Abolisher
9.

“They talk, you know.”

The Stone Chamber wasn’t heaving with people today, thankfully, less ears to eavesdrop. Sounds of chatting and laughing and clinking glasses drifted across the tavern and drowned out Syrene’s and Eliver’s voices as they spoke at the bar. Drinking—well, Syrene was. Eliver was just fidgeting with his glass.

“What do they say?” asked Syrene, lifting the glass to her lips.

“About how you”—Syrene shot him a look—“About how Syrene Alpenstride took down those beasts and came alive after driving a sword through herself. How her power was felt across the city—a ripple so powerful that it’d thrown standing men to their asses. They say she’s beautiful as a sunset over the ocean, new as a sunrise. They say she’s feral as any baeselk ever encountered, and yet delicate as feather.”

Syrene snorted.

But Eliver went on. “They call her Destiny Incarnate. Either a doom, or salvation—ruination or harmony—no one knows. They say she might be in hiding now, but when she emerges, it will be felt across the whole planet like an otsatya come to grounds.”

Syrene had heard all those rumors—she was gossiped about around the world. Even in a town like Silvervale. Even if she focused on the voices now, around the tavern with her sharpened hearing, Syrene would catch at least one—if not two—person tattling about her. About how she was no more than a myth created by raconteurs. A few spoke vile things that had Syrene’s very blood boiling, others spoke with such reverence that if she listened for more than a simple minute, even she might start to believe she was an otsatya.

Eliver’s head whipped in her direction. “I’ve seen men tremble at the mention of her name.”

Syrene grinned and angled her glass at Eliver. “Sounds like one of a kind.”

The half-hemvae shook his head. “You’re insane.”

Syrene winked. Then, collected herself. “Why did you run away last night?”

Eliver seemed to hesitate as he ran a hand through his curly bangs. And then, with a shuddering sigh, he began a tale.

“A long time ago, in a different world—different existence—there lived three princesses.”

Syrene groaned.

Eliver shot her a look, didn’t wait for her approval to proceed.

“So powerful that the universe itself feared them. They were tucked away from the world, from anyone who existed, but universe was aware of their each movement, each breath. Even as no one knew they existed, their power was felt across the worlds—everyone was unconsciously aware of the unknown force that constantly gnawed at their skin. The princesses were kept hidden in a tower brighter than any moon—and yet, at the same time, darker than any night.”

“Poetic,” yawned Syrene.

Eliver blew out an annoyed breath. “Why are you not taking this seriously?”

“Because I don’t care,” she admitted. “I don’t care how she came to be, or how powerful she is, or why she’s so evil. Everyone has a story, and every story contains myriad reasons for why one came to be the way they are. I don’t want to hear her reasons.” Because it’s easier that way, she didn’t add. Easier to simply believe someone is corrupt, than to know they’d not always been that way.

Even then, in the end, nothing could ever justify what she’d been doing to Azryle—nothing could ever justify her legalizing slavery. So Syrene sighed and said, “But do go on.”

Eliver’s keen eyes were watching her, head tilted. Then, “Felset’s story doesn’t justify her actions, Cerys.” He spoke the queen’s name so softly that Syrene caught it only thanks to her hemvae hearing. “She’s the way she is only for the sake of not being human. Humans are a funny thing—you could attempt understanding one your whole life, but the other would turn out to be wholly different. And yet utterly same. Felset understands neither humans, nor the concept of humanity. And that,” he tilted his glass in her direction, as if to make a toast, “is her weakness.”

Syrene wondered how in Haerven’s name was he so utterly unfazed at the fact that Felset wasn’t human, that someone from another world had been living among them—ruling a powerful country. But then Syrene supposed Eliver would have heard—or read—far worse telltales about the Enchanted Queen, and must have believed each one if only to prepare himself for the worst.

“Eliver,” Syrene said. His gaze drifted to her. “I appreciate it, you know, that you came all the way from Desnelea to help me with this.” Her face felt hot.

Eliver downed his drink. “Thank me when you succeed at this.”

Syrene lifted another drink to her lips. “Oh, I will.” She had no intentions to lose. She would avenge Deisn—and Lucran. She would avenge her mother. Her desire for that sweet vengeance sometimes burned so hot that she was surprised it hadn’t melted her insides, her soul.

She’d had enough break—enough rest.

Enough running and cowering.

There was a planet lying in wait for her aid, a world to be saved. Whatever the whys and wherefores, there was no denying she’d been utterly reckless. Had been letting Deisn’s sacrifice go in waste.

No more.

“Now, where was I?” mused Eliver.

“In the Stone Chamber.”

He shot her an unamused, long-suffering look.

Syrene smiled sweetly.

“Only otsatyas can help you,” he grumbled.

Syrene snorted. “Sure, and then they’ll demand that help be returned in double quantity.”

Eliver just shook his head.

“You were fawning over how powerful the three princesses were, sweetest Eliver,” Syrene drawled. “Also something about some moon-tower.”

His eyes seemed to clear. Then he continued—those eyes growing vacant, as one’s did when they recalled their joyous childhood. Only there was no joy in Eliver’s eyes—only fear. Paralyzing terror. Syrene straightened as a bead of sweat slithered to his brow.

“People came to worship the tower—where the princesses lived—others would crumple miles away with the terror that seized them with a crushing grip. Only person who ever entered the tower—or neared at all—and was utterly unfazed by the power, was their young brother, merely ten. They adored their brother, as absurd as it sounds, with human feelings despite being … not human. More intensely than a human could ever love actually. And not only because the boy was their brother. And when I say brother, or sisters, bear in mind that they weren’t truly related. It’s the stories of this world, the roaming and changing rumors between raconteurs, that have named them siblings. I doubt the three women were even truly princesses.”

Syrene angled her head, suddenly curious.

“You see, the princesses were cursed—they couldn’t step out of the tower. With their eternal, disgustingly destroying power, that curse pulsed in their veins like streaks of black ink in milk. It confined them in the tower, bound them to one another.”

“Where does this all involve their brother?” Syrene whispered. “The man, I mean. Whatever he was to them.”

A ghost of the barest smile tugged at his lips, an irreverent gleam sparking in his eyes. “To be free from the curse, all they simply had to do was kill the brother. He was like a thick cord between the princesses, confining them. All they had to do was cut the cord and be done with it.”

Syrene straightened, and despite herself, she wondered what would she have done had she been in that situation—choosing between Brother Adlae and freedom. And maybe it was because her brother was already dead, or simply because her hunger for freedom had grown so utterly impious that she was willing to indeed commit any abhorrent sin, the true answer Syrene gleaned was not the one she particularly liked.

“They’d contemplated,” continued the half-hemvae, “killing their brother. Countless times. But he happened to be the one person whom they would literally take down the world for—one person they could protect from any sort of danger, even if the danger in question here were the princesses themselves.”

“I’m guessing they didn’t kill him?”

“No—of course not. As their brother grew, he visited them often, and brought tales of outside world with himself, so the princesses wouldn’t feel alone. They never told him about the curse, about what he was to them.”

Their freedom and confinement—their life and death.

Syrene dreaded that sort of love.

“Where does this all involve Felset?” she inquired.

Eliver held up a finger—the universally known sign of Wait. “We’ll get there.”

He shot down another drink, and Syrene used the moment to sweep a glance about the tavern, and make sure they were safe. To see if anyone was eavesdropping.

“They opened a portal.”

Syrene’s gaze snapped back to Eliver.

“As time went, the princesses grew impatient. I mean, can you blame them? They were as eternal as the air, how could one spend eternity in a tower and not lose their mind? They grew desperate—they thought if they can’t step outside in their world without the threat of flaming it to ashes, maybe in a more powerful one … where the curse would just be a thin thread of light … maybe they could find their own life. Their freedom.”

Suddenly it wasn’t very hard to understand them.

“They mustered their power to open a portal, but … it didn’t go right.”

Of course it didn’t.

“You see, the worlds are situated like piled sheets of paper, layered atop one another, with a thick layer of wind wedged between each two. Balanced.” His hands moved as if he were seeing the piled papers and touching them, the spark in his eyes growing excited—frantic. “The sheets are never supposed to touch—to come near each other. The world the princesses lived in—Aegestan—was the one right in the middle. At the heart of the universe.

“As they opened the portal, Aegestan grew a heavy weight, weighing in on all the worlds beneath it—as a result, they all faltered. Aegestan fell on them all, the wind between the sheets wavered and was pressed out. They all came together, joining and destroying and—”

“Eliver.”

He seemed to snap out of a dream. The man blinked—once, twice—reeling himself. Then he eyed the suddenly-quiet tavern.

Many gazes were on him, as if he were a strange device malfunctioning, and they didn’t know how to fix it. Eliver’s face went visibly crimson with embarrassment. Then cleared his throat. “… The book is costly,” he said to Syrene, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “but you will love the storyline.”

Syrene had to suppress her snort as she nodded at Eliver.

The tavern returned to life in murmurs and whispers.

As it did, Syrene leaned closer to Eliver and whispered, “I wouldn’t buy that damned book for free.”

Eliver rolled his eyes. “Anyway,” he drawled pointedly, cheeks still red. “Aegestan’s fall resulted in a plague. Darkness swept across half the universe. A new world was created—”

“Rukrasit,” Syrene sighed, suddenly devoid of any humor.

The world of baeselk—the world where Felset came from.

“Let me guess,” she gritted, “one of the princesses was Her oh-so-Benevolent Majesty?”

Eliver dipped his chin. “Other two died.”

“What of her brother?”

He shrugged. “Universe knows.”

“Yeah, well,” she whispered, “universe sounds like a raging pain in the ass.” She shook her head. “Why is she here? In this world?” Syrene sounded like a whiny teenager even to her own ears, but didn’t give a shit. “Our world isn’t plagued—”

“No, it’s not.” Eliver met her gaze. “I don’t know much about that, but I can get you more info—”

“Cerys?”

Syrene had heard Navy approaching mere seconds before she touched her shoulder. With anyone else, she would’ve sensed them minutes before—but not Navy.

For Renavy Yevlou walked the world with a dancer’s lightness—as if it were air, and she was the only solid thing in the world and she owned whatever existed around her. Syrene had never seen anyone move as smoothly as Navy did—not even Azryle Wintershade, with those brutal skills of a warrior.

Syrene shut down her thoughts about him before that destroying need for his presence could emerge and leave her feeling desolated in an Abyss-damned tavern, and turned in her stool.

“You came to the Stone chamber”—the water-wielder looked stricken—“without me?”

Eliver was assessing Navy with a naked awe—in a way Syrene knew he was wondering how had his hemvae ears not caught her approaching.

“You were at work—” Syrene started.

But Kavous appeared beside Navy. “And me!” he gaped, mischief limning his eyes.

At the sight of Kavous—his golden eyes and damp-gold hair, and that unnerving beauty everyone in Silvervale swooned over—Syrene could have sworn color crept to Eliver’s cheeks as he quickly looked away and suddenly grew very interested the drink the barkeep slid to him.

Kavous, sharp as his gaze was, caught it. And grinned. His broad hand went for Eliver’s slim shoulder and spun him in the stool. Those golden eyes abound in mischief seemed to gleam when his gaze locked with Eliver’s. “And who’s this lad?”

Eliver, to Syrene’s surprise, held Kavous’ dominant gaze—unfalteringly.

Syrene smacked Kavous’ bicep—hard muscle greeted her. “Someone who isn’t going to your apartment with you tonight.”

Kavous burst out in rich laughter, and Syrene could have sworn Eliver bristled at the booming sound. “This is Kavous,” Syrene said to him, secretly gaping the half-hemvae’s sudden quietness—the man who spoke so much that Syrene had once wished for his throat to bleed, only for him to stop speaking about the otsatyasforsaken device.

She wasn’t proud of her wishes.

Eliver nodded—not using words, as if he didn’t trust them in Kavous’ presence. Or had suddenly forgotten them all.

“This is Eliver,” Syrene said pointedly to the smug Kavous, who didn’t take his eyes off Eliver.

“See, Cerys.” Navy was smirking, looping an arm with Kavous’. “I think it was already proved that Kavous is more than capable of having whoever he wants.”

Kavous reluctantly tore his eyes from Eliver’s—his gaze smoothly drifted to Navy. “I even managed to have this serpent for the night,” he crooned to Syrene.

Navy withdrew her arm from his and rolled her eyes. “Lucky you.” She looked to Syrene. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Syrene cocked her head in Eliver’s direction. “Meeting with an old friend.”

Navy’s big round eyes narrowed as she sized up Eliver—a serpent sensing for any danger indeed.

Syrene kicked her leg. “He’s harmless.”

“Nothing ever is.” Navy shrugged.

Eliver cleared his throat, and straightened. The flush in his cheeks seemed to abate, as if finally reeling himself back. “I mean Sy—Cerys no harm, if you must know.” Those olive eyes slid to Kavous, who was already eyeing Eliver with such intensity that Syrene found herself restraining a grin.

She’d never seen Kavous cast so much as a glance towards anyone who wasn’t Waimsan, let alone pin them with a longing that had Eliver fidgeting—as if he was physically being weighed down.

Any delight from Syrene died as an image crept up in the back of her mind. Of a cave. Of her being almost naked. Of a prince—bearing similar greedy longing in his silver eyes as he gazed at her. As he struggled to keep his eyes on her face only.

Do you want to be looked at, Syrene?

Syrene suppressed whatever awoke in her, and buried those thoughts so deep in her mind that she wished he wouldn’t emerge again—wished, like one might wish for a miracle. Futile. Helpless. Impossible.

“I’m here to meet Cerys only.” Eliver lifted to his feet. “With no interest of finding myself in someone’s bed. Even if that someone happens to be a well-known flirt in the whole town.” He motioned to Syrene as Kavous and Navy gaped. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then Eliver was walking out of the tavern—leaving Kavous and Navy open-mouthed in his wake.

Kavous was still staring after Eliver when Navy burst out laughing, and gently smacked his shoulder. “I think that might be the first one to ever reject you.”

Kavous scowled—visibly torn between the urge to follow after Eliver and staying. He wisely chose the latter.

“Cerys.”

Syrene’s gaze snapped to Navy—at the lack of humor in her voice. But the water-wielder’s eyes were on Syrene’s—hand.

She’d been digging her nails in her palms—blood coated the crescents of her nails. Syrene uncurled her fingers.

Navy was staring at her, a furrow between her thick brows. Everything good?

Syrene nodded her silent answer. Everything is fine. Wasn’t it? Of course it was.

No it wasn’t.

She was frustrated—irritated. She hated thinking of him, hated the way his memories brought nothing but a destroying longing for his presence she didn’t want. Hated the regret and shame that came with it.

She’d left him—with Felset. She’d left him to suffer even after everything he’d told her. She’d fled.

She’d given him enough of her own power to break the leash in that staride on the night of Feast of Melodies—she’d hoped he would wield her mejest and set himself free. And she’d hoped it would be enough.

How wrong she’d been.

Tell her, Prince. Tell her whether you want to be freed, truthfully.

I don’t.

He’d never wished to be freed of the queen—for unknown reasons. He didn’t fight the leash. That was all it would have taken—a bit of fight, and their mejest intertwined, with that eternally destructive power, breaking past Felset’s bounds would have been no more than stripping clothes off himself.

And Azryle Wintershade always fought. No matter the circumstances, no matter the adversary, fighting was something that ran in his blood.

But he hadn’t fought, and all Syrene was left with were regret and doubts.

Maybe she hadn’t lent enough power, maybe if she’d given more—

No, Syrene reminded herself. He’d never wished to be free of his queen. The prince had made his choice, and it was to remain with his queen. She could have done nothing more.

Each time that thought left her feeling hollow. Empty. Helpless.

“You look like you need a drink.” Navy’s words yanked Syrene from her thoughts.

Stupid drinks, she thought. They were always the reason her thoughts veered to the Prince of Cleystein involuntarily. “I’ve had enough,” Syrene sighed.

Kavous snorted as he took the seat where Eliver had been. “There’s no such thing as enough drinks.”

Navy’s smile was almost pitiful. “We have all our life to be depressed. But never be sad in a tavern—that’s against the rules. Do you understand?” She took a seat on Syrene’s other side.

Syrene wheeled in her chair to face the bar as she rolled her eyes. “I’m not sad.”

“You’re sulking, Omdrial.”

“I’m not sulking,” Syrene snarled.

“I’m sorry,” Navy drawled. “I’m still new at understanding Grestel. I thought frowning gloomily—as you are—counted as sad for Grestel too.” She made a moue. “My bad. Have the heart to forgive my sins.”

“I’m so sick of you.”

“Let’s not forget I’m the only friend you have in your miserable life.”

Kavous made a choking noise. Then gazed between Syrene and Navy in naked disbelief.

Syrene threw up her hands. “What are you looking at me like that for? I didn’t say shit. She did.”

His golden eyes slid to Navy. “You certainly think a lot of yourself, Serpent.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side, asshole,” Navy gritted.

“Serpent’s side will only deal him venom.” Syrene batted her lashes at Navy.

Navy clutched at her chest in mock dismay. “You can be cruel.” Then rolled her dark eyes. “Team up all you want, you’re both still friendless without me.”

“We have each other,” Kavous countered innocently.

That had Navy gagging. She looked to the barkeep. “Maikael, if I end up throwing up here, you know whom to blame.”

Maikael snorted—obviously had already been listening to the conversation. “Of course.”

Navy turned to Syrene. Her voice went lover-soft. “I don’t trust that pig, but you don’t make me throw up, Cerys.”

Kavous gave her an uninterested look before landing his attention on Syrene. “Who—” He cleared his throat. “Who was that?”

“Eliver?”

He nodded.

“He …” She trailed off. Eliver was Jegvr’s convict a year ago, like I was. We were both Queen of Cleystein’s slaves—that’s how we met. He holds the information beings across the worlds crave. “He’s a childhood friend,” Syrene lied. “A simple guy from a small town.”

It sometimes startled her—how easy it was to lie. And how these two people trusted her so much that they would swallow any story she fed them.

She ought to feel guilty, she knew—ought to feel at least mortified. But Syrene also knew it kept them both safe—these lies. Better stay clueless than grow curious about knowledge that attracted otherworldly beasts.

Knowledge prompted curiosity. And curiosity fiddled with danger.

“How long is he in Silvervale?” Kavous asked almost sheepishly. Almost.

Navy grinned. “Why, have you grown a crush, Kavous?” she teased.

“If you someday find that woman dead in her bed,” he said to Syrene, “it’s her own Abyss-damned fault.”

The night carried on—the bickering and taunting and laughing swirled around Syrene like a satisfying warm wind. Something she’d grown used to, something she’d come to adore.

The drinks turned Syrene’s mind to a cloud of smoke. The euphoria pulled her strings, led her steps—it tickled her everywhere, and her laughs carried along with the faint music in the tavern. She felt utterly light—the wind seemed to carry her with itself, drifted her out of the tavern. The sounds vanished. The world was a blur at the corners of her eyes, and it felt as if she were the only intact thing whilst everything else was falling apart.

The dark alley seemed to ripple, as if it were surface of water. She watched as the ripples ripped open, and gave way to … infinite gloom.

She didn’t know if it was her enraptured mind playing tricks—she only knew she had to keep walking.

Between one step another, the world rippled again, and shifted.

She was in a forest.

Not just any forest, a glowing, mejest-lit forest.

The leaves of trees were decorated with solid beads of bright light. Strange flowers of all colors rose even higher than her full height. The grass beneath her feet was wet and … alive. Breathing. Happy. She could feel it in her skin—the whole place was alive. Thriving.

Dazed, Syrene tipped her head back, only to find the blanket of stars gleaming like she’d never seen before. As if the ground were a mirror to the sky, each gleam of each star seemed to reflect on the leaves and delicate petals and the grass.

Syrene caught a movement at the corner of her eye—and maybe it was her murky mind, or just the way this place made her feel so absurdly safe, Syrene’s hand didn’t reach for her weapons as she turned.

It took a moment for her to register them.

A horde of Tiny Moons—Starflame’s family—was hovering along a tree. And it was only then she noticed that the faeries were on every tree. Giggling, and chatting and flying. Their wings burned just like Starflame’s did, though not as brightly as hers.

It hit Syrene then—this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

Tiny Moons had gone extinct so long ago—Starflame might be the last one left. Glowing forests were myths told by raconteurs, places this beautiful didn’t exist in real world.

A twig snapped behind her.

Syrene whirled, suddenly alert.

Her heart paused.

A shadow stood deep in the forest, so still that it might as well have been a sculpture. The figure was tall, powerfully built.

Her heart sped.

Not with fear, but a warm familiarity she didn’t expect.

There was no mistaking the strong set of shoulders, the warrior-built shape of the shadow. No mistaking the utter dominance in his very presence. The surroundings around him seemed to ripple with power, as if he owned even the air around him.

Her blood thrummed.

Not with alertness, but the adrenaline that rushed to her blood and cleared her fuzzy sight, like winds sweeping dust off a glass.

She didn’t know when her treacherous body had started moving, or whether crossing the distance was safe at all, only that there was an obliterating yearning in her—a desire to only feel him, not the way her mejest thrilled in his wake, but to touch him, to know he was here.

She didn’t know what she would do if he was real. Whether she would go for her dagger, or collect him in an embrace just to weep in his neck.

She didn’t know if she wanted him to be real at all.

Her feet balked three steps from him. Numb—her body felt numb, as it did whenever he was this close.

Even here, she could not see his face. Or any other part of him.

He was still a shadow. A night incarnate in a bright forest.

For an eternity, she just stood there. She could feel his shrill gaze on herself, like one felt warm clothes on themself. Real—so utterly real.

Then Azryle Wintershade crossed the distance in one stride.

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