QUEEN OF RUIN
Is it done?
Do not hesitate. Do not show reluctance. No weakness.
It is, she replied with a practiced ease. It brought her back to that village on the outskirts of the Orntsy province of roughly three hundred souls. It had not been easy then either, even when it had just been census reports and a name on a map. They were her people nonetheless. Hers to care for, to protect. The knights sworn to service were also hers to care for and protect. It was the one thing she and her husband had seen eye to eye on, even if their methods differed.
She had never gone to see the place, or the people. She thought it unnecessary. She left them rotting where they lay and told herself that she had no choice. She had no choice. But this?
This.
They were not her people. She had choices. It would have been more work, more time spent hunting down the dregs of Tristain's society, Men and woman she would not mind seeing dead. This reluctance, this...sensitivity was an almost foreign sensation. These were not her people.
But they are people, Father Kolsav's dusty voice pointed out dryly in her mind and she chased the ghost away with the recollection of his broken body on the Cathedral steps. She learned to do what she must. From her mother. From the demons. From the Church. The small, untainted corner of her soul filled with moonlight had consequences. These were the echoes of a dead girl, nothing more. Five people were not worth tormenting herself over, no matter their fate.
People died everyday.
She was poisoned for this, she thought with the kind of self-reflection she sometimes wished she didn't possess.
Her sacrifices. Her struggles. Her debts. It hadn't mattered, in the end.
There might be a lesson in that, she thought bitterly.
You may have them in seventeen days, she told the demon.
The countryside passed at a sedate pace. Cobblestone roads became packed dirt. Buildings and walls became farmland and trees. The sun overhead slowly, inevitably climbed its ascent behind brooding gray clouds threatening rain. Renia allowed herself a moment to simply breathe in the crisp air. It was clean, pure, without the ever present taste of chemicals and ash from factories or the smoke of cars. Instead, it smelled of grass and manure. The strangest pang of nostalgia hit her.
The demon purred within her mind, pleased. You should call on me more.
Should I?
It was an idle, rhetorical question.
It was dangerous to call on this one.
I could make you queen of this nation, it offered. Simply kill the girl.
Which girl?
She shifted her gaze. Some sixth sense, or perhaps it was simply coincidence, had Marie glance over at her and she met the curious look with a lazy smile that revealed nothing. Mollified, the girl turned back to her new book. A romance novel of some kind judging by the cover. Little Louise had long since given up on the proper posture, leaning her head against her arm with a bright smile on her lips and an embarrassed flush on her face as the princess recalled the story of two mud splattered girls in the palace gardens. Henrietta was unrepentant, with a laugh behind every other word. The princess was young, caught at that age between woman and girl. Needing to be the former but wishing to be the latter.
I will hold you to that, Empress. Renia could well remember the hint of something sharp and brittle in the girl's eyes. Henrietta was in the process of murdering the girl to become the woman, but she wasn't there just yet.
Marie's death would be inconsequential. Louise's would be problematic, for many reasons, but none of those reasons would get her any closer to a crown. Henrietta's...
Ah, well.
She knew now which girl.
A simple movement with her right hand would be all it would take.
And then?
Remove your memory from those at the Academy, be just another noble with a claim to the throne.
Oh, it was too late for that. News spreads, although Руин could do it, if she asked. A conceptual reset of awareness. She could find another Lord Maxwell, close enough to the Crown to be a contender and easily manipulated. In fact, was there not something about Louise's family? She could still keep the girl close.
Now intrigued, an amused smile flickered over her lips. Stage a rebellion on the heels of a royal death? You are learning from me.
You would win, it promised earnestly. A rebellion, or an invasion. You know me. We could mold this kingdom into your image.
It was a pretty, meaningless picture. It reminded her of an artist's rendition of the Summer palace that she had seen once. Eadred had been delighted with it, gushing about the warm tones and meticulous attention to detail. She looked at it, that image of royal aspirations and felt nothing. It was a large house on a cliff, in the end. She had none of the history, the upbringing, the appreciation necessary to see anything more.
Tristain was an insipid, backwater kingdom.
It is not this kingdom that I want.
That gave the demon pause. Rutenia?
It was mine.
It was never yours, it spat, harsh and cold. It will always have its King.
Her amusement in the conversation withered.
There are advantages to having a King.
If Eadred had known, she thought idly. A good man, her late husband had been, but a weak one. He had his morals, but he would have bent them for her. If he had been there as Edmund had, through the night terrors, the pain and the blood...He would have been horrified, yes, but he would have bent.
Perhaps she could have talked him into abdicating the throne for their son. Perhaps she could have given him that chance -
It would mean she placed a value on his life beyond the convenient.
She rested her head against the wooden frame of the window.
The demon spoke again, its voice once again soft and conciliatory. If we were to return, what would you have?
...nothing, she was forced to admit. She had been careful. All loyalties cultivated were for the Crown, not her personally. She never intended to rule forever. She was always going to outlive her son. Edmund had been her legacy. No true friends, for that would have given her enemies too many weaknesses to exploit. Lord Maxwell had been her closest confidant and he was gone. She kept herself alone and aloof from the court, satisfied only in obedience.
Not even family was left to her, not anymore.
Mother's fate should have taught her that family was just another weakness. She should have already learned that lesson.
She had thought of becoming no one and letting the years pass her by in failure. It would be more difficult in an age with cameras, the lingering photographs in newspapers and artist renditions of the royal family. It would be another debt begged for.
Her nails bit into her palm.
Let it go, Valeriya the demon crooned softly. Kill the girl.
It had never mentioned its Price.
I am not such a fool to believe you would offer this for free. She had been such a fool. Once. She learned. What do you want?
You, the demon said slowly, almost gently. It sounded the same. The same way it had when she had been standing over her mother's corpse, blood in her mouth. A silken touch ghosted over the scars of her right arm and then the inside of her thighs. Heat blossomed as the inside of the carriage seemed to shrink and press in on her lungs. It was then chased away by the ice cold chill of absolute horror.
It laughed. You remember.
Yes.
She remembered.
Her mouth went dry. Her next breath she let out slowly, fighting the urge to stiffen and pull away from its seeking touches. She set her chin in the palm of her left hand as she tracked the loping circles of birds in the sky as the fingers of her right curled in warning.
She was not her mother.
It withdrew with a disappointed murmur. No?
No.
Never again.
It did not get angry. It did not leave in a fit of pique. It curled about her instead, radiating a gentle warmth.
She preferred the anger, even if it meant pain.
She did nothing. She said nothing. In her peripheral vision, Louise bit her lip as she hesitantly asked after some knight captain. It followed the thread of her attention. She could feel it tense, wary, as it wrapped tighter about her throat. It was a work of a moment to press a demon like this one out of reality. A moment was all it would need.
It was how her mother died.
She smiled and turned to watch the countryside go by.
"Thank you," Marie said solemnly, prompting her to turn back from the window in her room, an eyebrow raised. Everything was packed away in their place save for her sword, still on the dresser with his ruby rose pommel catching the shadow of the dresser. The remains of morning tea had been cleared away. Her Arcanum sat within a small drawer and her crown had been returned to its usual shape on the dresser.
"Whatever for?"
The girl gave her a brilliant smile. Her necklace, a thin thread of entwined gold and silver shone on her neck as she clutched it between giddy fingers. "You know what for!"
Renia let out a little amused scoff. "Serve me well. That is all the thanks I need."
"I will!"
And she would. The necklace was enchanted.
She turned back to the window, tracking the clouds as a west wind gently pushed the wisps of white across the sky.
"I'd like to see it one day," Marie ventured.
Renia inclined her head, but did not turn around. "Rutenia?"
"What you've shown us - it's like a fairytale. The Cathedrals and the mountains and the -" she tripped over the word for 'train.' "The cliffs by the seaside and a cold desert? It's beautiful and grand and - "
"Yes," Renia murmured. "It is."
Let it go.
She invested too much into it to let it go. Too much time. Too much effort. Too many debts just to let it slip through her fingers now. To admit that she failed so utterly - she had it! For fifteen years, she had it!
It was her pride talking.
And what was she without her pride?
Renia prided herself on being an intelligent woman. She looked up at Tristain's clouds. Minimal knowledge of the ritual that brought her here. No knowledge of the Paths, hidden they might be beyond hostile forces. Even were she to use them, it would be as finding a needle in a haystack unless she made bargains with the Elfin. And they always took. She had the loyalty of one peasant girl. She had her demons. She always had her demons.
She had even less of them than when she started.
She had to let it go.
The polite knock at the door did little to alleviate the feeling of her heart finally ripping in two. They both turned to it and after a moment, Marie stepped into her role.
"Miss Longueville wishes to see you, your imperial majesty."
She wanted nothing more than to be alone in that moment, to take the day off to simply...think. It was a childish need for comfort that drove her to manifest her anchor without need.
Weak?
Yes, she admitted as it curled about her bare right arm. Forgive me.
It considered.
A thin red line tore itself open on her arm. Marie let out a gasp of alarm, but Renia waved her off with a rueful smile.
She expected nothing less.
She had hoped.
"Very well," she said as she cupped a tentative hand over the wound, stemming the sanguine stream as droplets splattered onto the floor. This would not kill her. "Send her in please."
She took a seat in the almost decadently stuffed chair and absently poured herself a cup of cold tea. The upholstery was steadily staining crimson underneath her, and she knew some of it was soaking through the layers of her white dress. A simple cantrip saw her tea bubble and steam as she gingerly took a sip then glanced up into Longueville's honey colored eyes. It was something about the shade of them, or perhaps it was the set of her jaw and the way she held herself. Perhaps it was the way her eyes stared unerringly at the demon supping at the blood on her arm.
"Marie, if you could excuse us?"
"Of course." The girl didn't understand, but then she did not have to. "Please send for me if you require…" Her blue eyes lingered on the red staining the chair. "Anything."
Renia nodded amiably as she settled back in the chair and gestured towards its twin with her tea cup.
"Please."
The woman sat down.
It was best to rip the bandage off quickly. "You had a dream."
"Was it one?" The woman fired back immediately, prompting a small, wry smile.
"No," she sighed. "Not really." There were theories and hypotheses. It was a common theme among the Awakened, something intrinsic to magic itself that prevented, or perhaps twisted was a better term, one's capability for dreaming. She could count on both hands how many times she found herself dreaming in her long years, and it had never been what it seemed. "It took the form of someone you know, someone you hold dear."
Longueville's eyes flashed and Renia stifled another sigh.
Руин was reliable like that.
"You must have made a decent impression. It didn't hurt you."
Longueville searched her face for something. "How do you know it didn't?"
"You would have been angry," Renia responded honestly. When necessary, Longueville knew how to suppress her reactions, but she could still be read. Everyone could be read. The only question was how difficult they made it. She had not missed the look in the woman's eyes when she had done her the favor of suppressing her soul, just to keep her eye color. Longueville responded to pain with rage.
She let the silence hang between them.
Gently, Renia prompted her. "What did it say to you?"
"Questions."
"Questions," she repeated , leading
"Yes." The secretary's eyes weren't on her. They were fixed on some point above and beyond her right shoulder. A quirked little smile on her lips. "What I wanted, how I wanted it achieved, what I would give to get it."
It was too late to give any advice. Any word Longueville spoke could not be taken back.
"I had hoped it would allow you the time to approach it on your own terms." She bit her lip. She should have known better. She should have known. A new world, new magic, an untapped population of victims. Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl. "It seems it was impatient, I apologize."
"What is it?"
"You know already," she said. "A king of spirits."
"And what," the woman began softly. "Are you to it?"
A black feeling sprouted a hundred legs and pincers as it gnawed on the lining of her stomach.
"You asked it about me." She held up a hand, cutting off the defensive retort as she set her cup down. There was a twinge of pain as her anchor scraped at the clotting wound. "No, it is...sensible. In your position I would have done the same."
She had done the same.
Tell me about my mother.
But she was not in her position, and left herself open to the same mistake.
Careless.
Sorceresses can never afford to be.
She could not make the same mistake with Louise.
"If you asked about me, Longueville, why are you here?" Renia mentally prepared herself for any and all answers. If they were to be enemies, then the woman would die. If they were to be allies against Руин then she would...welcome that, even as she would remain suspicious of it. If they were to simply be mutually exclusive, she would accept it. She was prepared for the answer to be the truth, and she was prepared for the lie.
"When's the next lesson?" was all the woman said.
Fair enough.
"Tomorrow evening. I have a feeling my schedule is going to be rather busy soon." There was a hint of apprehension in those eyes. It couldn't be the arrival of the remainder of the royal party, so what - ah, of course. The last time they met at night for a lesson. "Once," she said. "The Haunting is only once."
"Good," Longueville said, as if that had not been her worry.
"Contracted?" A shake of the head was her answer and Renia inwardly cringed. Руин was impatient, but not that impatient. It would wait. Her debt still hung over her. She could expect his influence to start burning on her tongue soon. "Then we have time. That's good." Then again, to herself as blood dripped down her arm. "That's good."
Longueville leaned forward a little, gesturing to her anchor with her chin.
Renia's answer was a small smile.
The secretary rolled her eyes. "Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow."
Longueville stood and made to leave. She paused before the door, glancing back around the room, looking for shadows. "You said you were taught by your parents."
Renia glanced up from her tea. "I did."
"Your mother out of spite, your father out of pride."
Ah.
Renia shrugged her uninjured shoulder with a somewhat sheepish expression, even as the black feeling in her stomach bit hard and bit deep.
Oh, Руин.
"It was proud of me, wasn't it?"
Longueville let out a startled caustic bark of a laugh. "Should I be worried?"
Renia's gaze had already been pulled back to the window. The view paled to the one outside her study, but she had a feeling it would be a long time before she found anything that could compare.
"Whatever for?"
The silence this time was comfortable.
"A tip for your busy schedule," Longueville said with the bored, contemptuous tone of someone that knew the consequences, but didn't care about them. "There's a rebellion in Albion."
Unbidden, the temptation came.
I could make you queen.
Her gold of her crown glinted on the dresser.
"Thank you," the woman that started two rebellions for power said.
And smiled.