This chapter was a challenge because I needed to find a way to "show" how much of a monster Even was while still keeping things relatively tasteful, which really limited how much could be shown. The overdue M-rating offered more legroom, but I still didn't want to cross too heavily into trigger territory, so I don't know how successful I was.
Chapter Sixteen: House of Calamity—Year One
There is no hate, only joy,
For you are beloved by the goddess,
Hero of the dawn, healer of worlds!
Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul.
Pride is lost.
Wings stripped away, the end is nigh.
—From Act II of the epic poem, Loveless
By an author obscured by the passage of time
The streets of Radiant Garden; midday of February the third…
The sable cab screeched to a halt just before entering the city square, jolting Ienzo in his seat and waking him from his vengeful meditation. It was only then that the boy became aware of the creeping pain in his forehead and the side of his skull. He dismissed it, deciding revenge was more important than a trivial headache. Before he could ask why they'd halted, the driver already answered, "There's some kinda riot going on. Prob'ly more refugees fightin' the guards and each other for food and blankets or something'. Can't say I blame 'em."
Ienzo looked through the windshield and found the riot had long since turned into an all-out brawl. Clubs, bricks, and bats flew everywhere the young boy turned. Rubber bullets and other neutralizing agents—both scientific and magical—were employed by the royal guards as the starving rioters used far more lethal tools. The boy and the driver even spied some incendiary bottles of napalm-like mixtures splashing and blazing over shields and those unfortunate enough to be without protection.
The capitol palace was just beyond the bedlam.
"I'm sorry, kid," the driver began, "but there's no way past this mess. Is there anywhere else I can take ya?"
Silence.
The driver looked over his shoulder, "Kid?" but found the door open and the boy missing from his seat. Dread overwhelmed him and he looked back through the windshield to find him sprinting towards the battle. The older man leapt from his seat into the street and screamed, "KID!" But he was beyond saving. The driver took a step after him, but faltered when a brick sailed into the hood of his car, only narrowly missing his head. He staggered back in fear, looking back at the zealous boy in agonizing regret as he realized the safest thing he could do was to reenter his car and drive away.
Another car in the distance sped toward the mob, slamming its brakes only some meters away from the retreating motorist. From the driver's seat of this acquisitioned vehicle bolted Aeleus, not caring to close the door or turn off the engine as he anxiously set his sights on vanishing Ienzo. He saw him sprint to the fray—no hesitation whatsoever in the revenge-driven boy—and he bellowed after him, "IENZO!"
The ducal prince's blood froze in sudden dread, the mass skirmish only yards away. He hadn't expected either of the knight-captains to find him so soon. Again ignoring the throbbing in his skull, he shot a glance over his shoulder at the imposing brute. They remained there, in their apprehensive stare-down, for the better part of a second before Ienzo finally registered that Aeleus was now sprinting for him. With a subdued gasp and a hand clutching the agony searing through his skull, terror restored energy to his petrified legs and the prince vanished into the storm.
Horror speared through the sprinting guard's being, redoubling his efforts to reach him. In seconds, he breached the mob-wall, blasting away rioters and guards alike with every brutish swing of his arms. And despite his strength, the combatants relentlessly struck him at every chance; he wore the deep blue-grey of the royal guard and forced his way through their ranks, and to the starving, marginalized refugees already at war with the crumbling, overwhelmed government, that was all the reason they needed to mark him as the enemy.
Every step plowing through pandemonium yielded bats and chains and crowbars and glass bottles upon the desperate knight-captain, and he shoved aside every warring form in his path.
These people aren't the enemy, he told himself after dodging the arc of a nail-addled bat. They're only a force of nature—he countered by slamming his fist into the jawbone of the woman who swung at him, likely shattering her maxilla.
We failed them, and now they react as nature dictates. A fellow guard staggered back-first against Aeleus, and he just as quickly shoved the disoriented soldier aside, sending him vanishing into further folds of the fray.
I, too, am a force of nature. The sudden thrust of a homemade shiv, and Aeleus caught the wielder's arm and plunged a haymaker into the man's now-broken ribs.
We are all only animals playing at civilization. Be it the commoners subject to our whims—a flay of his arm and he scattered a trio of rioters—or the fools who think themselves our superiors—the lashing of his other arm, and a trio of soldiers sailed through the air—we are nothing but animals.
I carry no spite—he rammed his skull against that of another split-second opponent—I've long since accepted the chaotic "rules" of nature, this farce we call society, and I am at peace with my place in it.
We are all fragile. We all die.
Flames sailed through the air—an inferno in a bottle, a blazing "cocktail"—and time slowed as Aeleus found himself in the firestorm's path.
It is my duty as a soldier of Radiant Garden to accept that, though others cower at its truth. It has become my creed. So, why…?
The bottle spun nearer. The fire's reflection grew in the knight-captain's eyes.
Why are there still those I yearn to save from nature's cycle?
With nowhere to run, the knight-captain threw up his left forearm as a shield, looked away, and awaited the next nanosecond for the flames to embrace him.
Fire splashed and snarled against Aeleus' raised arm, protecting his face as he turned away from the blast—and was back in the Battle of Altair, approximately one year ago. And as the firebomb became an all-enveloping serpent consuming his left forearm, the battle-fevered soldier returned his sights to the Palamecian Beast-Demon who'd cast it. Gunfire, blades, and mortar-fire roaring all throughout the ruins of Altair as the two armies clashed for dominance, Aeleus kept his sights on the staff-wielding bruiser of a hominid. His arm ablaze, the light-brown-haired warrior unleashed a tremulous bellow, dashed the gap between them, and plunged his fire-encased arm through the masked muscleman's abdomen, quenching the flame in his enemy's blood and viscera.
He pulled out and let the Beast-Demon collapse onto cobblestone, and with his arm saved but not uncharred, the knight-captain scanned the battlefield. The current wave of Palamecian soldiers was nearly eradicated, but what he observed gave little reason to dream of victory.
Descending from the far-off hills and blotting the late winter's sunset sky was the fourth wave of the Palamecian army. Infantrymen. Horsemen. Goblins. Beast-Demons. Ogres. Golden Golems. Cockatrices. Pyrolisks. Vampires. Werepanthers. Their collective horizon-eclipsing shadow reached for the war-torn township, and all of Radiant Garden's forces trembled as the new army's bloodthirsty war-chant echoed across the ruined fields and hamlets to their position. And leading the new wave from on high was the bringer of ruin that no military or weapon of Radiant Garden had ever been capable of harming: the Red Dragon.
Aeleus heard his soldiers' terrified gasps and their murmurings of the titanic wyrm's name in purest horror. Every curse, every oath, every blasphemy was uttered or cried by the combatants who beheld winged and invincible death leading its army ever nearer. For those soul-crushing moments, stalwart Aeleus had been frozen speechless at his impending doom. Only a desperate, spiteful thought resounded in his mind: Damn you, Braig! You swore you'd bring us support! Where are you?!
A strong hand seized his shoulder and spun him around, effectively returning Aeleus to the present. It was Dilan. Though still tied back, his ebony hair hadn't been as long or dreadlocked back then, and he was still only a lieutenant. But rank spoke nothing of his valor and skill. Even in the face of the approaching dragon and its army, he'd sprinted to his captain's location when all others ran in the opposite direction. "Aeleus," he cried, "The soldiers are retreating! We have to leave!"
Instead of complying, his superior clutched him by the collar with his right, uncharred arm and barked vehemently, "Where is Braig?! He promised us reinforcements!"
Dilan was taken aback a moment. It wasn't often his commanding officer lashed-out at him. But in seconds, the lance-wielding lieutenant steeled his gaze against the geomancing captain—his light-brown hair had been a high-and-tight buzz-cut back then—and collectedly reported, "Aeleus, we have to accept that he's failed us. Help isn't coming. And if we don't leave right now, we'll have died for nothing."
It took some moments, but Aeleus' wrath eased from his subordinate and he released him. With that, he nodded and the pair fled through the burning town.
But the monarch dragon had seen them and thusly discharged a vast, concentrated beam of hellfire from its maw. The fleeing knights felt the heat approaching and knew they could never outrun it. Instead, the aeromancer wrapped his arms around his captain's waist and hastily summoned an energy-expending jet-stream to propel himself and Aeleus from the crux of the blast, and the duo sailed haphazardly through a wooden door and skidded onto the floor of an abandoned home, only narrowly avoiding the conflagration. Hardly a heartbeat later, Dilan propelled them again through the glass window mere instants before their temporary shelter exploded under the second inferno's weight.
The Palamecian army had entered the war-torn village by then, screaming zealously of their emperor's majesty.
The dragon hovered above its encroaching infantry, primed for another release of molten breath. Dilan had spent the last of his energy, so all he could do was cling to Aeleus as his superior guided him in an exhausted jog from the Red Dragon's line of fire. But they couldn't outrun it. The fire came and Aeleus resorted to a trick of his own. He hastily released Dilan from his grasp, letting him fall to the ground, and summoned what remained of his energy to raise an earthen wall from the cobblestone and the dirt and rock beneath it. The barricade curved into a half-dome at its summoner's will, and the scorching tidal-wave washed harmlessly around the duo. But it took nearly every ounce of Aeleus' strength to maintain it under the unbearably immense pressure. The surging river of fire was relentless. Every muscle strained, every vein pulsed, and he felt no shame in roaring his pain as his final defense gradually cracked and fractured under the inferno's continued concentrated mass.
The wall collapsed a fraction of a moment before the blast fully dissipated, and Aeleus kept himself positioned between Dilan and the debris to protect his subordinate from the falling stone and remnants of the flames. He used his already-burned, left arm as a shield for his face. The knight-captain's selflessness left his uniform in tatters and his body scorched by flame and pocked by shrapnel. A potentially-fatal shard of smoldering rock struck his pre-burnt left forearm which he used as a shield for his face, and the impact obliterated the appendage on impact. By the end, Aeleus was left screaming as he fell to his knees, pelted mercilessly by stone and flame everywhere except his face, and clutching the semi-cauterized lump that just barely reached past his elbow, where his forearm once resided.
"Aeleus!" Dilan called breathlessly behind him. He crawled to his savior's side, tried to reach him, but his attention was returned to the victorious roar of the Red Dragon and the thundering footsteps of the Palamecian army. Regret struck him then: if only he hadn't gone back for Aeleus when the rest of their forces retreated at the sight of the Red Dragon, he might have lived.
But now the doomsday wyrm was upon them, and its baleful eyes gleamed of every intent to finally end this elusive prey.
Dilan snarled defiance at the bringer of death and forced himself back to his feet, spear in hand, and bravely stood between gravely wounded Aeleus and the winged beast which no blade or bullet had yet penetrated. He gripped his javelin and readied himself in a projectile stance, ready to part with his only weapon in his final seconds. Spirits of the earth and sky, I do not beg you to spare me from this fate. I am not so foolish. But only make my death a glorious one, and grant my captain a place in the afterlife beside me. He does not believe as I do, but if there was ever a mortal man worthy of entering nature's sacred hereafter, it would be him.
He lobbed the spear for the dragon's heart—Please grant my final request!—and a magnificent cataclysm of corrupted light exploded then over the dragon's heart: at the very place his lance struck. Mesmerized by the sky-illuminating supernova apparently released from his fingertips, it took Dilan some extra seconds to recognize the residual traces of a highly-concentrated laser-beam that originated far beyond the point at which he'd launched his javelin, and some moments more to finally register the great Red Dragon now fell lifeless upon the abandoned hamlet and the first line of its own ground forces with a smoldering crater over the ashen remains of its heart.
The breathless exaltation barely escaped the aeromancer's lips, "Spirits Divine…"
A great dust-cloud rushed past him then, and within it, several superhuman forms of extreme builds and vibrant, emerald eyes dashed at subsonic speeds for the Palamecian army, wielding a vast array of otherworldly weapons by which many a panicking armored beast was eviscerated or incinerated where they stood. It became clear from the carnal roars and the efficiency with which the nearest clusters of enemy soldiers were destroyed that these reinforcements from Radiant Garden were not human. Bewildered Dilan had never seen anything like them before in his life, and his connection to nature told him these beings were not of this earth.
Even Aeleus had tremulously stilled his cries of agony to behold the unbelievable deus ex machina—or at least, whatever vague outlines of the new creatures could be discerned amid the high dust-clouds they produced.
"View's better up here," a new voice lolled, and a second later, Dilan and Aeleus had been warped atop a low clifftop from which they saw the full extent of the carnage. It was a massacre. Braig's arm slung over the aeromancer's shoulder, the middle-aged brigadier-general addressed his captivated audience of two, "How's that for a cavalry?"
On a low cliff on the other side of the battlefield, General Borghen of the Palamecian army quaveringly lowered the telescope with which he witnessed his greatest military defeat. A sickly-skinned four-foot-tall stump of a human being bearing a large nose on his wart-pocked face and flaming-red hair beneath his bicorn hat, the coward in general's clothing just barely spoke to the Golden Golem at his side in a hushed and trembling voice, "W—we've lost here… Sound the alert for retreat."
The Golem looked at him questioningly. But Borghen lost his temper and uselessly struck the metallic giant's knee with his telescope. "Do as I say!" the small man ordered, his cape billowing from his frenzied motions. "Not even the emperor's wrath can compare to monsters such as these."
As the last of the late winter sun dipped behind the mountain range, there was almost none of the Palamecian army left to escape the supernatural warriors' deathly wake.
This was the Battle of Altair—358 days after the Night of Calamity.
The infirmary of an airship in service to Radiant Garden's military; one hour later…
"What were those monstrosities?" Dilan demanded of the brigadier-general.
Braig had just finished lighting his cigar, the match's flame still cupped in his hands. He coolly replied, "Our future."
Dilan's eyes widened just a bit at the outlandish declaration.
Braig continued, an uncanny blend of revelry and cynicism in his voice, "Praise be to the good doctor. He's given us the holy grail of modern warfare: weapons that walk upright."
Bandaged and connected to the necessary catheters of healing potions in his cot, Aeleus demanded impatiently of his superior, "He wanted a straight answer, sir."
"Pfft," the middle-aged man curtly interjected. "You two are no fun. Give a guy a little dramatic legroom, huh?" He paused a moment, then afforded another glance at them as he held the small box before them. "Last call for some victory cigars."
It was all Dilan could do not to explode at him. "An answer, if you please."
Braig only shrugged and replaced the cigar box in his pocket. "Either of you know what today is?"
Their superior clearly wanted to play this game. Dilan repressed a sneer and bitterly took the bait. "The first day of Calamity: our kingdom's new week-long ceremony in honor of those we lost nearly a year ago."
"Right you are, gasbag," Braig sardonically applauded. The aeromancer hated that nickname. "And, see, while everyone else is busy hanging their heads and lighting their candles and singing their crappy songs, our most wonderful companion, Doctor Even, came up with a better way to deal with all this Calamity business. Either of you catch the color of our new weapons' eyes?"
Dilan's eyes shot open. "Those…'soldiers' are direct products of the meteor that destroyed the borderlands?!"
"Damn right!" Braig beamed. "The excavation yielded so many scientific breakthroughs, and the good doctor knew how to exploit them perfectly. He's been workin' on makin' and tamin' those beasties for the better part of the year, and now, on the first day of this shitty new holiday, he's set 'em loose. Palamecia thought the meteor was an omen of our downfall? Pssh! It's our trump card."
The bandaged stump of an arm beckoned Aeleus' attention once again, and still he saw the ghost of the limb lost in the warfare. If only these…'super soldiers' had arrived a minute earlier…
But the geomancer put the thought to rest and calmly inquired, "What now?"
Braig leered. "See? That's the kind of go-getter attitude that makes you my favorite, rock-boy. Barely an hour in your hospital bed and already you want back in the action. But I'll haf'ta disappoint ya there. You're being reassigned."
"What?!" He couldn't control the rage that spiked in him then, but all the geomancer had managed to do was sit a few inches higher in his tube-riddled cot.
Dilan was quick to speak to the geomancer first, "Captain, please, you're in no condition to fight. If you'll trust me to continue your campaign—"
Braig's arm swung over the aeromancer before he could finish. He addressed Aeleus, "And you will let him take over for you, rocko. With these new super soldiers the doc cooked-up, we'll win this war in a month. Tomorrow, we take Gatrea, and from there, Finn. Give us a bit longer and we'll score Salamand, Kashuan, Deist, Mysidia, and then it won't be long before we have Emperor Mateus himself on his knees. But the thing is, I wanted to reassign you even before you became damaged goods. We'll get you patched-up, outfit you with a sweet-ass new arm, and from there, you'll be the personal knight of one of the most important families in the capitol."
Aeleus glared. "If you have the technology to improve me, why remove me from the frontlines?"
"Because, frankly, we don't need you anymore," Braig was quick to retort. "With the super-soldiers Doc cooked-up, even a brain-damaged monkey in a commander's hat could conquer Palamecia. Conventional soldiers and commanders are pretty much useless on the battlefield now, but you still have a place within our borders."
"As aristocratic lapdogs!" the geomancer barked back.
"As Even's bodyguard!" the brigadier-general replied.
Silence drifted through the infirmary. Neither Dilan nor Aeleus had expected that.
When enough shock wore off, the knight-captain rubbed at his eyes and inquired, "Even requested me? Why?"
Braig tensely inhaled again on his cigar to relieve the stress and then gusted the smoke-stream as calmness gradually returned. Then he looked to his inferior and said, "It may not be as glorious as the warfare you grew up with, but the royal courts are a cutthroat theater all the same. Even's been a high-value target for years, and now that he's got a family, he wants some extra insurance."
"And you gave him me?"
"I gave him the best."
Aeleus scoffed, incredulous at the absurdity of it all. "Even adopted those whelps a year ago. Why wait so long to reassign me?"
"Because, rock-brain, we still needed you scalping Palamecians back then. And it's not like we had a choice until now. He's lost seven bodyguards since he took the brats in. That's how bad it is. And if he could've had you or Dilan back then, you'd'a already been his. Now, we can finally use the ideal solution."
Dilan interjected, "But why not use these…super-soldiers for protection if Even really is in such peril?"
"Pffft! What, let the freak-shows be seen in public? You have any idea what kinda PR nightmare it'd be if we had those foaming monsters act as security in the capitol? For one thing, they'd clash with the scenery, and more importantly, they're not fine-tuned enough to follow meticulous orders like a high-strung security team so much as be unleashed on our enemies and turned off when we're done with 'em. We need animals in the battlefield and men in the courts. That's why, between Aeleus and the hellions guarding home-base, we chose rock-boy."
Dilan sneered. "Will I one day be relocated to the home-front as well?"
"Not just yet," Braig answered. "Situation's delicate. We've got some work left that Even's monstrosities would be wasted on and that Aeleus' over-qualified for. This is why we're keeping you around for now. Take it as a chance to prove yourself before your untimely retirement."
A short silence drifted. Little else needed to be said.
Braig languidly removed the cigar from his mouth and took some moments to inspect it. The image of the quadruple-wing spread and the brand name "Zephyr" emblazoned on it… He smiled—Doc should be enjoying his right about now.
The brigadier-general spoke again, "You sure I can't interest you boys in a smoke? It's some of the high-end shit." He was met with only silence. Neither cared for his offer. Braig noted the decline and resumed, "I gave one to Even before I left. It was a present, actually—same as you are, Aeleus. Doc deserves every luxury he can get tonight."
Dilan grimaced. "And why, pray tell, is that?"
Braig continued in his uncharacteristically contemplative state, "You said Even adopted those brats from the duchy. But, truth is, he only adopted the boy. The sister, well…" The knight-captain and his lieutenant stared at their superior with some renewed interest. Savoring the moment, the brigadier-general leered and concluded, "Tonight's our doc's wedding night."
Ienzo still heard the screams.
Every soul-shattering, innocence-breaking wail the villain forced out of Evelyn in rhythm with their creaking bed was heard even in Ienzo's chamber, and his sister's blood-curdling shrieks kept him awake hours after the monster she'd married was done with her for the night.
This was the arrangement Evelyn agreed to when Even offered a second chance at life to the ducal siblings. On the night of her sixteenth birthday, when she would become a legal adult by Radiant Garden's laws, she would give her body and freedom completely to Even as his wife, and Ienzo would be well taken care of in return. But what sense did it make for Even to want Evelyn of all people? She had no kingdom, no wealth, no powerful friends. Even had claimed he'd "rescued" them purely out of devotion to their departed parents, but no friend of the family would be so abominably cruel to those he had the utmost respect for. And for every failed theory Ienzo agonizingly concocted to make sense of the hell his and his sister's lives had become, the young scientist felt not just his neglected heart breaking, but his valued mind as well. He could only imagine how much worse Evelyn had it.
That was the first day of the Festival of Calamity and the night of his sister's wedding.
He didn't see her the next day. Even said at the breakfast table that Evelyn felt under the weather and wasn't to be disturbed for the rest of the day. But Ienzo knew the truth, and he desired nothing more than to leap across the table and tear out the monster's throat with the butter knife. But he'd never get away with it. Not with that new one-armed guard, Aeleus, so close by. All dreams of rescuing Evelyn and allowing themselves to cry freely before running away to start a new life in the streets were reserved to the boy's barely-contained cathartic fantasies.
It was the same for the next three days. At night, Ienzo hid beneath his covers in a vain attempt to drown out Evelyn's screams from Even's nocturnal lust. No, it went beyond lust—sadism was the more accurate word. And every morning, the wicked scientist or one of his servants, most often the one-armed bodyguard, would inform Ienzo that his sister was still sick and wouldn't leave her room that day. Meanwhile, the rest of the city was too preoccupied with its week-long festive lamentations to pay any mind to the cruelties the ducal siblings suffered.
On the fifth day, still desperate to reunite with his sister, Ienzo visited the palace's library. He searched for a copy of Loveless, the epic poem Evelyn tried to culture him with, until the librarian informed him they had no copies of the novel. "It's not a very popular novel," the librarian said, "and not even the modern academic circles pay it much notice anymore. It's something of an obscurity now. However, I can put the word out to the other libraries in the kingdom to find and deliver a copy of it."
That made for yet another detachment from the sister Ienzo wanted nothing more than to devote his life to in payment for all that she'd done for him. He couldn't see her, couldn't feel her, wished he could hear something other than her screams and moans, and now he was denied entry even into the fictional realms she once indulged in. Half-defeated, Ienzo made the order and meanwhile settled for I Want to Be Your Canary by Lord Avon, a slightly more mainstream drama that he vaguely remembered seeing on Evelyn's bookshelf one time.
He hadn't finished the first chapter before receiving word from Aeleus that Even had hired a tutor for him, a joyless pedant meant to instruct the boy at all hours of the day in the royal arts, leaving no room for extracurricular hobbies such as reading for pleasure.
Somehow, even astronomy was made tedious by the doctrinaire dominating Ienzo's life. But the more he considered it, the less likely it seemed that this was entirely the tutor's fault. Ienzo had fond memories of star-gazing with his family, but that last night spent in his old castle, every reminiscence of Evelyn wishing upon that fateful star…
He'd become subconsciously terrified of looking to the stars for fear of another meteor of death coming to obliterate all that he knew and loved. The "calamity from the skies" had come entirely without warning and devastated the entire kingdom—parts of it physically, all of it emotionally—in only precious moments, leading the boy and his sister into the nightmarish existence they now endured. What assurance was there that it wouldn't happen again?
But the greatest horror of his first astronomy lesson was when his tutor instructed him to rotate the telescope to view another cluster of stars. As Ienzo did so, a misstep redirected the spyglass to a castle window, its drapes still hinged, and he finally beheld the image of Evelyn—wretchedly naked so that her brother finally beheld the full extent of the gruesome burn scars she sustained when using herself as his shield from their castle's destruction over a year ago—writhing in agony as Even forced himself inside her.
The soul-crushed boy staggered back from the sight, knocking over the expensive telescope in his tread, and threw both hands over his mouth to repress the surging bile.
His tutor didn't take kindly to his blunder. In the next second, Ienzo felt the sting of the doctrinaire's rattan rod repeatedly striking his young body and heard the older man's outraged cries amid the corporal punishment, "You damned oaf! Have you any idea how valuable that telescope is?! I won't have any inbred filth destroying my equipment—!"
But because of the impacts of the caning, the bile Ienzo attempted to hold back burst from his mouth and he regurgitated on his tutor's robes and shoes, falling to his hands and knees and wheezing heavily afterwards.
An insufferable second of silence passed. Ienzo was barely conscious of the present anymore, still caught in the seeming eternity of witnessing his sister's rape, and so only a fraction of his cognizance was dedicated to that survival instinct that otherwise would have screamed at him to beware of the robed villain's rod.
That warning came too little, too late.
The rattan dowel crashed against his cheek at such an impact that Ienzo swore he felt some of his teeth dislodged from their gums. His lack of focus simply didn't allow him to notice whether or not some specks of white enamel were present in the cascade of blood flowing from his mouth.
Further blows and profanities exploded from the maddened tutor, and after an unmeasured passage of time, he stormed off, declaring the boy beyond sensible instruction.
He didn't know how long he remained prone on the castle turret, encircled by puddles of his own blood and vomit, never daring to face the nightly heavens he'd come to fear.
He eventually picked himself up and crawled into his bed, never fully aware of his surroundings on the miserable trek there. In one blurred eternity, he passed through the castle halls. Next thing he knew, he was lying carelessly over the covers of his bed, soaking the blood from his mouth into his blankets and pillow. It didn't matter anymore. What was the point in keeping his bedsheets clean when others' were desecrated by acts and fluids far more disconsolate than blood? He'd always known what Evelyn suffered through, but he never knew until now. And she couldn't be the only one in the world hollowly enduring this hell. There were thousands, if not millions, of innocents who suffered this same fate every day, and the mind-breaking exhibition he caught a brief glimpse of was only one of those millions of hopeless situations beyond a hope of avenging. When evil of that soul-crushing magnitude destroyed the lives of so many on such a frequent basis—the life of someone he loved, no less—how could he be bothered to care if his bedsheets were tarnished only by mortal blood?
What was the point of anything anymore?
He dwelt on this and lay prone on his mattress for what may have been hours, uncaring for the neglected covers and pillow, unfeeling of the oppressive chill of the nocturnal air, unaware of the bedroom door creeping open ever so delicately. It wasn't until he registered the methodical limp as a distorted echo of his sister's foot-patterns that his heart and blood froze. He hadn't seen her since her forced marriage five days ago…the damned pact she sold herself to all for him…
All because of me…
He closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. Not even Evelyn could tell when he was faking.
She froze in astonishment at finding her brother sprawled on the bed like he was, bleeding profusely and exposed to the elements. She'd heard the tutor retell the incident to Even when he was done with her, and after hearing enough, she hastily threw on a robe, grabbed some medical supplies, and, after an urgent side-errand, limped her way to her brother's chamber to dress his wounds.
She didn't want to stir him, and so she had to be careful. A towel was first placed under his jaw to absorb the remaining blood until she was ready to bandage it. She'd grown adept enough with her right, bionic arm to undo the boy's buttons as delicately as with her left of flesh and blood, and so it wasn't long before she caught her breath at beholding every bruise and welt that sadist of a tutor had left on Ienzo's torso. There was undeniable wrath boiling within her, but she forced herself to stow it away while her brother still needed her. She dressed his wounds, and some silent tears fell as she suppressed the mounting rage at what her brother endured. She even found some of his teeth were missing.
Even promised no harm would come to you. That's why I married him. If he can't even keep his word for one week—!
She wiped those tears away. She was tired and she'd cried enough for one night…enough for one marriage. With fatigue came bitter resolve. She almost amazed herself how she was able to finish dressing Ienzo's wounds, propping his pillow, and tucking him in while harboring this righteous fury. She'd undoubtedly changed.
No, I've adapted.
She wanted to crawl right into the bed with him, to just cuddle up next to him, hold him tight, and fall asleep with her boy in her arms as they used to when they were younger. But that was impossible now. Their family name was already marked by controversy. To be found sleeping with her younger brother—and while she was barely garbed in a silk night-robe and with the acrid scent of Even's seed still between her legs and on her breath—would only reignite the stigma she'd sought to distance herself from. She couldn't even kiss Ienzo goodnight—not with her lips and breath still contaminated by her husband's phantom touch. All she could do was kneel by her boy's bed and softly pet his hair with her left, organic hand…a choice she regretted some strokes later after realizing she hadn't washed her hands.
She grimaced and turned away at this newfound self-consciousness. Because of Even, she could no longer express her love for Ienzo with even the most reserved displays of affection not just when he was conscious, but also when he was sleeping. To think the monster could take even that away from her…
She fully withdrew her hand and returned to her feet, her long silver hair catching the moon's glow by the vast window as she let her eyes rest on the last living soul she truly cared for. She rested her organic hand on the flesh of scorched scar-tissue over her heart and avowed to her secretly-awake brother in a voice barely above a whisper, "Even broke his promise. I've ensured he'll never do it again."
She turned her gaze toward the window and observed her first true power-play unfolding at the palace's front steps far below. The tutor who so cruelly beat Ienzo for no other reason than he couldn't control his temper learned with increasing clarity at every cobblestone step his blood was smeared over, with every merciless strike from one-armed Aeleus' ichor-stained boot, what happens when one dares to assault a member of the royal family.
Even stood at the front entrance by other guards and housekeepers, incredulous at what the situation had come to, but powerless to stop it. To order his family's guardian to relent too soon in front of the onlookers would be to make himself appear as a monster that condoned violence against his own wife and adopted son. That was a truth he couldn't allow to be exposed.
At length, the beating stopped, and the chastised tutor was sent scampering off to lick his wounds in the piercing late winter night. Evelyn was glad Ienzo wasn't up to see it. She couldn't stand the thought of him knowing she'd ordered the suffering of another living being.
On the ground-level, Aeleus finally made his way back to the front entrance and the open-mouthed onlookers after the exiled pariah was far enough out of sight. Even almost quivered at seeing this violent mass of a man marching up the steps to his home with the post-battle disregard for royal etiquette that all soldiers were familiar with. When they were near enough, but out of earshot of the gawkers, the one-armed geomancer warned his employer, "The next time your family is threatened, I expect to be informed immediately. Don't dawdle and let your half-dressed wife do it for you."
The oglers were quick to move out of Aeleus' way and return to their duties. When they were gone, Even peered up at the window to Ienzo's room and found Evelyn looking down on him. A faint, triumphant smirk adorned the young woman's lately stone-cold visage, and Even knew he would have to be more careful with her than with his past wives. She wasn't just another pawn. She was an opponent.
How infuriating, then, that I need her alive…
Adding further insult, she elegantly waved her bionic arm at her defeated husband—the metallic limb coated with polished and ornately-carved ivory and silver that would have made sex with her impossible if he allowed her to wear it then. Her taunting gesture with the bioengineered limb reminded Even that Aeleus would be outfitted with his own soon enough, and by then, he would be unstoppable.