Fragile Desperation

By Treanz-Alyce

Rating: PG13

Summary: Deceived, Lianne has lost control. The demise of Jonathan of Conte ushers in a chaotic series of events that will complete a shadow's legacy.

Warning: This contains death. And mild incest. And now insanity. ;) (What a happy little fic!!!)

Author's Note: Box of chocolates to Rosie, who is awesome, and a big hug to Ammie too!

Chapter 2…

Fighting Fate…

There was a knock at the door. She did not rise to answer it, but rather left it to one of her ladies to take care of. Listening, she heard the rustle of fabric as the maid dipped into a curtsey, murmuring "Your Highness.". Lianne remained seated, her eyes fixed firmly on the open page of her book.

Prince Liam entered a moment later. His unsteady limp, the result of a riding accident, was far more noticeable when one paid attention to the quickening of his steps. She ignored him, pretending to be engrossed in her book.

"Lianne?" His voice, though thick with emotion, was nevertheless commanding.

Slowly, she turned to face him. "Liam." On the other hand, her tone was bored, annoyed at the disturbance.

He swallowed, suddenly awkward. "I don't know how to say this." Liam's blue eyes flickered skyward, as if asking for the strength to continue. "It's Father. Something is wrong – you must come with me now."

"Father?" she gasped. "How so?" Lianne inwardly marveled at the way her shock sounded so sincere.

"I- I don't really know. I've heard fragments. But you need to come right away. I think- I think, he's been…" Liam's voice trailed off, his eyes showing what threatened to be a faint brim of tears.

A tear slid down her own cheek. "Killed?" She sniffed. "I know." Her eyes overflowed.

He stiffened. "What?" Then he shook his head, attempting to clear it. "Anne, please just come with me."

She stood. As she did, she caught sight of her face in the looking glass and was delighted to notice the way tears slowly slipped down her porcelain skin. On the surface though, she pouted a bit more, looking the part of a distraught princess.

"Very good, my dear, very good," he whispered.

She wasn't the only one delighted with her deceit.

"I do not care for such idle chatter." Her voice was clear and cold, slicing through the heavy air.

"But, your Highness, we were only trying to distract you from the tragedy at hand," her lady-in-waiting protested.

"Nonsense." The princess's tone was overly aggressive, catching her mother's attention.

Thayet spoke in a low voice to her daughter, flashing her a look of warning. "Lianne, these ladies share and understand our mourning for his Majesty."

"'Tis grief," one courtier confirmed in a whisper, "for her poor father." Most of the room's occupants made the star-shaped Sign against Evil on their chests.

Her lips, now cracked and dry, split into a cruel smile. "Don't you see, you fools?" she asked harshly, glancing from one nameless face to another. She held up shaking hands for all to see. Yet she alone watched scarlet blood drip down her fingertips, pooling on the polished floor. At last, Lianne's gaze rested intently on Thayet. "There is blood on my hands, Mother." Her voice broke, shrilly, "I have blood on my hands. And never again will they be clean!"

There was silence until one brave lady stepped forward. "Highness, you must not be feeling well." She reached out to assist Lianne, who slapped her viciously. The woman staggered back as others cried out in alarm. Lianne shoved another courtier aside as she made to run to the door.

Suddenly, the world swirled in inky blackness.

Lianne fell, caught by Cythera of Naxen.

Lianne stirred. Squinting, she could make out a figure above her.

"My darling."

Dazed, she half-smiled, recognising the voice.

"You have done well. Very well."

Her smile widened, despite being disorientated.

"The assassination of the King was carried out smoothly."

She felt a hand stroke her face tenderly.

"Framing Sir Zahir was a stroke of genius."

A ghostly kiss brushed her forehead.

"And Tortall grieves, a kingdom's crux lost."

Subconsciously, she reached for comfort in the warm body.

"But there is still work to be done."

"Tell me," she rasped, her throat dry.

"You wish to act already?"

"Yes!" Her brittle voice was feverish.

"Patience is a virtue, dear one."

Lianne whimpered. She reached out to grasp at nothing with her bony hand.

"You seem hungry."

The voice was mocking but without effect - the irony of her many hungers escaped her.

"I can now be freed. We may be together soon."

A sharp intake of breath.

"No doubt one as skilled as you could easily manage the process…"

"What," she croaked, "is it?"

"This."

Briefly, she saw an image; a labyrinth of magical symbols, curving, twisting, and dipping across a cold stone floor. As she reached to touch the picture with her Gift, she felt a searing pain flare up – she was burnt by it, branded. Her eyes snapped open.

Thayet gazed down upon her daughter, hazel eyes haunted with worry.

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