Vigil

The hours of the night slide past in imperfect silence.

A rat's scuttle, the distance clink of chainmail, her own breath made loud by the otherwise empty room. Even her pulse – felt as much as heard – thrums steadily in her ears. Alone in the dark Sveta kneels in the chapel of Belinsk Castle; knees cold against the stone before the altar.

Glory to Hermes, Lord of Healing.

Cleanse our wounds and dull the pain of our suffering. Forsake us not in our hour of need, Merciful One.

Glory to Iris, Lady of Light.

Cast the shadows from the day and the darkness from the night. Illuminate the path before us, Bright Goddess.

Glory to Astraeus, Lord of Insight.

Protect us from life's deceptions, from our delusions. Grant us the wisdom to tell truth from lies, All-Seeing King.

The mantras ebb and flow.

In the pauses she meditates on Queenship. On duty and piety and honour. On justice and truth and loyalty. On the compromises her advisors already whisper must be made.

She thinks of Matthew, of Karis, of Tyrell and Reif and Amiti. She thinks of the other four who had undertaken the desperate quest to the Apollo Lens with them even though they had not shared the same burden of responsibly. They had not been there in the Alchemy Dynamo when they had been pushed into making a terrible mistake. Had not born that stain upon souls but still risked their lives to end the destruction Luna Tower had wrought.

She thinks of the nightmare of Belinsk on the dawn of the Grave Eclipse.

She thinks of Volechek.

Patched and faded memories of an early childhood in Morgal after it had first been founded; brother and sister tangled together in endless bickering games. Dark ones from the Sanan occupation when he had returned to her again and again when she feared he would not. Bittersweet times from the golden years of his reign as she had been forced to accept that she could never bring back the man Volechek had been before the war.

She doesn't hold him to blame. How can she? The Tuaparang and Arcanus-who-is-Alex had also succeeded in tricking her into aiding their plans – had tricked them all. Sveta all too aware of the scars Volechek bore; his desperate fear for the fate of their people should Morgal be invaded again.

It is easy to hate the Tuaparang for exploiting his desire to protect; even easier than hating them for what they had twisted him into with the Umbra Psynergy unleashed by the Eclipse.

His despair at the suffering he had helped bring upon their people is something she will never forget.

Sveta makes a conscious effort to slow her breathing, relaxing her claws from where they had begun to dig into her palms. Her rage at the Dark Adepts and Reif's rogue clansman is greater than she'd believed herself capable of feeling but she must resist giving into it. There are still far too few answers. Too many things neither she nor her companions know.

It is important to remember that she has been wrong. That she will be wrong again – many times in all likeliness.

As Queen it would be devastating if she were to forget.

Glory to Iris, Queen of Rainbows.

Guard our lost brethren beneath your wings; protect them. Lead we who remain forward, Soul Guide.

Show us the way to move on.

She loved Volechek. She loves him still. She's glad their people love him too; though it is the king who has their adoration rather than the man who has hers.

In the peace of the night it is easy to let go of her anger, her grief. They will return, Sveta knows.

She bows her head to the gods again, continuing the wait for dawn.