Avarice

Chapter 29: The Who, The Why, And The What

The curiousness of your potential kiss

Has got my mind and body aching

Really hurt me baby, really cut me baby

How can you have a day without a night?

You're the book that I have opened

And now I've got to know much more

Unfinished Sympathy – Massive Attack


Alden.

Naveena's stomach felt as though it was filled with ice water. She stared at the boy, her entire body as still as an untouched pond. No Name's whole body seized, and he began to laugh, head smacking against the top of the chair, the legs scooting backwards, his head tipped in laughter.

It was a mocking sort of laughter, almost forced, "HA! HA! HA! HA!"

Naveena moved away, her back straightening as though it were a pole. She walked towards Reaver now, her eyes lowering to her feet, which seemed as heavy as lead. She stopped at his left shoulder.

"Make it fast." She whispered, and then she was gone.


A single gunshot rang throughout Bowerstone Castle.

Her hands were braced against the edges of the chamber pot again. The back of her eyes stung, and watered. Naveena spat, and then closed her eyes, breathing heavily. Her whole body felt like it was going to explode.

Alden. Alden. By the Light, she had shared private thoughts with that man. Had eaten with him, treated him as though he were a friend.

Why hadn't he killed her then? He had had every opportunity then, to kill her. And he hadn't taken it. What had changed? Naveena tried to think, her eyes shut tight.

Her thinking process was slow, muddled, her thoughts dragging and merging and separating and stop—

Naveena's whole body lurched. An unfeeling chill spread throughout her body as she stood, legs shaking.

She knew what had to be done.

Naveena could hear her heart pounding in her ears, slow, steady, like the beating of a war drum. When she returned to the War Room, the body was gone, and Ben and Walter were there, watching her warily as she entered. Reaver was gone.

"Your Majesty…" Walter approached, softly. Naveena slunk away from him when he tried to touch her shoulder. Her eyes were unfocused, and she stood before the Map Table in the War Room.

This is my Albion.

"We've a name. A face." Naveena started, her voice like poison. "Alden, of Bloodstone, is now an enemy to the Crown. A traitor of the worst sort."

"Bloodstone is not a part of Albion, Your Majesty, the jurisdiction of the Crown ends there." Walter spoke up, moving to stand beside Naveena as she leaned against the map. Her eyes were narrowed, squinting.

"Then we will make it a part of our jurisdiction!" She snapped, head whipping round to look at Walter. Her eyes seemed so blue that they burned like ice. For a moment, the woman that stood before Walter was not Naveena, but Sparrow herself. "I won't let that murderer get away with what he's done!"

Ben, who had kept silent, murmured under his breath, "And what about Logan?"

It seemed accidental, as his eyes had widened and he'd lifted his chin to look at her. Walter shot him a look of disapproval.

"I… sorry, Your Majesty."

Walter's gaze lingered on Ben, but turned softer when he looked again at Naveena, and said, "Is it really worth using up our resources for one man, Your Majesty?"

"One man," Replied Naveena, her voice as soft as sin and just as deadly. "One man who murdered the previous Hero Queen, my mother, who attempted to kill me and all that is important to me! Do you think he will simply give up, now that his assassin had failed? That it will end there? Do you think he will simply not just send more, more to kill me or Logan, even Elliot? I am no longer safe in my own castle!"

She banged her fists against the edge of the Map Table, startling Ben though he tried to act smoothly as though she hadn't.

It was then that she whispered, so quietly that they had to strain to hear, "I will burn Bloodstone to the ground."

The whole room fell into silence. It was a silence that carried in the air, the people within, the grain in the wood. It was a silence which seemed half-alive, a specter that made his home in the ostentatiously decorated room of the War Room.

The doors opened and closed.

"Sister." Said Logan.

Naveena looked at him, her eyes fierce and cold.

"Leave us." She told Ben and Walter, and they did as commanded. When the doors had closed behind them, Naveena regarded her brother with newfound hostility, "I don't want to talk, Logan."

"You're going to take Bloodstone." His voice was as steely as an accusation.

"You were eavesdropping." Naveena hissed. "But of course, I can't expect anyone to leave me alone these days."

"Do you think this wise?" Logan's voice raised, and he stepped forward, glowering at his sister. "To take the army away from Bowerstone? The Darkness is out there, Sister. We need to prepare for the real threat!"

"I will do what I feel is necessary for this kingdom." She put a finger in his face. "I am the Queen."

Logan snatched her wrist, squeezing tightly, throwing the finger out of his face.

"Naveena, please." He said, looking into her face. "You're frustrated. Nor are you thinking clearly."

Her head bowed, her gaze lowered to her feet. She felt like a child again.

"You think I don't see it?" Logan asked, carefully, grasping her by the shoulders. "Don't think I've been through it?"

"Nothing you can say," Retorted Naveena, firmly. "Is going to change my mind, Logan." Her words were echoes.

"You said that before."

"I'm bringing you with me," She stated, feeling tears at the corners of her eyes. She would not cry. "To face our mother's killer. You have to come."

"And why is that?" Asked Logan, pulling away from her. His face was like metal.

"You're my brother. And she was our mother." She whispered to him. "What other reason would I need?"

Logan's shoulders slumped almost obediently, but the muscles in his face were rigid and taut. His head dipped in acquiescence, stiff and forced. Naveena turned her head away from him, looking out at the window. The rain had stopped.

She felt nothing but a black emptiness within, and questioned, "Where is Reaver?"

Her brother eyed her warily, and there was a deep-seated accusation within those dark eyes that made Naveena's stomach squirm.

"He left for his home, in Millfields." And then, softly, "Why?"

"I would like to speak with him. He's coming as well." She moved past him, feeling his eyes on the back of her head, like two small little drills boring holes into them, searching obtrusively for something he would never get out of her.

She left for Reaver's Manor, head held high.


"Well, Your Majesty, I hadn't thought to see you so soon!" Reaver had greeted her the moment she stepped into his Manor, striding out of the shadows as though he had been a part of them himself. "Missed me, did you? Not that I mind but—"

"Quiet." Her voice was like a knife, and the command came easily to her. But it made Reaver smile widely. "We need to talk."

Reaver strode down the steps. He was wearing nothing but a black silk shirt, his trademark white pants, and the black boots he so often wore. It struck her as odd to see him dressed so casually. But she dashed the thought away, lest she get distracted.

"Oh, whatever about?" Asked Reaver, shrugging. He was watching her with calculating eyes. "If it's about that dreadful little boy, well, he went on about nothing when you left. Really, nothing that will help you in your investigative pursuits."

"We're taking Bloodstone." She said, quickly, backing away from him. She wanted a wide berth. Reaver noticed this and his eyes crinkled with delight. He laughed.

"Taking Bloodstone? Why," He chuckled here, again, tucking a strand of inky black hair back into place. "Such a thing is impossible, Your Majesty. No one can simply take Bloodstone."

"We're burning it the ground. It and Alden, too." Here, she allowed herself a cruel smile. "Taking anything of value and leaving it a razed wasteland."

Reaver's whole body seemed to shake in delight, "How delightfully evil! Burning a town of," He raised a hand, counting fingers. "Harlots, pirates, bandits, murderers, cutthroats… the list goes on and on, Your Majesty, but I shan't bore you with the semantics."

"I thought you would like that."

"Well," Reaver pursed his lips. "You spoil me. How strange, though. It is only after our little – ah – rapports sexuels est that you become so devious." He looked at his manicured nails. "I must be a powerful influence, meurtrier!"

The words stabbed deeper than she wanted to admit, and she forced herself to look unperturbed at his words, "It is what is best for Albion, and my family."

Reaver looked at her though, smiling, but the smile hadn't reached his eyes. He seemed unaware of the slip in his mask, "Oh. Hide behind pretty words all you like, meurtrier. One can't change the truth, however."

"I'm not like you." Naveena said, icily. She glared daggers at him.

"Of course not!" This time, there was no crack in his composure. "You are reflexion de la mere! Your mother's daughter!"

"She wasn't like you either." She pointed at him. "You're one to talk about hiding behind pretty words!"

And she spun on the heel, infuriated and angry and frustrated with everything, wanting to leave the mansion and be done with him, this man, who made her feel too much, and she hated him and—

Thunder rolled across the skies. Naveena stopped where she stood, feet clicking abruptly against the tiled floor of his Manor. The sky seemed to crack like an egg, because the storm picked back up again, the rain slow at first, then relentless and hard. She could almost hear Reaver smile.

"Weren't you going somewhere, Your Majesty?" Asked Reaver, folding arms over his chest. "You certainly looked as though you were."

Naveena tossed him a cold glare over her shoulder, and retorted, "I was going somewhere. Unfortunately, I rather prefer not looking like a wet cat. So, I'm afraid I'm going to have to count on your nonexistent hospitality, Reaver."

"Nonexistent indeed!" He made a shooing motion with his hands. "Go on. Scat."

Instead, Naveena moved past him, and up the stairs. Reaver tutted, but a smile as wide as a blade had cut across his lips. He treaded after her.

"Really now, for a Queen to forget her courtesies! Your mother would be rolling in her grave." And then he corrected, "Ah, crypt. Or catacomb. Or whatever."

"Shut up." Naveena threw back at him. She stopped halfway up the steps, and Reaver almost crashed into her. She then added, "It's quiet here. Where are your servants?"

"Gone." Reaver said, frowning. "Allow me to simply say that some fool thought to argue for these silly little things called rights. He managed to get all of my servants to follow in the endeavor and well," He gestured around the mansion with outstretched arms. "You can see, can't you? You have eyes!"

"And just how many did you kill?"

Reaver shrugged, "I lost count, I'm afraid. And I do so love to keep a tally on these things!"

Naveena narrowed her eyes, and continued to walk up the stairs. Reaver quickened his pace so he was at her side, brushing her shoulders. Her stomach fluttered in its annoying little way, and it made her even more frustrated than she was before.


The clock ticked away, tick-tock, tick-tock, and Naveena found herself unable to do anything but watch it. She'd retired in one of the servants' rooms, wanting to be as far away from Reaver as humanly possible without being out in the rain. The fop was, of course, in his own lavish bedroom, alone. (And that surprised Naveena, though she supposed even he needed to be alone at times.)

Within the hour, a certain wanderlust took over her and she rose from the bed, taking to the halls like a rat took to the sewers. It was certainly quiet in Reaver's mansion; an unnatural sort of quiet that hadn't been present there the last time she'd slept here. The portraits in the halls hung around her, half-hidden in shadows that she didn't enjoy the sight of. She felt as though Reaver were watching her from all sides, with all those eyes.

Naveena shivered involuntarily, and continued walking around. Eventually, she found herself in the library. This was where everything had really started, she thought, moving along the lines of cherry bookcases. The library itself hadn't been cleaned since her last visit. In fact, it almost seemed untouched. There were books strewn across the grounds, novels and biographies, the written word in a state of almost dismaying disarray.

She tiptoed around piles, looking for something remotely boring to read, wanting sleep more than anything in the entire world at the moment.

Naveena placed The Amazing Exploits of Baron Barnaby Beadle on the shelf beside Becoming A Parent, which made her laugh at the almost ludicrous books within Reaver's selection. Eventually, she found something very familiar.

It was the diary she'd found a few months ago. Reaver's diary. It was black and leather-bound, with red writing curling on the front. Naveena stopped, tensing. She thought it would have been gone by now, moved by Reaver or destroyed or something at least. Naveena couldn't believe he had just left it here again, where anyone could pick it up.

She didn't deny the curiosity that was rising in her. She wanted to know. It was a morbid interest, of wanting to know what made up the man, the monster that had captured her interest the moment she'd seen him. Morbid, and wrong, and bloody stupid.

Naveena sat against one of the bookcases, knees up against her chest, the diary opened in her hands.

And she read.


This is my first night back since the renovations, and I must say that chap from Rookridge has done a splendid job. A small miracle considering he'd recently lost three toes and two family members.

But what was I to do? He wouldn't be persuaded to abandon the construction of some worthless temple to aid me in my time of crisis. And his predecessor had simply the worst taste in furnishings. I was generous to let him live as long as I did.

Now that awful scent of burned wood and flesh has dissipated, perhaps I shall throw a party. Ursula and Penelope will be my guests of honor. Shame Andrew crumbled to ashes in the fire. What a sweet young fellow... But such a heavy sleeper.

It's good to be home after these three last months at sea. My ship barely made it back to port under the weight of such spoils, and then only after we disposed of those less valuable.

It was a pity to see my new brides sink into the ocean. But their sizeable attributes rendered them unfeasibly heavy. And I'd already tossed all non-essential crew members into the ever undulating arms of the kraken.

I believe my most cherished memory from this voyage has to be the discovery island far to the south of Albion, among waters of an indescribable blue. There, men and women consort in ways even I found slightly objectionable.

They have little need for clothing under that gentle sun, and their fondness for a syrupy liqueur made from an obscenely-shaped fruit made it almost to too easy to plunder their possessions. I might have stayed there forever, had it not been for the monkey incident.

I am filled with a wonderful weariness tonight. My bedroom is far too crowded to get a good night's sleep, and I'm too indolent to eject any of my lovely guests. Instead I thought I would sit in my study sipping a restorative beverage, and enjoying my own company.

It reminds me of my very first evening in this house. My bedfellows were fewer and less charming then, but I had less energy left anyways. It isn't every day that one murders a pirate king, and takes his place.

Oh, I had the vigor of youth back then. Real youth. How many must have I killed on my way to this very room? I shall never forget the look on the brigand's face, one so ill-suited to royalty of any kind. How he came to such a position being so slow on the draw is a perfect mystery.

I feel somewhat reinvigorated now, and I hear stirrings upstairs. Perhaps the night the night isn't quite over yet.

I received an unusual visitor today, an adventurer who'd toddled in through Wraithmarsh, losing neither life, limb nor sanity on the way.

This alone would have been sufficient to mark her as a unique individual, but once I'd learned /she'd escaped from the demented grip of none other than Lord Lucien, I had knew I had quite a catch in my hands.

I sent an emissary to speak with Lucien and come to a lucrative arrangement. Since the time of the tribute is nearing - I can already feel the wrinkles begin to form on my face - I sent the poor cow to the Shadow Court to keep her busy. I'm sure the old loon in the Spire won't mind if I post her back slightly decrepit. Should make it easier to keep her locked up.

I think I'll celebrate my good fortune be commissioning a new portrait. I've heard of a chap with some sort of magical apparatus that renders almost lifelike results. I believe his name was Barnum, I shall have him brought to me today.

I awoke from the nightmare again. One would think more than two hundred years would suffice to blunt it's steel. But still I see Oakvale devoured by shadows. Still those shrieks fill the air. How much longer must I live before they fall silent?

Such dreams belong to another time. To another man. One who would recoil from the things I've done since that night. Who might even care about all the sacrifices I've offered up to the odious Judges over... over how long? Hundreds of years?

I see that man as he was back then. As beautiful as me, as fiery as me, but so delicate. So breakable. And so afraid of death. I see him summon the Shadow Court into this world, oblivious to the consequences. He asks them for immunity for the disease of time and death, and they grant it.

Then I see him running madly through fields, the realisation of just what price he has unwittingly paid hanging like a tragedy mask from his face. He falls to his knees before the town he called home- now a dark circus of screams. Hers is among them, but he can do nothing to stop it.

What a weak, despicable man he is. But I am not he. I am Reaver. And I will sleep much better after this chalice of wine.


Naveena closed the diary with light hands, feeling at the moment more weary than she had ever felt before. Her ears rang, a long, dull note that bothered her intensely. She let the diary fall beside her, and waited to feel something.

She felt nothing, except for pity. Not disgust. Not even hatred. Just pity. A sort of empathy that didn't belong.

Naveena closed her eyes.


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