because regardless of who you look like, we share similar tribulations. And you might be... the closest thing to a kindred spirit... that I have in this accursed place." With that I stopped fighting the malaise, and let it settle over me like a shroud.
The winds had reached some of the castle's interior, though not all. Dozens of silhouettes persisted. Maids and servants rushing about their business, mid-conversation as they stepped around guards who held their stations indefinitely.
We passed several members of my regiment, restocking from the armory.
As the hallway widened, ceiling growing impossibly tall, I saw what was left of Sera.
On her way back from the training grounds, robes billowing behind her from a breeze that was no longer present. Her Elven features were more pronounced somehow, now that her pallor was ashen and grey. It seemed she'd realized, possibly just moments before, that something was wrong. In her last moments, Sera had turned away, perhaps to shield herself, or shout the alarm, or both.
And then she was gone.
It hit me then, heavy as a hammer. The cold reality I'd been readily ignoring for the sake of survival.
This place had only started feeling real to me. A home no longer scarred by demon fire and the destruction that came after a coronation. And the whole time, I'd been holding myself back, too scared of what might happen to take solace in what had finally been returned to me.
I'd lost my chance.
They were all dead.
Again.
My eyes blurred, and I swiped at them, loathing my weakness.
"With a legion of the dead to grieve,
she
is perhaps the least deserving." The spare said, her voice oddly devoid of mockery.
"Leave it."
"It is a simple truth. In nearly every iteration, she turns against you as easily as breathing."
"Because I gave her no reason not to." The words came out in a torrent. "We both let father's words foster resentment. Either of us could have stopped it.
I
could have stopped it. But no, I sat there, complacent in my birthright, while she struggled endlessly to find her place in a scornful kingdom and found no purchase."
"She betrayed you."
I shook my head. "Gil is—was—so much more willing to see reason than it seemed in my first life. I should have helped her sooner."
A small smile danced across the spare's lips. "The only reason the King of Whitefall sees is strength. Pitiful as you remain, you are no longer the pampered boy skulking the hallways for treats, cringing at raised voices. Without that, he'd be as deaf to you as the rest of them."
"You're wrong." I shook my head, growing annoyed with the constant assumptions. "He was different this time. In word and action. It seems like he really understands what I'm trying to do. Approves, even."
"Possessing the cunning to see which way the wind is blowing does not equate true understanding." She smiled again.
It was infuriating.
"First my sister, now my father. Shall we move on, before you resurrect my entire family and proceed to slander them to death?"
"Don't get angry. You've been doing
so well,
building the rapport between us. I'm primed to turn on her any
second
now."
"The tainted air must be getting to me. Clearly it was delusional, thinking there was any common ground at all." I turned suddenly, heading towards a branching hallway that led to the library and pavilion.
"Where are you going?" The spare said, smile finally gone from her face. "She wants to see you in the throne room."
"I don't give a shit what she wants—"
"—It would be wise to reconsider that position—"
"—Nor do I care for the warnings of one so content to have her brains spilled upon the ground."
"Cairn." The spare called after me. When I didn't respond, a sound radiated. Air rushing between lips, barely more than a ghost of a whistle, sharp and shrill.
Slowly, I turned. "That was you earlier? Drawing the ghouls away?"
Instead of answering, she tilted her head, as if there was something deeply puzzling. Finally, she spoke. "The reasons are the same. Why you should pay her wishes heed, and why I choose to bear such indignities in silence. If she is gone, I will no longer exist."
"Her death will be yours?"
"Yes." The spare confirmed, without a hint of deceit. "A conundrum not so different from the one you currently find yourself in. She's nearly killed you twice already, only staying her hand by fractions of a span."
"In the medica." I murmured, recalling how furious she had looked. "But what was the second?"
"After the ghouls were drawn to your fire."
"Of course. When I didn't have the slightest idea they existed." My already dark mood soured further.
The spare was already shaking her head. "Fairness will not be found in this place, nor reason." She hesitated, then lowered her voice. "Reason would not see her remain here at all."
I absorbed that, unsure of what to make of it. "But she has clear intentions. Ascertain what happened to the ley line and make plans for the next iterations."
"And in ordinary circumstances that would be the logical course."
"Ordinary for the end of the world."
"Yes."
"Which this is not."
"Correct."
"What... could be more important than uncovering what happened here, and ensuring it would never happen again? Protecting future iterations?" I asked, growing more boggled by the moment.
A shadow crossed her face. "How little you understand. You think of the world as some ancient, enduring thing. It is not. The forces that sustain it are fragile and weak. Most are already spent. This is not the first time it has ended prematurely, barring explanation. Nor will it be the last."
"Shit happens?" I made a helpless gesture towards the tall walls around us. "Everything and everyone I know and love is gone, because
shit happens?
"
"Lower your voice." She said each word evenly. "It would be in your best interest to stop being so emotional. It's unbecoming. And it will get you killed, which will get me killed."
"Why would you even care? Regardless of what happens here, the practicality of having another person perfectly loyal to her cause, already sworn in to every secret is too valuable. She'll always bring you back."
The disconnect between what I'd said and her reaction was continental. Grief, sadness, and anger flitted through her expressions in a cycle, each too brief to fully register before the next replaced it.
"You...
are
the same doppler she assaulted in the healer's hut, are you not?"
Her lips stitched together. There was no answer.
But I was certain this spare and the one brutalized earlier on in our journey were one and the same. Mind inherited, though the body was mended. She had acted as a servant then, thoughtful, efficient, relatively without animus. In retrospect, none of that had really changed. But now, there was the addition of a certain distance I was certain hadn't been present before. The frost of an attendant treated poorly.
It's not some miracle of magic. Thoth didn't somehow invent a spell capable of duplicating herself, something that by all accounts shouldn't be possible. She's doing it the same way I did. By way of an artifact. One she has to source.
"Yes." I murmured, looking her over. "I understand now. Why you serve so faithfully, seemingly unrewarded. She creates you near the beginning of an iteration. An imprint of her own mind, gifted consciousness. At that point the two deviate as master and servant. And like most servants, you do not share her bounty equally. Her victories are her victories, and her failures are your shortcomings. And when the iteration is over... you are gone. Replaced by another imprint of a mind that is similar, yet not at all the same."
The ringing in my ears grew louder as the spare's body tensed. Her eyes trailed my unprotected throat, and her hand stirred at her side.
For a moment, I believed she would kill me herself and save us all the trouble. But I'd been somewhat tactful in my allusions, making no mention of the artifact, which would have likely gone badly given her reaction. I recalled her comment, that Thoth would likely expect her on this encounter, and she would answer honestly.
I cleared my throat. "Perhaps not. After all, I have nothing to base that on. Conjecture at best. Closer to fantasy, really." My eyes slid to her. "It's unfortunate. Were that the case, and we were, in some queer way, united in self-preservation, I'd be quick to heed any future warnings with grace. And be
far
less of a twat."
Her lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. "That is fantasy."
A little off balance, and not entirely confident on how best to disengage, I pointed in the direction I'd been headed. "I'm off to the east wing. There's something I have to do. Unless, of course, doing so would result in my head being prematurely severed from my shoulders."
The spare shook her head. "Go. But do not tarry."
It was like an itch I couldn't scratch.
The memory of finding Annette at the docks, hidden within an illusion, played repeatedly in the back of my mind. It wouldn't be repeated here, I was almost certain. She was powerful yes, and Vogrin had put in a great deal of work to ensure her capabilities were broadened, but the chances were infinitesimal, bordering zero.
Still the memory replayed, a silent, incessant reminder that my younger sister could be quite crafty at times. She'd survived our father with more grace than both Sera and I combined. She'd saved herself from capture and eluded pursuit.
The night of my coronation, she'd realized it before anyone else. That the game was over before it ever truly began.
So if it was possible—stealing herself away in some illusory world safe from harm, like something out of legend—Annette would be the one to find a way.
My heart wavered as I searched the castle. Her room was in standard disarray, rotting covers thrown back as she'd risen for the morning, quarters not yet tended. So fastidious in some ways, so terribly hopeless in others.
I checked the reading nook the floor above her rooms, and the kitchens the floor below.
Annette hated eating first thing in the morning, and as a result, would be utterly ravenous by early afternoon. I looked for her diminutive figure among the chefs, holding their places, tending cold ovens.
The sitting room next to the pavilion was the last place I looked. In retrospect it should have been the first, if I'd prioritized haste above all. The hinges creaked as my fingers pressed against the heavy door, and for a moment, I considered leaving it. Searching elsewhere. Delaying the inevitable. Were it not for the spare's warning, I might have done just that.
I pushed it open.
Despair reached me first, cold fingers tightening around my heart like a vise. I worked free of its clutches, allowing myself to feel it for what it was, then letting it go. Amusement welled up within the gaps.
Then finally, warmth.
You were supposed to take time for yourselves.
Distant lightning illuminated the room, too far for thunder to even register.
Muted flashes through the row of tall windows illuminated the dozen koss boards arranged beneath them, each chair on the outside occupied.
Annette was there, in the center of the room, a book in one hand, the piece from the board beside her in the other, placement and movement implying an aggressive charge down the center. Her brows were high in judgment, and her mouth was slightly open, frozen in the middle of some pedagogic diatribe.
It was a scene I'd witnessed countless times, throughout my first life.
Yet the players were different.
Instead of pampered lords, scowling and grousing over koss boards as if puzzling through archaic tomes, were members of my regiment, the angled cut at the tail of their once-blue trimmed coats an immediate giveaway, markings on their shoulders designating them as officers. Drawing closer, I recognized many faces, some more familiar than others.
Mari was the only banner lieutenant at the boards, seated near the middle, her thick shoulders leaned forward, features scrunched together in a focused scowl, two thick fingers planted upon the base of a piece she either intended to move or had just relocated.
Zin and Sevran were present near the rear of the room at a long table covered in books, seated so they could observe the room while they discussed something amongst themselves. Whatever the topic was, Zin appeared to be arguing over it passionately, one arm cast to the side in exasperation, while Sevran appeared much more reserved as he reclined in his seat, subtly pushing a crumbling troupe marker with a single long black fingernail, a subtle twinkle preserved in his eye.
Behind Annette, more towards the center, Alten was propping up a bookshelf, peering up from some massive tome on the history of warfare, watchful eye trained on the charge I'd given him.
This truly might have been the safest place in the realm.
From the direction I came, there was a quiet tapping of marble against stone, as someone maneuvered pieces across the board.

.
!
Chapter 293: ??? XIV