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A Castle of Silence and Bones
update: 24 chapters total, no happy ending, and still more squick coming up.
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015.
they lurk in darkened rooms
(show them light in their darkest hour and you will hold the greatest power)
The guards find the body at the base of the tower. Bones are broken, blood is splayed across the wood, bricks, and mortar, and the whole sordid mess is cleaned up in the dead of the night. Kiku observes, and tastes the copper of blood in the back of his mouth, because this was once a person; once a person like him.
But Ludwig's words are repeating in his head; 'a nation cannot exist without its people'; 'a nation cannot exist without its people.'
And it is true, and it is by definition. There was a heart that once beat, but then again - there was a person he had once called 'brother'. Kiku turns when the water flows red, the stench of blood pervading the night air all the more. Blood, bones, and ashes - that's all the person who was a 'brother' will ever amount to. But not him; not Ludwig, not Feliciano.
And not Yao - he refuses to leave the other 'behind'.
With those thoughts in mind, he walks up to meet the other. Blood is still staining the sleeves of the silver-and-gold kimono, but it is of no matter. Kiku snaps his fingers, summons a maid to bring up a clean garment for Yao to wear. The other has retired to the bed in the center of the room, curling into a shivering, shaking, sobbing shell of himself.
"It's alright," Kiku soothes - and no he does not see his own hand shake - reaching over to smooth Yao's hair down. The other does not look up, or change at all. In a muffled voice, he hears the ever-steady chant (in his own tongue, no less) of 'please forgive me' and 'I am so sorry'. Kiku curls his lip, in distaste and disgust, but does nothing to stop the other.
He does not want to admit that he cannot stop the tears.
"The child of our combined empires has been born," he murmurs, lacing his gloved and bloodied fingers through Yao's matted hair. "He is healthy; the sun shines on him." He frowns, because Yao does not so much as look up. "He will see other nations shake and bend before him," Kiku promises, because he sees that glorious future - and it is hardly far away.
"She - the empress - " the maid stutters out, yet another beautifully crafted kimono nestled in her trembling arms, "She asks for permission to see a person by the name of 'Wang'."
"I shall go," Kiku responds.
"S-Sir," the maid asks, and he turns. "Wh-what am I to do with the old kimono?"
"Burn it."
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The empress WanRong sits in a room which is completely flooded with moonlight. It is where the Emperor himself sat, during the Tanabata Festival, providing a perfect view of the full moon. Kiku kneels before approaching her - as is courteous to do so. He casts a glance about the room, before taking note of the child sleeping in her arms.
"You are not Wang," she notes, turning her face to see a sliver of the full moon.
"I am not," Kiku replies, stepping forward - towards the empress. "Allow me to hold the child," he commands. She offers no words, simply releases her hold on the enfant. The newborn child does not stir at all and were it not for its steady breaths, it could have passed as stillborn.
Kiku gazes - with as little passion as is possible - on the sleeping face of his future Emperor. Instinctively - as close to genetically-programmed as anything else in their world - it is the duty of the nation to love its leader, as it is the duty of the citizens to follow said leader. He will, Kiku knows, accomplish and bring forth new things, great things.
(And through that - and by that - the plan will succeed.)
"I have decided on a name," the empress says - and nothing more. It is in this single moment that Kiku sees a sliver of her intelligence. A name wouldn't have mattered; the choice does not lie in her hands and she knows it. Just like she knows the child is not her's. She may have carried him for a little over half a year, and she may have given birth to him - healthy, alive, a boy - but it matters not.
Kiku says nothing, only continues to stare at the child.
"Will he meet Wang?" The empress asks - almost pleads. Almost. She still has not turned her face from the open window, from the stream of moonlight, and in this light, Kiku sees the curve of Yao's cheekbone, the lashes of Yao's eyes.
"Of course," he murmurs, because the child is their emperor. The empress nods, once, and Kiku notes how the soft light illuminates the ebony of her eyes - just so. The child continues to sleep, unaware of the world; whether it is at peace, or at war, and Kiku thinks of himself; of forests and sunlight and days long, long, long ago.
"I will love him," she promises, "When his power and will bring your nation to ruin."
She - the empress - walks to the window, and Kiku barks out a madman's laugh. She keeps her eyes trained only on the moon, and he does not see the single tear that makes it past her eyes. Kiku is fast - but for this single instant, she's faster. Because she gave him the boy, because he asked for the boy.
The Empress WanRong is much more calculating and cold-hearted than he ever had reason to believe.
She leaps from the window - falls to her death - and that is, perhaps, the most freedom she has ever been allowed.
And through it all, the child does not wake, does not stir, and does not cry.
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