The glass of mulled wine in her hands, she sat on the couch in one of the Magisterium’s private lounges. It was located high in the tower, letting them look out on the city through a red-tinted window. The Mourning Bells had stopped a few minutes ago, and she and Henthae were sitting in silence for a while, just looking down.
Just mourning.
The word would be out already. Zakimel had gotten his people involved and now everyone would be hunting Feychilde and Killstop. Despite the arch-diviner’s logically-sound arguments, Henthae had vowed she wouldn’t let rule thirty-two apply in Kas’s case, and Emrelet believed her. Kas would be brought in – he wouldn’t be killed. Not by her. Not by anyone. He just had to be… chastised. Cleansed, somehow.
Deep down she knew it wasn’t going to happen, knew it wasn’t true, knew that fate was twisted and reality had a dark side – this wasn’t just some story, this was her life and it was unravelling one thread at a time – but she had to cling on to her hope. The gods had failed her in the past because she’d failed them, because she hadn’t stood up for what was right, hadn’t defended her brothers like she should’ve done – but they’d rewarded her too, given her the strength to fight back against evil. She couldn’t abandon them now, couldn’t accept the lengthening shadows of the doom rising up before her. There would be a way out. She could have Kas back. He would be hers again, and she his. The fire between them wasn’t extinguished – embers such as those were undying, coals burning bright beneath the soot for a thousand million years. Eternity was a blink to such a love. The eolastyr had been given one taste of the flame that they could create between them when their bodies, their minds made contact – the eolastyr had been given a taste of it, and had been consumed.
It would come back. It had to.
“I love him.”
“I know you do.”
Emrelet looked at her, tears welling up again. “It won’t go avay, Mistress – Mistress Henthae…”
“My dear…” The older magister put a weathered old hand on top of hers. “Call me Keliko, when we’re alone, please… It will go away. There’s a chance you’ll forgive him, one day. Forget him? Never. But the love… the pain you feel… that could go away, my dear, if you let it. One day.” Keliko patted her hand and repeated, in what was supposed to be a reassuring tone: “One day.”
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“I don’t – don’t think it vill ever go – I think of him, of vot he looked like zere, holding Nighteye’s body, and I can remember how angry it made me, how –“
“Do you trust me, Emrelet?” the Mistress asked suddenly, a twang of concern – real worry – there in her voice.
“Of course I do, Mistress.”
“I can’t read your mind, not with that thing around your neck…”
Emrelet looked down unconsciously, touching Bor’s amulet with her fingertips.
“… but I can imagine what you’re going through. I have a – a thing to admit to you now.” A harrowed expression crossed Keliko’s creased skin, suddenly making her look ninety. “Remove the pendant.”
The wizard licked her lips, staring at Keliko for a moment before moving her free hand to do as she was told.
“But – vhy do you need me to –“
Keliko wasn’t smiling. “You’re a smart girl – figure it out.”
She froze, the amulet and its chain in her hand.
To bewitch me? No!
“I need to remove something from your mind. Something I – something Tyr Kayn made me put there.”
She felt sick again all of a sudden, and put the amulet and wine-glass down on the small table by her knee. “But… my mind, it voz checked, given ze all clear –“
“This would’ve required a deeper examination to unearth. I am good at what I do, you know. But… it’s about Kastyr. You were never meant to love him, Emrelet. It was all a lie, right from the beginning.”
The world collapsed, peeling away into the void at the edges, rushing past her until she was falling, falling without moving, plunging into the maelstrom upon her couch – she gripped the edge of the seat as though she were riding it into the endless depths, the eye of the whirlpool that would swallow the land.
Drag it all down into the Twelve Hells with her mind.
“In Tyr Kayn’s designs, you were the hammer with which she forged a blade, Feychilde, to do her bidding, her killing. You were the lynchpin of her control over him. Exactly why, I’m uncertain, but your place in it was sealed from the very start, I’m afraid. This only became apparent afterwards, of course… Oh, my dear. You never loved him. I relieve you of the burdens you were never meant to carry.”
As Keliko spoke the truth settled in, mental wounds scabbing over in seconds.
Gods – the touch of an enchanter was more than a miracle. It was a boon without measure, to go in one instant from seething depression to a normal, rational state – it was enough to make her weep tears of joy now.
“Careful, Emrelet.” Keliko looked away, eyes twinkling with tears of her own. “You can’t go too far the other way either. Let’s find a middle ground.”
She sat there, wordless, and looked down at the table, empty but for her wine-glass.
Strange. She’d had the urge to pick something else up.
Never mind. Wine will do.
She lifted the drink, raised it to her lips once more, and looked out through the blood-hued window at the blood-drenched city, deep in a thoughtless reverie. The Mourning Bells had stopped a few minutes ago, and she and Henthae were sitting in silence for a while, just looking down.
No longer mourning.
Tranquil.
Decided.
* * *