Authors: Maria Violante
Just tell her what you think she can know.
"I was in love.
I wanted to know if my love was returned.
It seemed important at the time."
"Was it?"
"No.
At least, not in the way that I thought."
She hesitated before continuing.
"What happened to her?"
From the way her voice faded in and out, he could tell that she was on the verge of sleep.
He wished that she would pass out completely.
"She was a Movement sympathizer.
The Consortium finally caught her."
He could hear the tightness, the anger in his voice, and he was relieved by her semi-consciousness.
He doubted she would sense the emotions behind his words.
She lay down and turned away from him.
He heard her breath soften, its cadence becoming more rhythmic, yet she still did not fall asleep.
"What did you have to give the Oracle?"
"I thought it was a knife."
"A knife?"
Her voice perked up considerably at the mention of a weapon.
"Yes.
I had a dagger, part of my station as a messenger of Hell.
It gave me incredible speed, although it wasn't without its limitations.
I could run faster than one could see, but if I interacted with the world - touched something, spoke to someone, the enchantment would stop."
He could feel the cord of the dagger around his neck, the point in his hand, the ground under his feet as he ran.
He was in the gardens again, reveling in his near invisibility, in the primal act of running.
And then, he was in front of
her.
He reached out to caress her face, breaking the spell of the dagger, and the world swam into sharp focus.
She was glorious, enshrined by a veil of sunlight and a sea of yellow roses.
He ripped himself away from the memory.
That was the day I found out.
"The Oracle took my dagger and added it to her … spoils … but I found out later that it was never what she wanted."
He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, yet he was unable to mask the sob that hiccupped from his throat.
Shame burned through him, and he struggled valiantly to hold back his tears, but the dam broke with violent force.
Hearing his own cries, he wondered if he really was an animal.
He could sense her shifting positions, but he kept his face turned away.
She padded like a great cat, her quiet footfalls growing closer.
When he felt her touch upon his back, he didn't know whether to throw her off or turn around and collapse in her arms.
His emotions were waging war with each other, guilt and pride crashing against his need for acceptance and for love.
His burden had never seemed so heavy.
Then, he felt her lean down and wrap her arms around him.
The surprise ebbed quickly, but the touch rendered him defenseless.
Swept up in the moment, his blood raging from the pain, he leaned up and kissed her across the mouth, feeling the exquisite softness of her lips.
Her arms stiffened around him, and she did not return the kiss.
"Do you love me?" he asked.
For three centuries, he had observed her, reveled in her speed and lethality.
He had not known, not been willing to admit, the feelings that churned within his heart.
"I have no idea."
She blinked rapidly.
"You were a horse, and now you are a man."
She squeezed him again, her new empathy strange and somehow awkward.
Could she have held him when they were prowling through Jal or Pico?
Or was it only here, in this strange Hell that wasn't a Hell, this isolated and lonely oasis, that she could act in a way she had never acted before?
She sat, her arms still around him, and pulled him to the sand with her weight.
#
Cocooned in her arms, his guilt warded off sleep.
After he was sure that he would not disturb her, he extricated himself from her arms with painstaking gentleness and sat up.
He watched the rise and fall of her chest while the last embers of the fire burnt out.
Then, lit by nothing more than the stars and the moon, he leaned over her and whispered his confession.
"I hate you, De la Roca.
I hate you, and I love you, and I will betray you."
And then, as if in afterthought, "I am sorry."
I betrayed you too, Cleopia.
The Consortium had their way with you.
Can I really do this again?
And then he remembered Golden, the angel's otherworldly beauty as he uttered the last words Cleopia would ever hear.
Coward!
You should have just killed her!
The rage easily melted into sorrow and guilt, and he could feel a part of him wavering, unsure of the right path even now.
Did De la Roca deserve to suffer? Which woman was the end, and which one was the means?
She is so close … and yet, so different.
* * *
Unlike De la Roca, he remembered it perfectly.
He had always known there was a chance that Golden would shoot the messenger and punish the one that brought him news of Cleopia's
involvements
.
At the time, it seemed just, but after a day in the hands of Nemain, screaming in agony and begging for death, he didn't care about justice, or revenge, or anything but an end to the suffering.
His punishment was just starting.
He was blindfolded, bound and walked to a room that was cold enough to hurt.
At first, he thought he was alone.
Then he heard Golden's voice, and fear paralyzed him as easily as a snake's venom.
"Honorable members of the Pentarch," Golden began, the smile evident in his voice, "we have been confronted with a dilemma.
Our good
friend
Alsvior has apparently discovered a subversive, a sympathizer to the Damned.
Normally, we would reward one that reported such for doing his or her duty, but there are many things in his story that do not make sense."
It is a trial,
he realized.
"First of all, the
manner
by which he came across such information is highly suspect.
Alsvior has had dealings with the Oracle."
He heard a series of gasps and he knew that his life was over.
Golden would not assemble the Pentarch, not unless he had a point to make.
"Secondly, it appears that he has had
personal relations
with this woman, and is reporting her out of spite - an action that strikes me as selfish beyond words."
So have you
, he wanted to scream.
So have you!
But his mouth refused to open.
"And finally," Golden continued, his voice dropping in register, "there is the possibility that this man may also have had dealings with the Damned
himself
!
He obviously has no loyalty to our kind, no appreciation of his status as an angel!"
"What do you propose?"
That was clearly Nemain's voice.
Of course Golden's puppet would steer the trial into his hands.
Instead of a response, he heard a muffled clinking, and then pain engulfed his body.
He could smell the stink of his own flesh burning, and then with a gruesome series of pops and snaps, his bones began to stretch.
The agony proved too great, and he was thankful when darkness claimed him.
#
He awoke in the desert outside of Pico, De la Roca already upon his back.
Seeing her face, his hopes soared.
For days, he attempted to communicate with her.
He failed.
It was not until weeks later that he realized what she truly was - and what she wasn't.
He dreamed of trampling her, killing her, punishing her for his mistake and for Golden's cruelty.
Later, he merely dreamed of running away.
He tried it, once, and that is when he discovered that she had the
akra
of animals.
She waved her hand once and squeezed off his windpipe as easily as she waved open a door.
And then came the loneliness.
God forgive him for his weakness, but she was his only companion for so long.
Somehow, he learned to love this woman, love her for who he knew her to be, and learned to forgive her for a crime she hadn't committed.
* * *
By the time the fire burnt out completely, he had decided.
I will get what is mine, and then I will have my revenge.
ELEVEN
A
n hour before the first rays of predawn swirled across the rusty sky, Alsvior was already returning to the world of the conscious.
His eyelids trembled.
When they finally opened, his irises were slow to focus on the object in front of him.
He blinked as the blur gained definition.
It was a hand.
Who is that?
His thoughts were a foggy mist, and he couldn't put the events of the previous day in order.
Where am I?
Have I been captured?
He shut his eyes tight again and held still, hoping that his awakening had not been noticed.
He needed time to figure out what was going on, time to think.
"Alsvior."
The whisper was faint, the slightest rustle of two leaves in the wind.
Perhaps he had imagined it.
It would not be the first time the demons of fear cast echoes in his ear.
"Alsvior."
The voice was louder now.
The timbre of it prickled at the back of his mind.
You know her.
It came from a part of the brain that was more instinct than thought.
"Alsvior, I know you're awake.
Join me."
He opened his eyes again.
He thought about moving, and the fingers in front of him wiggled in response.
The past day slammed into him with barbaric force.
He wasn't a horse anymore - he was a man again!
Sudden joy coursed through him, his body and mind singing beatitudes to their return to wholeness.
I am a man again!
I am Alsvior!
He sat up, his head rushing-
And then he caught sight of the beach, shadows playing in the distant waves.
He felt an ominous shiver run down his spine.
Where am I?
This is … this is…
Hell.
And with that realization, his heart sank as his memories returned, the clear buoyancy of freedom suddenly replaced with loss and guilt.
He was on the shores of Hell with De la Roca.
She was hunting Laufeyson, which meant that he would take her -
Don't think about it.
A door slammed shut, trapping his pain and guilt into a part of his mind where they could not derail him.
You have no choice in these affairs.
Just do what you have to do.
He realized that De la Roca was staring at him, her eyes glinting dangerously in the low predawn.
He wondered how long he had been wrapped up in his own mind - how long had she sat there, silently observing him?
Could she even see him in this light?
Was she able to read something in the shadows of his face?
"Good morning," he said.
He couldn't think of anything else to say.