I cannot stop the tears that roll down my face; they try to carve their way into my very core.
I caress Magdia's cheeks: this morning they were rosy; now they are cold and ashen. A tremor runs through my body, a spasm of pain. I cling to the icy table upon which her corpse lies just to remain standing.
No one says anything.
The chamber smells of metal and dried blood.
Someone coughs in the back.
The world does not stop.
The urge to tear my skin off in pieces overwhelms me, and the floor begins to rush toward my face.
Sir Edmun catches me in his arms, but this man seems incapable of offering a warm embrace, even if it cost him his life.
—I just need to sit on the floor for a moment, just that… please —I stammer.
Kneeling on the frozen ground, I can no longer look at the body. For a moment, I believe that if I do not see it, the present might disappear. That all of this might be a cruel joke.
And yet, I cannot move away from it. Not yet.
Once before, I became aware of what it means to lose everything: the day I awoke in this world. But when the loss of those I loved overwhelms me, I can console myself by imagining them in their own world, alive and happy. Like a small hope that still holds my heart together.
The cold body on this table prevents me from imagining Magdia the same way. And so, I only wish to dismember myself to see if, inside me, I might find some spark of life to give to her.
The chamber is filled with other corpses: the old doctor, two of the nurses, and another servant.
All it took was for the Legatus to say he had been offended to justify the deaths under his command; no one could tell me how, exactly, these people had offended him or when. Only that they were called in one by one so his guards could kill them with their swords.
Subvivients and lowly Excelsos, as he would call them. All the same. Their lives or deaths are considered nothing before the power of the Legatus of House Noxirian.
Hearing movement beyond the entrance door, I rise, smooth the skirts of my dress, and attempt to act as though everything is in order.
Eleni, her eyes reddened, enters with her head bowed, accompanied by a nineteen-year-old girl. Without a doubt, it is her. I know it instantly.
Her nose is smaller, but it keeps the same shape; her eyes are larger, yet they retain that same strength to judge, that orange glint. Their mouths rest in that same Mona Lisa smile.
Though, unlike Magdia—thick-set and with graying blond hair—her granddaughter is lean, with messy brown hair gathered into a loose bun. Her clothes look worn and old, dusted just like she is.
She looks me up and down, then approaches her grandmother's body. When she sees her face, her gaze trembles and her brow tightens, trying to hold back a storm.
—What did she do to deserve death? —she says without looking at me. Her pain and anger seep through her words. And when she does look at me, I am surprised to see so much fire in someone they call a Subvivient.
—Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Only being devoted, loyal, and warm. —Guilt and resentment rise from me uncontrollably.— I couldn't protect her. She trusted me, and I couldn't do anything. They tore her away from us as if she were nothing, and it is all my fault —I nearly shout, and the tears begin to fall again.— It must be my fault. If I were better, or smarter, I would have prevented something like this. I would have found a way, because now I see none. I see nothing but her lifeless body.
For a moment, everyone stares at me in shock. Unable to bear their gazes, I turn away, covering my face with my hands. Arms slowly wrap around me, giving me time to pull away if I wish, but instead I sink into them as the scent of the soap Eleni uses fills me.
She says nothing. We simply remain like that for a moment, until I straighten and look at the ceiling, trying to stop the tears—or I feel I may never contain them again.
I turn as Eleni releases me and watch Magdia's granddaughter hold her hand and comb through her hair. Thick tears fall from her eyes as she murmurs something I cannot quite hear.
—She always talked about you, you know —she says aloud.— Even more after you changed following the loss of your memory. She said it was her pride to serve you, ever since she saw you born and take your first breath in this world.
When she turns to look at me, her gaze is hard again.
—Sometimes I feared she loved you more than me, for not being a person without judgment like I am.
—I don't think so. You should have heard her speak of you. Magdia always scolded everyone for their lack of judgment, but even so, when she spoke of you, her face and voice overflowed with affection—the kind you cannot hide even if you try —I tell her, not only to comfort her, but because it was the truth.— But being honest, I loved her as if she were my own grandmother.
Their eyes stare at me wide, as if I had suddenly grown two heads or something.
I shrug and offer them a sad smile before leaving the room, followed by my Paladin, so they may all have time to say goodbye to their dead before the Ceremony of Transcendence, where the bodies are incinerated.
With time running out, I walk through corridors that feel as cold and dark as a coffin, and I have the sensation that the walls might collapse over me, so I quicken my pace without returning anyone's greeting.
When I reach the training grounds, I have to struggle to catch my breath, and the smell of sweaty, dust-covered humanity floods me as the sun embraces my skin. The men training begin to slow as they notice my presence, until all of them bow.
That distracts Malcol, who is in the middle of a duel with his master, and causes him to lose. He has become so skilled that he rarely loses as he does now.
—Sister? —Malcol calls to me.
—Malcol, we need to talk —I say, trying to maintain composure, standing as straight as Katlya would in this situation.
—I know, Laila. I've heard what happened. I… —he hesitates for a moment, realizing this is not the place.— I've finished here and cleared my schedule to attend the funeral ceremony —he says while handing his sword to an attendant and pushing back his sweat-soaked hair.
—That's fine, but there are more important matters we need to discuss —I say in an icy voice, without blinking, or perhaps I do it to keep the tears from falling again.
—More important? —he replies, his eyes wide before narrowing into slits as he crosses his arms.
—For the gods' sake, Malcol, this is not the moment —I say, exasperated, forgetting the audience.
I grab him by the arm and drag him across the grounds until we leave the training field, where the sound of men and metal resumes behind us.
—Laila, what is it? —his voice sounds worried, but I do not turn around.
I release his arm but do not slow my pace.
—Follow me. We cannot speak here —I insist.
We walk the rest of the way in silence to his chambers. The guard at the entrance opens the door and bows. Upon entering, two maids hurry forward to curtsy.
—All of you, leave. Only my paladin and Malcol's may remain at the door. I do not wish to see anyone else —I say, barely sparing them a glance.
When the door closes, I collapse onto the nearest sofa.
—I'm truly starting to be frightened now —Malcol says, leaning sideways against the back of another couch.
—You don't need to worry… not excessively, at least. I've solved what I could, which isn't much —I say, tilting my head back and squeezing my eyes shut.
Suddenly, I feel Malcol's hands taking one of mine. They no longer feel like a child's hands, roughened by the calluses training has left behind. When I open my eyes, he is kneeling on one knee, looking at my face as if it were an abstract painting.
—What is happening? —he whispers, as though I might shatter. The problem is that I have always been broken.
—The Legatus came here intending to marry your mother to a man likely no different from your father, as if all we are could be reduced to a reward for the man favored by the Arkitectus Noxirian —I avoid mentioning that this would have ensured her murder, so that a half-brother of yours—not yet arranged—could inherit the regency.
—And how could you possibly solve that? —he asks, without losing composure.
—By pure luck or misfortune, however you wish to see it —I say with a sarcastic smile.— It turns out I bear a strong resemblance to a deceased daughter of the Arkitectus Noxirian, so he will set aside your mother's marriage if I go and serve him personally in Lunagran.
—For how long? —He cannot hide the tremor in his voice.
—Forever.
—Impossible… and when you marry? —His anxiety seeps through, and his eyes search mine for an escape.
—The moment I arrive in Lunagran, I will become his property, Malcol. Whether I marry or not, to whom or where, will depend entirely on him —the words leave me like an incantation. I already begin to feel this body belonging more to the Arkitectus than to myself.
—At least he'll allow you to visit, won't he? —he asks like a plea.
—I doubt it. You know that those who enter Lunagran, his principal residence, never leave —I reply firmly.— From what I know through the prophetic book, I may leave at some point, but I will not be able to return. So I do not want you to cling to false hope.
Tears run down my face without warning. The one who must not cling to hope is me… not if it places Malcol in danger.
Malcol springs to his feet and begins pacing back and forth, distraught.
—That can't be possible. There has to be a way —he says more to himself than to me.
—There is no other way —I answer, defeated.
Suddenly, he strides toward one of the small tables in the sitting room and shoves the vase resting on it. He does it with such force that it flies toward one of the dressers, where it shatters, scattering the water inside along with the flowers.
Laughter bursts out of me. The outburst feels so much like something I would do that it amuses me to see it in someone as composed as Malcol. He shoots me a glare.
—Come here. Lie on my lap like you used to —I say, patting the empty space beside me.
For a moment, I think he will refuse, so irritated he is. But after a long sigh, he does.
I begin to stroke his black, wavy hair. I notice the contrast of my dark skin against his pale one, and I smile at those black eyes like calm wells.
—This is life, tadpole: being dragged into suffering just to keep breathing, and having to be aware of it —I do not tell him that this is precisely why I dislike life so much.— So all that remains is to keep trying to do the best you can —nor do I clarify that, most of the time, the best we can do is far too little.
I wipe away the tear that slips down his cheek.
—But no matter where I am, I will always be able to move forward knowing that, however useless I may become, you will always love me. That is enough for me to endure —because love is the only chain that binds me most firmly to life, I keep to myself.
—Of course, you fool. No matter what, I will always love you, so that you have in me a home to return to —he says with that childlike innocence that defines him and that I hope he never loses.
He takes my hand and presses it against his cheek.
—Can you sing one of those songs that come to you in your dreams? One just for me?
—Of course. I may have dreamed this song for this very moment; I remember its name was My Love, My Own, My All —I tell him before I begin to sing.
The funeral ceremony passes in a silent blink.
Smoke rises in slow spirals, and for a moment I believe I see her silhouette drawn among the ashes before the wind erases it.
The smell of burned flesh lingers in my throat.
I do not cry. I have nothing left with which to do so.
Afterward, finishing my conversation with Katlya exhausts me beyond imagining, so much that I nearly drag myself to my bed. But when I wake, I feel just as tired as the day before.
I eat breakfast amid the bustle of footsteps and the cool morning air that filters through the window while my belongings are packed into boxes. For a moment, I feel as though they might place this body into one as well, to transport it without trouble.
—Eleni, won't you have breakfast with me? —I ask the busy woman who has just entered through the door and has already crossed the room twice, arranging things.
—Oh no, my lady, I don't want us to forget anything important. I barely managed to pack your things and my trunks —she says distractedly.
My heart tightens. I rise from my seat to look at her.
—Eleni —I speak as seriously as I can, which catches her attention—. You cannot come with me. Where I am going, I cannot protect you from death. I could not even protect Magdia here; much less will I be able to keep you safe there.
The confusion on her face lasts only a moment. She sighs and hugs the dress in her hands to her chest.
—I know, my lady, I know. But being an orphan, you and Magdia are the closest thing I have to family. I believe I have never been happier than serving you. Perhaps I cannot protect you from the Excelsos either, but I care for you in my own way. And I will continue to do so as long as I can —she says resolutely, until a blush spreads across her cheeks and she lowers her gaze to continue arranging everything.
When I find the words to answer, there is a knock at the door.
Eleni hurries to open it. I see her speaking with Sir Edmun when Magdia's granddaughter slips into the room beneath the paladin's arm.
She enters as though it were her own chamber and stands before me, ignoring Sir Edmun, who strides forward to drag her out.
—It's all right, Sir Edmun. Let her stay —I say quickly.
He stops, though he continues watching the girl with a furrowed brow, ready in case she does something suspicious.
What draws my attention is seeing her dressed as a servant of the house, when she had renounced that role before I even arrived here. Or so her grandmother said.
—Judging by the uniform, I assume you have decided to return to work here. However, it is not necessary. I will give you enough money to live comfortably in Magdia's name. I will continue to support you financially as she did while she was alive. It is the least —and only— thing I can do for you —I declare.
—And if I told you the money you give me would end up in the hands of heretical rebels? Even then, would you give it to me? —the young woman replies without hesitation, her chin lifted.
Eleni and Sir Edmun gasp audibly in shock. The former takes a step back; the latter steps forward.
I raise my hand as a signal for my paladin to stop. With that declaration alone, and before so many witnesses, I could order her burned in the public square as an act of mercy, so that her heretical soul might be purified and ascend with the gods.
—I would still give it to you. It is your money, and you will know what to do with it. But if they discover you, know that I will not help you in the slightest; I will not even consider it. At least I do what I can to avoid being burned alive… you know, it does not seem very pleasant —I say, offering her a smile.
Magdia's granddaughter stares at me, stunned for a moment, until suddenly loud laughter bursts from her—not with joy, but with the cherished madness of finding someone as unhinged as herself.
Meanwhile, it seems as though Eleni and Sir Edmun's eyes might fall out of their heads in horror—at one of us or both, I cannot say.
—In that case, do not worry. I will not give them my money. I do not believe the rebels can help me avenge my grandmother's death. You, on the other hand, seem like a better option. So I will go with you to help with that —her brazen voice never falters.
—If you come with me, we will most likely be killed before accomplishing anything, so you should know that and think carefully —I warn her, out of the affection I hold for Magdia.
—To die horribly here or there… either way, the end is the same —she declares with conviction.
If she had already decided, who was I to persuade her otherwise? Besides, she seemed she could be useful: in just a few hours, she had uncovered the entire situation. Even so, my stomach tightens into a fist.
—Very well, Amara, then it is decided. Should I ask where you got the uniform you are wearing? —I ask, raising an eyebrow, hoping I have correctly remembered the name Magdia rarely used when she did not simply refer to her as her wayward granddaughter.
—Better not. That way, if they question you, you can deny knowing anything about the theft —she replies, slyly.
Sir Edmun calls out to me, outraged, and Eleni looks at me intently; both try to dissuade me from this decision in their own ways. I only laugh tiredly and ignore them.
Amara reminds me so much of her grandmother that I wonder if Magdia was just as bold in her youth. Then I think perhaps Magdia has been reincarnated somewhere else—but unlike this place, somewhere she can be happy and live freely through adventures. That thought lightens my heart.