Rhian

I woke up.

Lucky for me, it wasn’t on a smelly embark in the middle of the sea or in a random cabin in the middle of nowhere. Despite all my troubles, I’d had the best sleep I’d ever had, and it went on for so long my eyes wouldn’t open until I mined the crud out of the corners. The fluffy pillows were still piled up around me, under me, on top of me, all over the place. Exactly as I'd left them. Teeth, the Wolf, snorted and bopped my elbow with her nose.

I scratched her head, and she jumped off the bed.

The pink and gold room was one of about two dozen other rooms in The Estate. I once asked Alexander why he needed so many rooms. He told me the house wasn’t always so big, but that every decade or so, he’d get bored of sitting around in the same rooms and he’d build another two or three.

I asked why he didn’t just redecorate.

He said he tried at first, but then he was left with too much extra furniture.

I asked why he didn’t just donate it to the village.

He said he did at first, but then the village was left with too much extra furniture.

“Besides,” he said, “it all attracted too much attention.”

So, I asked how being an ancient, ageless man living in the forest didn’t already attract too much attention.

He said that's why he had a Peter to face the public. And before the Peter, there was a man called Henrik. And before the Henrik, there was a list of other names I don’t recall.

I wasn’t taking notes.

After a quick stop at the loo, I stumbled my way out of the pink and gold room. Teeth, the Wolf, followed.

While making my way downstairs, the light from the chandelier reflected a copy of the atrium in the windows by the door. This is important on account of it tells us it was dark outside, but also I remember thinking it was strange seeing myself in real-time, wearing silk pajamas, walking against that exact backdrop with a goddess-be-damned wolf at my heels and a butler smiling up at me.

“Good to see you, Miss Rhian. Ready for breakfast?”

Teeth whined and wagged her bushy tail.

“The both of us, I reckon. How’s Michael?”

Peter started walking, ushering me along.

“The Commander’s condition is the same,” he said. “Alexander left on foot not too long ago to meet with someone he thinks may be able to help. He asked me to remind you to relax, make yourself at home, and let him take care of the preliminaries. He’ll be back before dawn.”

“All right,” I said. “Next time, would you mind telling him to wake me up?”

“If you insist.”

We passed the library.

“You know, Miss Rhian, he only steps out of isolation once every twenty years or so, and only for a few years at a time.”

“All right.” We passed a closed door. “Long enough for people to forget who he was, and not long enough for anyone to realize he’s not getting any older?”

“Exactly.”

We passed another closed door and then turned down the corridor.

After having a think, I shrugged. “Nothing surprises me anymore.”

“Tell me about it.” Peter chuckled and rubbed his bald head. “But what I mean to say is, go easy on him. You need food, rest, and basic comforts, and Alexander needs to feel useful. It would benefit you both to help each other where you can.”

We passed the dining room and turned into the kitchen. I hopped up on the corner of the counter. “I see your point.”

“I thought you might,” Peter said, and then he patted my knee and made us breakfast.

Right before he made me another breakfast.

----------------------------------------

Alexander returned before dawn, but he didn't return alone.

Sitting with my legs pulled up, cross-legged behind the desk in his study, I squinted across at him and his guest. Basically, I wasn’t thrilled. “You could have told me. Seriously. What’s with everybody leaving out interesting but not important bits of information? You don’t think I like interesting bits of information?”

I’d never seen Ivana outside the Widow’s Peak, or while wearing anything other than her peasant garb or whatnot. Even though I was feeling spicy at the minute, I had to admit she made this other look work. Her hair was the same, braided and in a bun. But she’d traded in her uniform for practical black trousers, a silky blue blouse, striped vest, and a necktie.

“You can probably imagine why staying discreet matters so much,” Ivana answered.

Aye, I could imagine. Only, I didn't particularly care.

“But actually,” Ivana continued, "I'm sorry, Rhian. I think of you as an ally, and maybe even a friend. I should have told you sooner.”

Alexander leaned back in the chair, crossing his leg.

Considering the pair as if they were Barren, Ivana looked a lot more tired than Alexander, but she also looked about five years younger. 'Course, they weren't Barren, and you just never bloody know with Those Things.

“So, which one of you is older?” I asked.

Ivana raised her hand. “By about a century.”

“Huh,” I said. “You've run the Peak for half a millennium and nobody thinks it’s strange?”

“Okay, so—no. Even the people in Oskari aren’t that dense,” Ivana replied. “But that’s not the reason I’m here, Rhian. It’s about your friend—That Michael Guy.”

That Michael Guy. I didn’t hate it. “Do you know how we can help him?”

“There’s one obvious way to help him,” Ivana said.

The pair shared a side-glance. The moment was more pregnant than I was.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Nope,” I said. “Abso-bloody-lutely not. We’re not doing whatever the fuck this is to Michael.” I flicked my hand in their direction. “Just nope.”

Ivana smirked.

Alexander lowered his leg and leaned forward. “We’ve danced around reality long enough, Rhian. Michael’s going to die. If not from whatever Helena Varis has done to him, then from starvation.”

I thought back to Gregory Keller, and how we’d found him at the Bountiful Blessing with his skin dripping off his bones like pancake batter. But then, I thought about how he woke up before he died.

“We’ll take him to the hospital,” I said.

Alexander shook his head. “The Barrens can’t fix this.”

“Right, but can’t they help him while we think of something?”

The pair shared another side-glance.

“Maybe,” Ivana said. “But they’ll notify Palisade, and Palisade would send people to take him away, wouldn’t they?”

They would.

“And I don’t know what Palisade facilities are like, technologically speaking,” she continued, “but I’ve seen what the doctors around here do to people in these conditions, and what typically happens to them. He won’t be able to do anything for himself, and there are tubes, Rhian.” Ivana opened her mouth, pointed inside, and then shook her head. “The whole thing isn’t pretty. You should think about what Michael would want.”

I thought back to the time in Istok, when I chose mercy for the old man decoys.

Michael wasn’t thrilled with my decision. Then again, he wouldn’t want the tubes, either.

I looked from Ivana to Alexander. “You could have told me this yourself. What’s with the mommy-daddy thing?”

“Because,” Ivana answered, “if you decide your friend would want whatever the fuck this is, Alexander brought me here to guide him. He’s never done it before.”

“You’ve never done The Thing?” I asked.

Alexander shook his head. “Never.”

I looked toward Ivana. “And you have?”

She shrugged. “A few times.”

“But you don’t even like Michael,” I said. “Why would you help?”

“Like I said, I consider you a friend.”

Alexander sighed. “Whatever you decide, Rhian—and the options do include taking him to the hospital in Jaska—it’s important you know we’re here for you.”

Searching the surface of the desk—and it was just a bloody a desk, nothing else to report—I picked up the letter-opener and pressed the point of the tiny sword to my index finger. I spun it around, and around, and around. When we Partisans made friends with other Partisans, we had no choice but to come to terms with the fact they might die more suddenly, or more violently, or more strangely than the average sack of meat. I'd known Michael for nearly a decade. I'd imagined the million ways I'd find out he was dead or dying, and I was ready. Not for him to die, obviously, but to keep it together in a situation like that one.

After about an hour staring at Alexander and Ivana, I stopped the spinning.

“All right,” I said. “Nobody’s killing Michael. Not permanently, and not whatever the fuck this is, either.”

“You’re sure?” Ivana asked.

“Sure,” I said. “He wouldn’t want to risk coming back sideways like Lidia or That Varis, and he wouldn't want mercy at our expense. He'd want to leave it up to Amalia, but we’re not going to let him waste away and die in The Estate, either.”

Alexander nodded. “I’ll help Peter prepare for travel.”

“Aye,” I said. “Do that. But we’re not taking him to the hospital in Jaska.”

Ivana raised her eyebrows. Alexander shifted in his chair.

I knew exactly what Michael would want. Not the Commander, Sir, Michael, Sir, but the actual Michael. The one who laughed when I nearly broke his nose. The one who came to my room at night when sitting in the silence with all his troubles would get to be too loud. The one who was scared of heights. The arrogant, bossy, big brother in my life who ate an apple every day because it reminded him of the thing he loved more than anything.

We were taking Michael home to his family, and after announcing my plans, Alexander stepped out of the office to let Peter know.

I squinted across the desk.

“So, Leberecht,” Ivana said. “They’re not going to just let you walk in.”

I carried on squinting. “I’m delivering precious cargo, not planning on asking for a grand bloody tour. I’m not exactly worried.”

Ivana sighed. “I hope you don’t stay mad at me forever, Rhian. Forever’s a long time where I’m from, and I am sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“I'm not mad at you, seeing as we're not six, but I'm starting to wonder: why didn’t you do it instead of us? Why didn’t the others like you and Alexander do it?”

“Do what?”

“Take out Lidia.”

“Oh, right, well—there aren't many of us, the ones like me and Alexander. But when it comes down to it? Politics, and we try not to meddle or judge the others in our community. We all work through our damage—or not—in our own time. Alexander’s issue with his sister was personal, and I get it, but it didn’t involve me.”

“Fine,” I said. “I understand your position as a neutral party in whatever the fuck this is. So, you’re what—five hundred? That means, if you were around before they sealed the crypts at the church, did you know about them? Did you know Lidia was living down there?”

“I mean, sure. Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Looking confused, Ivana leaned forward in the chair, resting her elbows on her knees. “Why would you need me to tell you where Lidia lived? You were working with Alexander.”

“Alexander said he didn’t know.”

Ivana threw her hands up in dismay, flopping back against the chair. “Well, frankly, Rhian, I never really questioned whether he knew where his sister lived. But if he’d have asked me, I’d have told him. Nobody ever asked me.”

“All right," I said. "Strauss asked you for information.”

“The priest came by asking about the Ruza name, but I don’t generally take enough interest in other people’s crap to question their questions. Not my business, Rhian, and he’s lucky I told him anything at all. It’s strange, but the first time we met, I only hated him a little, and even less after the arm-wrestling incident. Shit, that was funny. I wish he’d told me the truth about the portrait, though.”

“Why do you hate him at all? And Michael?”

“I hate all men,” she said, tugging at her necktie. “It’s not personal, it's just the way it is, and it stinks because they’re nice to look at. Anyway, we all have our thing and I’m working through mine. At least I don't murder them anymore, right?"

Narrowing my eyes, I spun the letter-opener against my finger again, this time wondering if there was any way to murder the whole goddess-be-damned day. “Right. What about Alexander?”

“He’s hardly considered a man,” Ivana said.

From somewhere outside the office, Alexander shouted back, “Rude!”

Ivana laughed, standing from the chair. “It's getting light outside, and it's almost breakfast, so that's it for me. But once you're back from Leberecht, drop by the Peak, okay? I promise I'll answer all your questions.”

I nodded and tossed her a two-finger salute.

And then, seeing as I couldn't murder the whole goddess-be-damned day, I murdered the corner of the goddess-be-damned desk instead.

----------------------------------------

Once Peter and I finished packing the wagon, I climbed the stairs two at a time, hustled down the hall, and stepped back into the pink and gold room for my satchel.

I'd once said something about Amalia, about how nobody seemed to know for sure what went on over there, but that most Partisans wouldn’t come back, or if they did, they were never the same. Something about mudslides and man-eating trees.

It all sounded completely insane.

I reached for my bag sitting on the vanity, but something more interesting caught my eye. The key to the Keyhole in the Mountain—Strauss’s key to the Keyhole in the Mountain. Underneath the key, I spotted a fancy card with my name on it. Look, I knew how to see my name, but I didn't recognize the handwriting, so I turned the card over, hoping I could identify a few words on the back. It was blank.

And then, as was becoming annoyingly common, time stopped for everything but the bloody song. The strings, the drums, that owl-sounding flute thing. It held me tight around the middle like a hug, snaring me in place where I stood. My body wouldn’t listen when I told it to move because as I said, there was nothing but the song. But that was all right.

The song filled me with the feeling of a thousand victories.

“What a choice you've had to make tonight," said a voice from behind, or under, or over. When I think back, it's almost like it came from inside. “I confess, as I surveyed the scene, I stood as you stand: utterly and indubitably bedazzled. What will she do? What will she do? Have mercy? Have faith? Have hope? But she chose love. Well, I approve, and my approval affords an elusive answer to an obvious question: daddy's with daddy, so don't you worry. Enjoy your stay in the city, my dear, and be gentle with the rugs.”

The voice stopped, and so did the song. I could move again, but I was still alone in the room as far as I could tell.

I slipped the key around my neck and stuffed the card, which now had a golden "Z" on the back, into my satchel.

Bottom line: none of the stories about Amalia said anything about whatever the fuck that was.