Chapter 20 – The Morning After

The light from the bioluminescent fungi on the ceiling of the grotto Myzelemaerlazin was located in, was just gradually transitioning into the daytime phase when Shaelith was awakened by the muffled sound of the room door opening.

Last night’s dream immediately came back to her. The pulsating mycelium network, Zinvere’s strange braid, and that powerful, ancient presence she had sensed.

But she was torn from her thoughts when Belyssere slipped in silently, apparently to bring Benderast and her a pot of hot spore tea. In reality, of course, Laenre had probably sent her to check in on them. Belyssere’s gaze wandered automatically to the bed, then to the floor. She raised her eyebrows. Shaelith’s gaze followed hers.

Benderast was still lying on his back, snoring quietly, with the blanket only half over him, and was obviously having a very vivid dream. The bulge under the sheet could have served as a tentpole.

Belyssere set down the pot, gave Shaelith a meaningful look, and disappeared as quietly and quickly as she had entered.

Fantastic. Mother will know in ten minutes.

She was wrong. It only took five.

 

~

 

“So you’re refusing him.”

Laenre’s voice was as cold as the obsidian of her desk. Shaelith stood before her yawning, not even properly dressed, but only carelessly wrapped in a light leisure robe.

“I accepted the contract, Mother, and I’m fulfilling it.”

“And yet your contract holder is sleeping on the floor.” Laenre’s amethyst eyes bored into her. “Are you falling back into your old prudish patterns?”

Shaelith rolled her eyes. Now she’s burying up that again.

“That’s childish behavior, Shaelith.”

“I am not contractually obligated to consummate.”

“The contract requires offspring within a reasonable period of time. If no children are produced, Benderast owes us substantial penalties.”

Shaelith shrugged. “That’s his problem.”

Laenre’s jaw clenched. “You know very well that it will fall back on us if-”

“I am adhering to the terms of the contract word for word.” Shaelith crossed her arms. “Nowhere does it say that I have to sleep with him. It only says that he pays penalties if no children are produced. It’s his decision how he deals with that.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Even Laenre couldn’t claim that Shaelith was breaking the contract with her behavior. It was a loophole that no Shaeravyn would have even realized as such. Why wouldn’t a concubine sleep with her contract holder?

“That’s childish,” Laenre finally repeated, but this time it sounded more like a statement than an accusation. “At least make sure it looks proper to the outside. I don’t want House Vyrnara to be ridiculed because you can’t manage to spread your legs for your human.”

“Understood.”

“Good,” Laenre turned back to her documents. “There will be a briefing later regarding your mission against the Warlock. Be on time and bring your human and his people with you.”

 

~

 

Breakfast in the common area of Vyrnara Palace was well attended today. Shaelith sat at one end of the long table, surrounded by young Shaeravyn women who were all burning with curiosity about how Shaelith’s night had gone and were questioning her in Shaeravyn. At the other end of the table, Benderast sat with Mirrsoss, leafing through a book from the Vyrnara library that she had just brought him.

“Is it true that humans need eye contact to reach orgasm?” Phylissere leaned in.

Where do they get all these weird rumors?

“I have no idea where you heard that,” Shaelith evaded.

“But he doesn’t expect exclusivity, does he?” Another cousin named Gwaenith looked questioningly at Shaelith. “That would be so boring.”

“He hasn’t expressed any such expectations yet.”

“Did he give you flowers?” Phylissere again. “I’ve heard humans use flowers for courting and to attract their women, like bees.”

That’s not how it works, girl.

“No flowers so far.”

“What about his body hair?” The question came from the notoriously curious Serevisse. “Is it true that they have hair everywhere? Even on their backs?”

“I haven’t inspected his back that closely.”

Which was technically a lie since she had seen his back when he had undressed, but she would be damned if she was going to discuss that with her cousins.

“Was he jealous yet?” Phylissere lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Or shocked by something you did with him? Humans are supposed to be so prudish.”

Shaelith opened her mouth to tell her that she should just go to bed with him and find out for herself, when her gaze fell on the other end of the table.

By now Benderast sat in the middle of his party with his hair looking as if a large family of birds had made a cozy nest in it. Mirrsoss fluttered her wings excitedly as she enthusiastically tugged at one of his strands. Thaelon read haltingly from a book to Ben, and Shaelith could see the title on the open cover. It was a work on Shaeravyn hair language.

“No, no, you have to put this strand under the other one, not over it… um… I think,” Thaelon instructed.

“We do it differently,” protested Grimbart, who looked like he had a nasty hangover and who used his chronosteel arm with surprising precision and frightening speed to create a hideous-looking dwarven beard knot in Benderast’s hair.

“Oh! Oh! We Umilari have a pair knot for special bonds that we make in our silk threads!” Mirrsoss enthusiastically wrapped another strand around an already chaotic braid.

Shaelith watched with growing horror as they worked on Benderast’s hair.

Ben turned his head back and forth, trying to examine his work in the reflection of a crystal plate. “How do I look?”

The Shaeravyn nearby gave him confused looks, some barely managing to suppress their laughter. Belyssere, who was passing by, paused and looked at him with a concerned frown. “Poor boy,” she said gently, stroking his head. “Do you miss your mother very much?”

“What?” Benderast blinked. “No, I-”

Serevisse also leaned over to him with a concerned look on her face now and placed her hand on his forehead. “What symptoms do you have? You don’t have a fever, and I don’t see any obvious injuries.”

“Uh…” Benderast recoiled. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding…”

Shaelith sighed, apologized to her interrogators, marched to the other end of the table, and sat down next to Benderast.

“Make room,” she said to Mirrsoss, Grimbart, and Thaelon. “Come on, move it.”

They obeyed, albeit with confused looks.

Shaelith moved the chair, sat down behind Benderast and began to untangle the mess in his hair. The knots were stubborn, and she had to get closer than she would have liked.

“You just signaled that you are a child looking for his mother and that you are seriously ill,” she explained while she worked.

“Oh.” He sounded sheepish.

“What did you even try to do?” She glanced at the open book, which was open to the chapter on courting braids, and sighed. Figures.

“I guess it didn’t quite work out as intended.” At least he had the decency to look a little embarrassed, but then his expression brightened. “But you’re doing my hair! That’s a good sign, right?”

“Be quiet and hold your head straight.”

She worked quickly and not exactly gently as she undid the knots and replaced them with simple braids that didn’t make him look completely ridiculous. “Stranger in a strange land. Uninformed about local customs. I come in peace.”

The closeness made her uncomfortable, and she could still smell that he had drunk too much moss wine yesterday.

“You smell good,” he murmured.

“I smell like any other Shaeravyn.”

“Noooo, you-”

“Done.” She stepped back. “Don’t try to change it yourself. You’ll only make it worse.”

He turned around and gave her a beaming smile. “Thank you, Shaelith. That really means a lot to-”

“It means I don’t want you embarrassing me or House Vyrnara when you’re out and about.” She turned away. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

 

~

 

In the House Vyrnara healing station, Ryzinre sat upright in her bed and her silver hair fell loosely over her shoulders without any messages.

Physically, she looked much better. The healers had done a good job and her stomach was flat again, too. Only her eyes were different than before, looking older, and the echo of the horror she had experienced still lingered in them.

She flinched when Shaelith opened the door, but relaxed when she recognized her.

“You came,” Ryzinre said quietly.

“Of course.” Shaelith sat down on the chair next to the bed. “How are you?”

A long pause.

“Those things inside me are gone.” Ryzinre’s hand rested on her stomach. “The healers took care of everything.”

“Good.”

Silence stretched between them, still filled with much left unsaid. They didn’t talk about the needle Ryzinre had given her, Shaelith’s refusal to use it and what happened in the weeks that followed.

“I…” Ryzinre swallowed. “I thought things about you that weren’t nice. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m sorry.”

Shaelith nodded slowly. “Please don’t worry about it.”

“I’m very grateful to you for getting me out of there and making sure that I… that this…” She pointed to her stomach. “…was removed.”

“You’re important to me, Ryzinre.”

Ryzinre’s eyes glistened suspiciously. She blinked several times, fighting back tears. Shaelith took her hand. It was cold, but she returned the pressure.

“I hear you’re leaving,” Ryzinre said. “That you will put a stop to the Warlock.”

“Yes, if I can.”

“Kill him.” Ryzinre’s voice suddenly became harsh, and her eyes burned with a hateful intensity that almost frightened Shaelith a little. “Kill him, Shaelith. And do it slowly. Make it hurt.”

“Ryzinre-”

“I know what you’re capable of.” Ryzinre’s grip tightened. “I saw you fight. That’s when I truly understood for the first time that you are Matriarch Laenre’s daughter. I saw not only the polite diplomat that everyone knows, but also the other one, the one you hide.”

Shaelith was silent.

“Don’t hold back, please, not with him. Promise me.”

Shaelith thought of the breeding kennels, of the screams she had heard through the walls in her cage for two weeks. And of Vyriz, brave, foolish, wonderful Vyriz, hanging in chains somewhere, being tortured.

“I promise,” she said.

 

~

 

The briefing took place in a magically secured room deep within the heart of Vyrnara Palace.

A detailed map of enemy territory made of glowing spores floated above the central table, projected by a complex set of glyphs. Markings indicated known defensive positions and estimated troop movements.

Benderast leaned forward with interest. “This is pretty complicated. Is that the dungeon layout?”

“This is the region where we suspect the Warlock’s fortress is located,” Captain Norvyz corrected patiently, as if speaking to a slightly precocious five-year-old. “This is the most likely access route.”

As Norvyz explained the basic mission parameters, from the approximate location of the fortress to the known defenses and recommended routes, Shaelith noticed that the Vyrnara officers present were braiding rather strange and elaborate hair messages that together formed a message addressed to Shaelith.

“The Council of the Matriarchs has made a decision. The Matriarchs are following Matriarch Vyrnara’s proposal. Several teams of assassins will attack simultaneously. A massive offensive is being prepared. You are the distraction.”

She kept her expression completely neutral.

Benderast, completely unaware that he would not be the main event, rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. “All right! When do we leave? I’m ready to kick that warlock’s ass!”

“Right after the briefing,” Laenre said coolly. “Of course, my daughter will accompany you and your group.”

“I was hoping for that!” Benderast beamed. “Quality time!”

It’s not a fucking date, Ben.

Over the next few hours, they had a lot of logistics to take care of, equipment to assemble, and supplies to pack. Shaelith made sure she had ample reserves of mycelial ink with her.

Benderast tried to stay close to her and talk to her constantly.

“Can I help you carry that?” He pointed to a stack of supplies.

“I have servants.”

“You look really beautiful today.”

She ignored him.

“Oh, wait, let me-” His hand “accidentally” brushed hers as he tried to help her stuff a sleeping roll into her bag.

She pulled her hand back without looking at him.

Please tell me this isn’t going to go on for weeks.

In the background, Grimbart, Thaelon, and Mirrsoss exchanged pained glances, but Shaelith decided she had more pressing matters to attend to.

Vyriz.

 

~

 

The Gates of Myzelemaerlazin loomed before them, and Benderast, Grimbart, Thaelon, and Mirrsoss, who were veiled again, had their eye-masks removed by servants of House Vyrnara.

Now they were ready to step through the gate and set off, finally on the move, finally doing something.

But then Shaelith’s gaze fell upon a thoroughly pitiful figure.

He stood at the edge of the gate, a male Shaeravyn, so thin that his bones seemed to show through his skin. His posture was stooped, broken, and his head had been shaved bald.

When he saw Shaelith, he walked heavily toward her, opened his mouth, and Shaelith flinched briefly when she saw the stump where his tongue had been.

The man held a small package wrapped in cloth in his trembling hands. He held it out to her. Shaelith knew what it was even before she opened it.

The finger had been cleanly severed, the tissue still looked relatively fresh, and her heart sank when she realized she could even recognize the distinctive shape of the knuckle.

“COME” was carved into the skin of the severed finger.

The world around her blurred. Grief clawed at her chest, then anger, hot and burning and guilt followed. Vyriz had left because of her, had deserted because of her, and had been caught because of her.

Because he wanted to save me.

She felt her hands tremble. Her eyes burned.

No. Not here. Not now.

She couldn’t cry now. Not at the gates, where everyone could see her. She had a mission ahead of her. Shaelith wrapped the finger back up and handed it to a servant.

“Preserve it,” she said, her voice calmer than she felt. “Take it to our healers, they know what to do. Take care of this Shaeravyn, find out where he lives, to which house he belongs and bring him there.”

The servant bowed, motioned for the man to follow him, and disappeared with him toward the beetle carriages.

Benderast had come closer. “What was that? What happened?”

Shaelith did not answer immediately but turned and looked at her companions. Grimbart with his worried frown, Thaelon with his suspicious alertness, Mirrsoss nervously fluttering her wings again, and Benderast, who for once seemed to have enough situational awareness to realize that now was not the right moment to bother her.

“Don’t ask. We’re leaving now,” she said. “Right now.”

“But what-”

“We don’t have time to lose.”

Benderast shut his mouth, nodded silently, and then they marched together through the gate into the world beyond Myzelemaerlazin.