Queen of Ruin
She couldn't negotiate like this, Renia thought. She lay in what was, for now, her bed, feeling the low burn of a fever radiating out from her head while the ache of internal bleeding throbbed deep beneath her skin. The room seemed emptier than ever, and it had begun feeling rather empty, but now idle glances of hers seemed drawn to the blank spaces. Her memory turned shadows into set pieces of gold and dark wood. A simple wooden fixture became the ceremonial spear and bow gifted from a prince of Niger as a crack in the stone wall became the large, sweeping painted fan from Zipangu. The reams of fabric she had requested gained all sorts of dazzling colors, streaked with silver and gold thread. Painted ostrich eggs, glass blown horses, clockwork jewelry. A wrack of crippling pain swept it all away.
It was focused in her stomach, was the idle thought. It made sense now why such an esoteric poison would have to be ingested, the weakest of all poisoning methods. Once the bleeding began there, with the stomach and then the intestines, it was a long, slow and almost sure death.
It as tenacious, lingering, and needed very little activity to activate the symptoms. Obviously, a lot of magic produced more dramatic results, but a little passive channeling resulted in what could have been a stomach ulcer. And if the victim was resilient, they would suffer for a very long time.
What a delightfully vicious tool against a magic user, she thought staring upwards. She did teach the boy well.
There was no satisfaction, only emptiness.
She couldn't function like this.
She wasn't anything like this.
She raised her right hand into her line of sight. Her fingers trembled, her pale skin flushed red. Durand had to be talked out of 'curing' her contract scars. A brief smile pulled at her lips. If only the scars could be so easily erased.
She tried, once.
He had felt so helpless and dismayed, of course. He had complained loudly about her exertion, forcing her to listen to every word. It was only after she passed his little examination with flying colors did, well his complaints didn't stop, but they did get quiet enough that she could pretend she didn't hear them.
Marie made it bearable. The girl believed in her the way only one who didn't know any better could. She would have to be cruel to the girl soon, before her untempered regard blossomed into something more inconvenient.
Something small, easily rationalized away by a member of the peasantry, Renia decided.
Her eyes drifted to her crown.
That was a terrible idea.
But unless she wished to confront this world crippled by poison, it was the only hope she had.
More debts.
She returned to staring at the ceiling. The silver moonlight filtering through the windows seemed muted, dull almost. As a child, she had loved the moon and the stars. They meant freedom, where the sun could not. She cupped her palm, like she used to long ago, and watched the light fill her hand. The woman that she was exploited her love of the moon and stars. She desecrated it. She defiled it. She bolted that concept of freedom to her very soul, to the small corner the demons could not reach by design.
The moonlight would burn going down, she knew.
She would then die.
She did not want to die, not then.
And not now.
She got out of bed. Her body's attempt to protest with dizziness and shortness of breath were acknowledged, and then set aside as she strode over to the table. The cold gold chilled her fingertips as she hefted its familiar weight and gazed into the dark ruby crowning its front. Within the red, she could see the dark fire come to life.
Ask, Руин purred with her mother's voice.
"The price for cleansing my body and magic of the venatus ignos spores."
One of these magi, came the immediate reply and Renia felt a chilling prickle caress the back of her neck. She'd seen what became of mages given to demons before. She'd been very lucky, the kind that had to be engineered by several generations of births and murders. She had the talent, and more importantly, was infertile.
Her eyes closed and to her relief, the memory didn't haunt that darkness.
She could bear to see it again.
"For the demons?" She clarified.
Them? It chuckled. Her mother had always had that airy, trilling laugh that even a broken neck couldn't take away. No, for me.
"I will never be your whore," she snarled into the quiet. Calm! Her mind screamed at her as the dark fire in the ruby smiled. Peace. Think. She could not afford to scuttle the deal before it had even been made. She forced herself to breathe in, deep. "I will not hide you," she declared. "Nor will I hide your power. Should any show interest - " they can seek you out like I had to - "I will...perform the introduction."
She would damn them.
She held her breath, preparing to defend her words.
Acceptable.
The pain that followed was blinding.
Her vision went white. Her very existence shrunk into a ball of sensory deprivation; there was no smell, touch, sound or taste. Only agony. She had already known to paralyze her vocal chords, and her scream nearly broke though the cantrip. She could feel it, the way nearly every inch of her soul ignited.
Then it was over, and she was left gasping for breath.
Someone had not appreciated the open-ended bargain, she thought dimly.
"You could have - " she gasped, futilely grasping for control over her voice. "You could have just said no."
Too much? It asked with her mother's faint simper. I apologize for that, girl, but you know that -
"Pain is an important part of the process," Renia whispered along. She didn't have to look into the ruby to see the dark fire smile.
You understand, of course you do. It's just, well, that pride of yours Valeriya. It's dangerous to keep.
She said nothing and Руин tsked.
You should answer when spoken to.
"It is dangerous," Renia blandly agreed, her sight fixed on the window with the moonlight of two moons spilling through it. "I will keep it, all the same."
Have you forgotten how to address me as well, girl?
Her voice did not waver. "I will keep it, all the same, Mother."
Her mother's voice sighed. I suppose you will. It isn't healthy for sorceresses to lie to themselves, is it?
Then it too, was gone and Renia allowed the crown to fall from numb, frostbitten fingers. She took a step back from the table and took several moments to simply breathe.
She used to get angry.
It was no use being angry.
She chose this.
She chose this.
She slipped the familiar, cold weight of her Arcanum over her right arm, threading her middle finger through the ring at the end and locking the clasp around her shoulder with a simple, practiced movement. There was no pain. She turned towards the fabric reams. She still had a few too weak to protest too much, and too weak to demand much from her, and so she set them to work recreating some of her wardrobe from the patterns. Asymmetric sleeves, subtle movement through the pieces and more conservative on opulence. They would wonder where she pulled more pearls and jewels from, the most she recalled from the girl's memories were the transmutations of gold.
Plebian.
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She could function like this.
She could negotiate like this.
She chose a red and gold dress in the end. The temptation to wear her original white pearl one was strong, because it was so obviously above and beyond what anyone wore here, but that had its dangers. Repeating an outfit sent a certain message, one of desperation or unease, clinging to the familiar. A new one? Self-sufficiency. And one in such a short time frame told of nothing else but magic.
She tried it on, the dress splitting itself in half to shroud her and sealed itself at the back.
Perfect.
She was ready.
She was not ready.
"Let me - " she cut Osmund off through another of his apologies. "Let me summarize. You do not know what makes the Springtime Familiar Summoning ritual work." He nodded. "It cannot be reversed, by virtue of no one knowing where to even begin and if anyone did, it would be the Church and the ritual is sacred." She resisted the urge to knead her temples, taking a sip of her tea instead.
Bloody, fucking religions.
"And you are all scared to death of the Elfin."
Nothing was going the way she hoped. They sat across from each other at a round table laboring under a decent porcelain tea set. The tea had a bite to it, telling her something about what the man assumed about her. He assumed wrongly, but she gave no indication that she had much more of a sweet tooth.
"For a very good reason," the Headmaster intoned seriously. "A force of five thousand against three hundred Firstborn was …"
And any sort of negotiations was out of the question because of religion, of course.
Osmund was eyeing her. "Your nation was not so much on the back foot, was it?"
"Of course not," she nearly spat. While not entirely successful, murdering magic was generally a good start on making the Elfin toothless outside of their Paths in her world, and upsetting the balance with a lot of things in general.
Religion.
"Our Royal Family has always been the custodians of magic, from the dangerous to wield to the dangerous to know. I trust it is the same here?" He nodded again, but there was a certain hesitance caused by that inconvenient, contrary stray thought coming to mind. Ah, so the Royal Family were not the sole arbiters of what magic was dangerous. The Church held a strong influence over Tristain's Crown then. Too strong. "There you have it, we were fortunate enough to come into knowledge of - you call them Firstborn? - magic and have used it against them ever since." Technically true. "Surely you know of contracting spirits?"
Osmund brightened. "Ah, yes, in fact one of our own families have had a generational long contract with the spirit of Lagdorian Lake, however, not necessarily one useful for defense."
Then your contract maker was either an idiot, bigoted, or both.
"It is much the same then, just expanded upon. Broadened, so to speak." Her Payment burned on her tongue. "The Elfin have their own innate magic, but it is subtle enough. Their contracts are the problem, and with enough experience, you can find the weakness in those."
Experience they would never get, but it was harmless enough advice.
"I need to use their Paths," she murmured. It was the only method of travel between worlds that she knew of, as dangerous and uncertain as that method was. "It would be in your best interest that I find a way to return to my kingdom, before my kingdom finds a way to come here, agreed?"
"Agreed," the man said quickly. "Unfortunately, I am not in the position to make any promises, but!" He rushed ahead of her. "The Crown of Tristain, Cardinal Mazarin and Princess Henrietta are due at the Academy in a few days and you are welcome for as long as you wish it."
"Fine," she allowed, setting her cup down. It had not failed to get her attention that he had yet to address her by title. There was a fine balance between respecting one of a higher class, and placing yourself under their purview. "Then you are in the position to fulfill a separate request of mine."
He tensed. "And that is?"
"The girl, my summoner, I wish to speak with her." She rolled her eyes. "Don't make that face, you knew this was inevitable."
He didn't release the hesitant expression. "Would meeting her here be acceptable?"
Under his supervision? What did he think she was going to do, swoop down on the girl and fly off into the sunset? She refrained from rolling her eyes again, scoffing a little into her tea cup.
"More than acceptable."
He stroked his beard before getting up from his chair. "Then I shall fetch her post haste."
The moment he left the room, Renia glanced over to the side behind her where his green-haired secretary silently filled out and sorted papers behind a cluttered desk.
"You should hide it better."
The woman froze for a split second. A practiced, nervous smile was on her face. "I'm sorry?"
"Your contempt," Renia clarified with a small, knowing smile. It was a certain kind of contempt. The one people who saw people as people, but still didn't really care had. "You should hide it better."
She found herself studied by shrewd, narrowed eyes.
"Longueville," the woman introduced herself, having been too low of a social class for an introduction of her own when the meeting had began. The secretary cracked a crooked smile. "I know who you are already."
Then pay attention, murderer, and you might know what I am as well, Renia thought.
"You pay attention, huh?" Longueville remarked casually. "All the girls that deal with you...they have a good impression of you."
It didn't take much, to be fair.
"I have a personal investment in ensuring that is the case."
"Right," Longueville smirked. "Poison?"
Unbidden, Renia's eyes fluttered closed.
She wished.
"Vindication," she breathed. Before the woman could respond, Renia held a finger up to her lips. Hush. Company.
Longueville blended into the background, hefting a piece of paper with the seamless transition of a practiced assassin, or thief. Idly, Renia wondered what her price was. Something personal, she reasoned. The one thing she cared for. Something that needed long term solutions, or else someone like the 'secretary' would have already self destructed.
A person, in constant danger. A hostage of some sort. Nothing direct or overt as that would turn that cutting contempt on to an obvious target. Bad family situation?
It was habit, by now, she realized. From fifteen years of running a kingdom, it was a habit to weigh the cost and benefit of acquiring certain forms of talent.
She had her demons. The habit would have to be broken.
Osmund entered the room looking a lot more relaxed than he had leaving, but she could tell it was an affectation. He wanted to put the girl at ease even as the look he gave her was filled with nothing but apprehension.
Louise was a small girl.
Her pink hair was obviously well cared for, and she wore the Academy uniform well, even if it gave her the appearance of a fourteen year old and not the seventeen she was. She held herself stiffly, wooden, mechanical movements that spoke of inexperienced aping of someone else.
Someone stronger.
Renia smiled. "A pleasure to finally meet you face to face once more. Your name?"
The girl curtseyed. "Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière, your Imperial Majesty."
She didn't remember. Not clearly. She could see the vacancy in her pink eyes. Cutting off the mind delve so abruptly had fortunate consequences it seemed.
That was a relief.
She had more to worry about than one noble girl screeching about being tortured for information.
She gestured toward the seat across from her, and the tea set moved. Osmund's nearly empty cup refilled itself as it floated over to his desk, unsubtly banishing him from the table, as another poured itself out.
"Sugar?" She asked, keeping a very close eye on how close the shadows came to the girl. A stray brush could ruin the show. A little milk was added before she served the cup personally. Louise's eyes widened a little as she carefully took it from her hands. "Renia Maxwell Ruten of the kingdom of Rutenia," she introduced herself. "The Dowager Empress."
Behind them, Osmund winced.
"Your Headmaster tells me that the summoning ritual used does not allow the mage to choose the...familiar."
"Yes!" Louise rushed to confirm. "I had already failed it once when - I had no indication that it would summon one of your standing, your Imperial Majesty."
She ignored the plea. "You tried twice?"
Slowly, Louise nodded.
That meant something. "And I assume there are ritual words calling for the familiar, would you repeat them for me?"
The girl's face went white as she desperately looked at her Headmaster, who could only give her a helpless shrug in return.
"My - " Louise began haltingly. "My servant who exists - "
Renia's cup shattered.
"Oh," she said. "My apologies." She carefully picked the shards out of her left palm as a shadow swept the liquid from the table and her lap. For affectation, it brushed the stinging hot water against the palm of her hand as the wounds sealed, before carelessly throwing the mess into the rubbish bin. "I hope you did not stop on my account."
Longueville let out a suspicious sounding cough.
"My servant who exists somewhere in this vast universe," Louise began again, resigned. "My divine, beautiful, wise and powerful servant, heed my call. I wish from the very bottom of my heart, add to my guidance...and appear." She slumped in her chair. "That's the one that worked."
"And the one that didn't?"
"My name is Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière," she managed a weak smile when Renia kept her expression calm. "Pentagon of the five elemental powers, heed my summoning... and bring forth...my familiar."
"Open," Renia remarked blandly. It was always in the wording. She tilted her gaze upwards towards the ceiling. "Perhaps your first attempt was too open."
"It - It worked for everyone else!"
Renia couldn't help the small smile at the petulant tone. The answer was already in the pilfered memories, but she had to seem as if she was building to a conclusion. "Do you often have trouble failing where others have succeeded?"
The urge to scream no was clear on the girl's face, but in the end what came out was a whisper.
"Yes."
"And correct me if I am mistaken, but you separate your elements here, don't you Osmund? Each mage has an affinity to one or several of the five?"
"Earth, Fire, Water, Wind," Osmund said with the tones of someone used to teaching. "No one has had the affinity for the fifth in six thousand years."
Renia blinked and filed that away. "And the familiar is to suit the mage, yes?"
"That is the thought."
"Then perhaps the second incantation worked for a reason." Renia smiled a slow, sad smile. This might hurt her. Remembering. Her Payment burned on her tongue. "Perhaps we...share affinities, for you see, when I was a child?"
That pride of yours, Valeriya.
"I was a failure, with an affinity for nothing at all."