Ayre

I don’t know what I’m looking at.

The depths could never support a creature that large. Even if something could grow to that size, it would have to be confined to a cavernous chamber it could never escape. To claim nothing of how it could eat enough to grow and sustain such a size.

What had the Nineteenth Thorn called it?

A Quill-tailed Drake?

Adorned in bronze scales that glint in the moonlight, the drake immediately presents itself as a brute by barreling through the foliage and treeline instead of using the terrain for cover.

Quills with blackened tips mark the trees that they rake against.

“Are those quills poisoned?” I ask, something like dread beginning to lace my words.

Snapdragon looks over her shoulder, already in the process of trading in her javelins for a heavier bolt thrower. “If it’s still alive. Yes. I’m afraid they are also quite potent.”

I eye the pattern of scales that adorn the Quill-tail Drake, unsure that even my strength can pierce those scales. Instead I spend my time assessing thickened muscle of the inner legs, underline of the neck, and leathery wings.

It opens its jaw wide, threatening Astraea with a show of teeth and a fierce cry.

By comparison, Astraea presents an image of calm.

Under the moonlight, everyone’s thoughts would be an open tome for a bloodthirsty moon.

Could I remain anywhere near as confident in the face of such a creature? Or do such thoughts demand I prove myself more than is expected of me?

That nothing gets into the grove is what matters. Keeping injuries and deaths to a minimum long enough to achieve that should bind my means to my desired end.

And yet I don’t know if Cerya is okay.

Dare I hope?

Can I trust that Astraea would know that I would be more easily convinced if she did not harm Cerya?

Or should I assume the worst and work from there?

Alone, unarmed, and bathed in moonlight, Astraea strides at an unhurried pace to meet the approaching threat. Her onyx parade armor is polished to the point of serving as a reflective surface.

The slightest glimpse of the moon causes my hair to stand on end.

I am beyond redemption’s reach.

I back away, my response a touch sluggish compared to Snapdragon’s immediate recoil and withdraw.

The thoughts cause my head to ache with the pointed intensity.

There is no forgiving one such as me.

Only honeyed words to lure me into moments of weakness.

Snapdragon offers me a look of sympathy before beginning to prep her bolt thrower.

The rest of the wall suddenly feels empty. Without the rest of her thorns, she comforts herself with hopeful words. “Lady Wyrmsbane probably knows what she’s doing.”

Yeah.

Hopefully she does.

The thought brings me no comfort.

Astraea comes to a stop as the drake begins to charge.

Distantly, I hear the words of the First Thorn coming from the direction of the tower.

“Aim for the wings!”

Five bolts are let loose, the last noticeably being fired later than the others.

Is Fia up there?

Has she been practicing all this time or was a bolt thrower merely pressed into her hands out of a perceived necessity?

Am I responsible for that?

Three bolts strike true.

One dents a scale.

The last falls short of the charging drake.

Instinctively, it cries out.

In pain.

The cries are prolonged and unending.

Something about it upsets me to the point where I feel an increased weight on my chest.

I can’t unsee it, the blighted stones each being lodged into limbs.

Wings, legs, tail, and neck.

Something about its gait strikes me as unnatural.

Their placement can’t be unintentional.

Can I turn a blind eye to this drake having its body used against its will?

The moon might demand violence of everything exposed to moonlight, but what about blighted stones conspiring to drive a powerful creature from its preferred grounds?

I haven’t even gotten a chance to attempt communicating with the gemstones and moon.

I… Realize that my flash of anger is directionless.

If I want anything in this moment, it is to put a stop to everything unfolding around me.

I find fury in knowing Cerya has largely been alone in viewing our enemies as worthy of having their circumstances and perspectives considered. It is one thing to rouse the corpses of the dead to lash out against those who would kill and use the Cinder Blights.

But if they are binding the living and unwilling into thoughtless moonlit bloodletting in the vicinity of Lunarian groves, am I willing to give them the benefit of the doubt?

Why do I still feel like I would be right to throw this spear not at the drake but Astraea’s turned back? Just because the full moon’s presence demands that the time for reasoned debate has passed does not mean that there will be no sun to rise in the morning.

Or does Astraea’s claim that I would be no different still bleed like an open wound to my heart that no amount of blood can mend?

Is it not enough that I have defied my family at every turn to the point that they have tried to kill Lenore and I? What about when the Castellan arranged for me to be sent away to be a Lunarian concern?

Does my anger make me the problem? Or does it condemn me to never escaping the shadow cast by the Castellan?

Depths. I’ve had moments where I’ve been willing to give, of all who have caused me suffering, the Castellan the benefit of the doubt. What purpose could there be in all the violence I have been subjected to if not to violently resist a god-thing threatening to remake me?

No amount of deep breaths feel like they will calm me, not while everyone around me performs their assigned roles to violent and bloody ends.

But I don’t have all the time in the world to think this through.

Snapdragon would have me share this burden. But did Cerya not already ask that I be the one to define what our desired ends look like?

Should I hesitate to leverage the fact that I remain the wretched Prince the Castellan made me?

Why wait when I can define the ending?

The first step, the one that carries me into an act of defiance that I will need to follow through to the end, is the hardest to take.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

I raise a spear, open a hatch wide enough to see my target, and throw.

No need to borrow strength from my sister.

Not when the only thing guiding this spear is a heartfelt hope.

I turn away, trusting it to land where it needs to.

The distance between Snapdragon and I closes.

“The other wing!” Shouts First from the tower.

I place a hand on her bolt thrower, lowering it.

No words pass between us.

Only an exchange of emotion.

Four bolts fly.

A sidelong glance tells me that only one found their mark this time.

Where the drake is all power and direct blows, Astraea moves with an unnatural grace. Having already dodged the charge, she leaps over the tail.

A half step to the side evades a trio of quills delivered with the flick of a tail.

Two more steps bring a spear within reach.

Astraea’s dexterous evasions become a lunge the moment the drake commits to an aerial pounce. An outstretched claw has its strength used against it, burying a spear into softer flesh.

The cries of the drake intensify, but with a buffet of wings it creates distance from itself and Astraea.

Blood oozes freely from a wing tucked against its side as the drake begins to fend off Astraea primarily with swings of the tail and discharged quills.

The tower is not spared from this assault. Two quills skid off the stonework tower, but one disappears into an open slit.

No cries can be heard in response.

“Help me stop this.” I say.

Snapdragon takes a deep breath before setting aside a look of concern. “I will.”

We begin to run the length of the wall.

She trades a bolt thrower for a spear. One of the heavier ones, not intended for throwing.

Another cry from the drake follows the third salvo.

I draw open a cover to see four fresh bolts embedded in the drake’s wing.

For her part, Snapdragon opens the door to the tower’s base. Her hands reach for a cloak. “This will buy you a few moments to get into position. Whatever your plan, make it quick.”

I accept the offered protection with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Her reply comes in the form of a shake of the head. “You can thank me by not dying or letting Astraea take you from us.”

I step into the base of the tower, knowing that we will likely be overheard by the other Watchers. “I can’t promise that.”

Snapdragon pulls down a cloak of her own. “You can. Do so knowing that I’ll make you regret breaking it.”

Her confidence eases the building tension and doubts, if only for a moment. In spite of everything that I am now pressing myself into doing, I allow myself to relax. “I regret not promising Cerya I would avoid attempting anything alone.”

Deep breaths.

I can’t change what has already happened.

But I can make this moment matter. It will affect every moment that follows.

“It’s okay.” Snapdragon says, her voice gentle and expression apologetic.

“I promise you I intend to come back alive. My aim is not to throw my life away so much as it is to change our circumstances in a way that only I can.”

Snapdragon holds my gaze for as long as she can afford to. “Ayre. I trust you. Had she not already done so, Cerya would claim the same. Make for the inner door closest to the stone gates. Do what you think is best.”

We part ways without another word.

She is bound for the staircase leading up the tower.

While I have chosen to take my chances under the light of the moon.

The cloak keeps the thoughts at bay long enough for me to make my way through the open stone gates of the grove. Astraea and the drake are still trading who is on the offensive.

There is still time…

…To make a terrible mistake.

But when has that stopped me?

The moon’s light stops me in my tracks.

What could I do?

Alone, probably not enough.

But I’m not alone. I haven’t been for a while now.

I hoist a heavy spear aloft before sinking my teeth into my lips.

I becomes we.

From somewhere high up, Snapdragon calls out… Something.

But we, or just… I don’t hear her.

I am left with the distinct impression that it is just me that has the moon’s undivided attention.

Lenore’s absence is a profound emptiness that cannot be ignored. Her voice does not ring in my thoughts, echoing my own with her own perspective.

Being alone reignites my sense of dread.

Every doubt becomes magnified as I realize that I will have to face the moon entirely alone.

Am I the problem?

Or am I the only one that matters?

Just me.

My thoughts.

And not the good ones.

But the ones I bury as deep as I can.

And there are…

So.

Many.

So what if I am the one that is in the wrong?

Who cares if I am the problem that needs to be prevented?

It is everything I can do to keep my focus on the fight between Astraea and the Quill-tailed Drake.

I won’t hurt Fia, Snapdragon, or Cerya.

Anyone but them.

How fitting to finally be set free to feed without fear.

To think I am monster in need of a redeemer instead of a protector.

To the very depths with that line of thinking.

And anyone who would force it upon me.

Lenore

It’s dark.

I see nothing.

Smell nothing.

Taste, nothing at all.

Not without imagination, at least.

Until Ayre feeds me.

And I’ve come to hate the taste of blood.

Hate that I must demand Ayre harm themselves and others dearest to them.

Hate even more what I become when we go too long without feeding.

But I can hear the steady thrum of Ayre’s heart. Every quickening pace. Every skipped beat that prefaces doubts loud enough to deny our own existence.

I can feel when something has changed or when Ayre has been hurt.

It is only in the moments that Ayre floods their veins with my blood when I get glimpses of the physical circumstances that are arrayed against us.

When we part, I am left only with time to think about what I notice while we are merged.

What about Ayre has changed?

Is changing.

Glimpses of doubts and ideas on how they still plan to change.

What Ayre is becoming is never far from my thoughts.

I like to think I know better than my little sister does. They have so much more to worry about. When I am not needed, it is just me with all the time in the world to focus my worries inward.

If being so deeply entwined with me is causing them to question whether they are a girl, I am terrified of what Ayre would do if they were privy to my every thought.

Of the two of us, it is I who is rapidly deteriorating into monstrous thinking. Without opportunities to act to the contrary with a body, how am I to know the truth of the matter?

To indulge our most violent impulses was fine when we were surrounded by nothing but enemies in the Vylian courts. It is what has kept us alive all this time.

But I can’t allow it here, even if it means smothering myself and how much I allow my thoughts and feelings to influence Ayre when we are joined.

To that end, I have been trying to imagine a space for myself where I can just be the idealized me that Ayre remembers.

A stone crafted dungeon cell forms my conception of the parasitic prison lodged into Ayre’s heart. It’s fitting. I never escaped the dungeons. Not like Ayre did.

My only comforts are what Ayre experiences on my behalf. A wooden stump breaks through the stone flooring. It is not much, but it is not like there is any comfort offered by the chairs of Vylian courtly functions where we must constantly be on edge.

Quaint touches of Cerya’s began to furnish the cell the moment we fed on her. Faint blue glimmer stones light the space. A petal bed offers me a place to attempt to quiet my thoughts. And a mirror I am convinced doesn’t work sits largely unused in the corner.

What looks back at me is… Never quite the same. Neither Princess nor Prince, but something more native to the Depths.

The space isn’t perfect.

But it’s what I have.

It is the only place where I can imagine myself comfortable.

Or at least it would be.

Pain accompanies any removal from this place.

I never know what to expect.

Whether it is self inflicted or if Ayre needs their older sister to protect them.

Whenever I am returned to the depths of my cell, it will be with fresh a craving for blood

***

Ayre is torn from my grasp moments after they reach for me.

Dragged to the front, I am left to fall to my knees and to stare down at my hands in disbelief.

This is… My body to move.

It responds to my urge to breathe, my urge to rise to my feet, and my intent to retrieve a spear.

I gaze up at the moon to find it has no sway over my thoughts.

But when I wonder where Ayre has gone, my head grows loud with their voice.

All at once I feel my grip on the spear tighten with an urge to discharge the implements at my belt to a murderous effect.

I shut all these thoughts out and more.

It grows quiet.

And it does so with a suspicious lack of effort.

Is this what allows Astraea to act as she does? To come and go in the night so long as someone else can fend off the moon? It’s almost enough to consider hearing this Goddess’s offer.

But there can be no room to entertain such a thought.

Not where entities of belief are concerned.

And not while Ayre is suffering.

Words from Snapdragon stir me into action. “Ayre! We await your orders!”

Immediately I come away with annoyance from hearing another’s name leveled at me. I am not my little sister.

But my little sister would not appreciate me ignoring the strain in Snapdragon’s voice.

Is she in pain or has she merely exerted herself in the confronting of her siblings?

Only time will tell either way.

No sense worrying when a confrontation with Astraea, Cinder Blights, and a wounded drake stand between us and finding out.

Survive what is in front of us.

Everything else can wait.

“Stand by then!” I call back, unnerved by hearing Ayre’s voice instead of my own. Right. Not entirely my body.

Any time I allow my thoughts to wander in Ayre’s direction, I invite glimpses of what they planned to do, how they see what is unfolding, and why they are so fixated on the gems not being used.

If I come away weakened from this encounter, our siblings will finish us off.

Which means any wound will need to be balanced out by a feeding.

If I can’t bring about Ayre’s desired end, I am to resolve this as a Vylian Prince would.

Thankfully I seem to be in full control of my thoughts and movements.

There is no need to bargain with the moon for a desired end. Not when Ayre can trust their older sister to take care of matters.

Striding towards the drake and Astraea with my chin held high, I can almost picture what it is that the Castellan can see us becoming. To be able to stalk the night knowing that my mind is untouchable while everyone else lives in fear is a delicious thought.

Or at least it would be, if I was not keenly aware of how everyone else in this instance includes Ayre. Their thoughts are going to become mine to wrestle with eventually.

That just means I’ll have to get this right. There can be no room for disappointing my little sister.

Assuming my grasp of Ayre’s fearful thoughts are correct, Astraea is right to be scared.

She really is just the bodyguard.

And not for much longer if this goes poorly for her.

What is thicker than blood?

Why should we care about the sources we feed on?

What is it that would stir a goddess into preventing us from acting?

There is a delight that drives me closer to tasting the answer to one of more of those questions.

To the depths with Astraea if she intends to get in our way.

I’ll bite out her throat if I have to.

And I won’t regret it.

Not if she hurt Cerya.

There will be a place for Ayre’s hopes when all is said and done. The seed has been sewn deeply into who Ayre is becoming that I dare not sway against them hoping all will be well.

But for as long as I am in charge of handling things, carving out my own bloody ends in spite of the despair forced upon me is what I have always had to settle for.

Why should that change?

This body is not mine.

Not entirely.

I don’t need a moon to convince me of my least favorable thoughts.

My mother could not have been more clearer in her intent.

Assuming the worst outcome, if it is to be me against every Cinder Blighted and Moon Wrought creature, it will just have to be me who comes out on top.

Anything less would never have led to Ayre and I being considered for the position of Prince or Princess in the first place.