#All the world will be your enemy Prince-with-a-Thousand-Enemies... so... Jot That Down. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cinaja · 4 years ago

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Before the Wall part 47

Masterlist

Tw: Mentions of torture in the entire chapter (no descriptions of any kind, though). It's lighter than in canon, though.

----

It has been sixteen hours. Sixteen hours since Miryam vanished. At least that’s the estimation. They don’t know for sure, since it took them hours to even notice something was wrong. Drakon spent the entire afternoon at the Callian Pass, assuming that Miryam was simply stuck in negotiations. He only got suspicious when he still hadn’t received word from her by sunset, and from there, it took another couple of hours to get the Alliance to even look into it. By the time they finally received word that King Johno had betrayed them to the Loyalists, Miryam was long gone.

“What do you mean, you can’t do anything?” Drakon asks, looking incredulously around the table. It took him two hours to even get a council meeting, and now, no one seems to be inclined to help him.

“There is precedent,” one of the other Fae says with cool aloofness. “This council does not sent out troops to save prisoners. You ought to know this, Prince.”

Of course Drakon knows. You get caught, you’re on your own. Your family and friends might negotiate your safe return, but there will be no military action. But Drakon also knows that he was the highest-ranking Alliance member to ever get captured, and that there’s a huge difference between choosing not to save him and doing the same with Miryam.

“But Miryam is the leader of this Alliance,” Drakon says. “We can’t just let her die.”

It’s impossible. Completely impossible. They wouldn’t… Without Miryam, there would be no Alliance, no war. And he may not understand a whole lot about politics, but he does understand that this council needs Miryam. Without her, they would have torn each other to shreds years ago already.

“There are no exceptions,” Shey says.

Nakia gives him a cold look. “That’s completely unacceptable.”

“I’d have to agree,” Andromache says. She nods to the other human councilmembers. “I believe we all do.”

Looks are exchanged across the table. Even Drakon notices the growing dissent between humans and Fae. They would need Miryam to help ease the tensions, but Miryam isn’t there. And Drakon can’t quite shake the feeling that if the Fae now choose to let her die, the humans might interpret it as them turning against the alliance, against them.

“My spies report that Amarantha brought her to the Heseia Fort,” Zeku says.

Drakon bites back a curse. Carved into a mountain, it has been known to outlast even the longest of sieges. It would take thousands of soldiers to stage a big enough attack that they might have a chance to get Miryam out in the ensuing chaos. Sinna with the entire Erithian army would likely be able to do it, but that would mean abandoning the Callian Pass.

“We’d lose many soldiers,” Zeku adds.

Drakon slowly shakes his head. Zeku is one of Miryam’s closest allies, he should be speaking out in favour of helping her. Instead, he abandons her, leaves her to be killed by Amarantha.

The accusation must have been clear in his eyes, because Zeku looks directly at him. “I am truly sorry,” he says.

Drakon doesn’t want his pity. He wants this council to stop arguing and start thinking of ways to save Miryam.

But they don’t help. For all that most of the human councilmembers complain, for all that they make their displeasure known, no one seems to care. Drakon and all the humans present vote in favour of acting, but with both Jurian and Miryam missing and most of their Fae allies (Zeku among them) abstaining, they don’t have enough votes on their side. Most of the Fae don’t even seem sorry.

Nakia jumps to her feet, face tight. “You’ll regret this yet,” she snaps at no one in particular and storms out of the room.

Andromache seems inclined to follow after her, but remains seated. Slowly, the meeting begins to disperse, some councilmembers leaving, others remaining to talk amongst themselves. Drakon remains seated.

They aren’t going to help. They will just let Miryam die. And with his army stuck at the Callian Pass, Drakon’s hands are tied.

Miryam will die. Amarantha will kill her as revenge for what Jurian did to her sister, or she will hand her over to the other Loyalists, who will be delighted to kill the leader of the Alliance. For all he knows, she might already be dead. But no, he would know if she was dead.

Wouldn’t he? According to legend, mates are supposed to know if something happens to one of them.

He fumbles for the bond that should be between them, tries to feel it. Nomal mating bonds allow people to sense the others’ emotions, they even let them communicate mind-to-mind. But he doesn’t sense anything. Maybe Miryam didn’t go this much into detail when she forged the mating bond, or maybe he is simply too stupid to figure out how the bond works.

Miryam would find a way. If their situations were reversed, she would find a way to save him. She did find a way when he had been in Ravenia’s dungeon. But Drakon lacks her affinity for doing the impossible, as well as the considerable magical powers that would be necessary for a break-in into an enemy fort. Without his army, he has no way of getting into that fort, and his army remains stuck at the Callian Pass. It always seems to come back to that.

“Your Highness,” a voice says behind him, startling Drakon.

He hadn’t realized everyone else gotten up by now, making him the only one still sitting at the table, and he didn’t notice Shey approaching. The emperor looks polished as always, his face a perfectly neutral mask that doesn’t betray a hint of emotion save for the occasional hint of annoyance, anger, or boredom.

“I wanted to offer my condolences,” he says. “I hope you know that there’s nothing personal about my voting against trying to free Miryam. I pray for her save return.”

“Sure you do,” Drakon mutters. He is distantly aware that he should not be doing this, that his emissary and his political advisors will likely be losing their minds, but he is too drained to care.

“How am I to understand that?” Shey challenges.

“You want Miryam dead,” he says bitterly. “Maybe you even knew what King Johno was planning when you told her she had to be the one to go to Tehne.”

“I’m sure you do not mean to imply what you were just implying,” Shey says. He offers Drakon a thin smile. “So I will kind enough to see this comment as your grief speaking and not take offense.”

Drakon stares back at him for a moment, wishing desperately he knew some way to throw his faked friendliness back in his face. But he doesn’t know how, and even if he did, Shey is a far bigger player than he is in Continental politics. He’d be mad to start this fight. So Drakon ducks his head and nods, hating himself for giving in.

“You’ll excuse me,” he says, rising to his feet.

He can’t quite bring himself to apologize, even though he knows the rules would demand it. It doesn’t matter, anyways. They’ll just jot it down as him being terrible at politics. Without sparing Shey another look, he turns around and stalks out of the room. Andromache intercepts him at the door.

“We have a problem,” she says softly and promptly pushes him into the nearest room. Once the door is safely closed behind him, she hands Drakon a letter. The seal is already broken and Drakon slowly unfolds the paper.

Jurian,

You may find I’m not the only one who was careless with their belongings. If you wish to have yours back, come to the Heseia Fort. You have a day. Should you decide not to come, I’ll see if I can make your little mortal much scream loudly enough that you hear her all the way to your camp.

Drakon slowly lowers the letter. His mind is full of screaming. Part of him wants to damn the orders to hell, take his army and get Miryam out no matter the cost. But he knows he cannot do it. The Pass is too important, and while losing it might not cost them this war, it would certainly prolong it.

He knows what Miryam would want him to do, what he has to do. It still tears him apart that he can’t help her.

“We should…” Drakon begins, but his voice sounds far too rough. He clears his throat and starts over. “We probably shouldn’t show this to Jurian.”

Andromache nods. “We’ll need to tell him something, though,” she says.

----

Miryam is caught in a haze of pain. She isn't truly sleeping, but she isn't awake either. All around her, the world is black, darkness pressing in on her like a wet banket. She struggles against its hold, but it doesn’t let go. Time loses all meaning, there is no longer a difference between days and hours and seconds.

Something cold slams into Miryam and the darkness shatters. She gasps for air, and suddenly, she is awake, is lying on a rough stone floor. Water is running over her face, wet hair falls into her eyes. She tries to push herself up, but her arms give out from under her and she slides back to the floor.

Then, the pain registers and Miryam groans, doubling over. Her body is burning, her insides seem to be twisting around themselves. She gasps, trying hard not to sob in pain.

"You're alive," a rough voice says from behind her. "Good."

Miryam twists around. Around her wrists, shackles clink with the movement, and now, Miryam does sob. The shackles are tight enough that her wrists are already bruised and sore. It has been a while since anyone shackled Miryam like this. Desperately, she tugs at the shackles, but they won't give. She tries to reach for her power, but it doesn’t answer. Panic flares through her, turning her breathing shallow and uneven.

"I was worried the poison might have been too strong when you didn't wake up," the voice continues. "You would have been rather useless to me as a corpse."

Miryam turns further and finds Amarantha leaning against a wall mere feet away from her. The general is wearing a light leather armour, her red hair tied back in a tight braid. She looks down at Miryam like she is an insect she considers crushing under her boot.

What happened? Why is she here, how did Amarantha... Johno. But why? Why would he sell her put to the Loyalists? It goes against every rule of Continental politics, and she hasn't done anything to him. Certainly nothing to give him reason to hate her this much.

Against her will, she starts to tremble. Amarantha's mouth twists into a smile, and Miryam forces her body to still. She has faced bigger monsters than the general and remained calm, she won't show fear now. Getting her body under control when she is in pain, chained to the ground and alone with an enemy general isn't exactly easy, but it's not like this is the first time Miryam is at the mercy of a Fae. She has managed to control herself in worse situations, she will do so now.

Slowly, her head clears. The water Amarantha apparently dumped over her head helps, although it makes her shiver in her soaked dress. Now that she's thinking straight again, she begins to notice that something about this situation is off – namely Amarantha’s oresence. If she got captured by the Loyalists, it shouldn't be Amarantha who deals with her. By all logic, she should have been brought straight to Ravenia, or at least to someone with a higher rank than Amarantha.

Quick as lightning, Amarantha pushes off the wall she was leaning against. Before Miryam can so much as flinch, she stands before her, knife in hand. Miryam doesn't move, wills her body to remain entirely still. Amarantha places the knife on her chest, just above her heart. Miryam simply stares back at her. She will not kill me, she tells herself, and I won't give her the satisfaction of seeing me afraid.

"You should be glad that you were unconscious for so long," Amarantha says softly. "It gave me time to reconsider my plans for you." Slowly, she moves the knife up until it is resting at Miryam’s throat. One wrong move now and she is dead. There's a dangerous glint in Amarantha's eyes. Miryam isn't sure if it is hate or madness. "My original plan," she continues, "was to kill you right away. To spike you to an ash cross and make you scream for hours - days, maybe - before killing you. Everything Jurian did to my sister, I would have done to you, and then, I would have left you for him to find, like he left her for me. It would have been very poetic."

Miryam doesn't show her surprise. Jurian killed Clythia. Tortured and then killed her, unless Amarantha is exaggerating that part. She wants to shake her head. Wants to cry, or maybe laugh, but the knife is still dangerously close to her skin. She didn't get captured by the Loyalists, she got captured by Amarantha. This has nothing to do with her or with the Alliance, it is just the next act of Amarantha’s private war with Jurian. It's ridiculous, really.

"But I reconsidered," Amarantha says. "Killing you would be a waste. It might offer me momentary satisfaction, but in the long run, it would be stupid." She presses the knife more tightly against Miryam's skin, hard enough to draw blood. There’s a sting of pain, and Miryam can feel a drop running down her throat. "After all, you make a far more useful hostage."

Now, Miryam can't keep from flinching. Immediately, the knife presses in harder, and she stills. Being killed and tortured would have been bad enough, but to be used as bait – that is worse. Don't come for me, she thinks at Jurian, at Drakon. As if her thoughts will somehow reach them if she only focuses hard enough. Please don't come for me.

Amrantha rises to her feet in a smooth motion. "I've given Jurian a day to come fetch you," she says. "After that..." Amarantha smiles, dark eyes glittering. "Well, you probably ought to start praying that someone turns up to get you before then."

----

Drakon winnows himself and Andromache to Jurian’s camp in the early hours of the morning. The camp is still asleep, as it took Andromache’s soldiers until far into the night to settle in. Only the guards posted all around are wide awake and vigilant.

“Do you already know what you’re going to say?” Andromache asks softly as they walk from the edge of the wards towards the camp.

Drakon shakes his head. He barely had time to think about it, not when his thoughts keep circling and circling around Miryam and what might be happening to her. Besides, he highly doubts that there’s a good way to tell Jurian. How is he to explain that Miryam got captured and might be killed as a consequence to his actions?

“I’ll improvise,” he says. He isn’t good at improvising.

Andromache looks inclined to say something, but before she gets the chance, Jurian appears from between two tents. He looks worse than yesterday, something Drakon didn’t think possible. His gaze seems unfocused and the shadows under them are even darker. But he smiles at them as he walks towards them. It’s the first time Drakon has seen him smile in years, and something in his chest twists at the sight. Especially when the smile fades as soon as Jurian sees the looks on their faces.

“Did something happen?” He asks. His tone is tense, but somehow resigned. Like he has grown so used to bad news that he has learned to expect them.

Drakon swallows. “Miryam got captured,” he says. “By Amarantha.”

For a moment, Jurian simply stares, frozen, as if it takes him a moment to process the words. Then, his face crumbles and he begins to shake his head.

“But…” He stumbles over the words, voice shaking. “That’s all wrong. She couldn’t have…” He shakes his head. “But why?”

That Jurian has to ask at all shows how badly he’s faring. Anyone can see why, and it’s entirely unlike Jurian to miss such an obvious reasoning. But maybe he is subconsciously pushing away the truth to protect himself. Maybe a part of him knows, but he can’t stand it, so he denies the truth as long as possible.

“It’s…” Drakon begins, but doesn’t manage to finish the sentence.

Jurian is already so dangerously close to the edge. If Drakon now tells him that Miryam got captured by Amarantha because of him, might get tortured and killed because he murdered Clythia, it might push him over for good. It would certainly be another blow at a time when that’s the last thing Jurian needs. And Drakon can’t do that to him.

“It’s because of me,” he blurts out. Both Andromache and Jurian stare at him incredulously, the former catching herself quickly and schooling her face back into careful neutrality.

“Because of you?” Jurian asks. His tone has gained an edge, but his eyes are still searching Drakon’s face as if waiting for him to take the words back.

“My forces are currently in the Callian Pass,” Drakon says. He has no idea where he’s going with it. Why didn’t he think about that before speaking? “So, uhm… Amarantha captured Miryam to get me to remove my forces?” He looks over at Andromache, who simply shrugs. Drakon resists the urge to grimace at her. She’s certainly being helpful. “She thinks I’ll withdraw my armies to save her,” he says. “Leave the Callian Pass unprotected."

It is possibly the worst lie Drakon ever told. None of it even makes sense. Why would Amarantha ever use Miryam to set a trap for Drakon when she has no reason at all to care about him? When it was Jurian who just killed her sister.

“But you are going to get her out,” Jurian says, still staring at Drakon. “You are going to save her regardless. Right?”

He actually believes him. Jurian barely believes it. He must be truly desperate for any version of the story that places the blame away from him if he believes this lie.

“I can’t,” Drakon says softly. “We can’t lose the Callian Pass, so my army needs to remain where it is.”

Jurian’s eyes darken, his hands curl to fists. “So you are just going to let her die?”

A small part of Drakon very badly wants to point out that Jurian also has an army and would be just as capable of trying to save Miryam as Drakon is. But of course, getting Jurian to rush off after Amarantha is exactly what he is trying to keep from happening.

“Miryam wouldn’t want me to – “ he begins.

Jurian shoves him backwards hard enough to make Drakon stumble backwards. He follows, arm lifted as if he wants to punch him, but Andromache grips his arm and forces it down before he gets the chance.

“Are you mad?” She snaps. “Stop it!”

Jurian tries to shake her off and fails. Over her shoulder, he snaps at Drakon, “If she dies because of you, I am going to kill you.”

Andromache shoves Jurian back. “You will do no such thing!” She turns around to Drakon, who still stands frozen. “I think it would be best is you left now.”

Drakon nods numbly. He can’t tear his eyes from Jurian, who stares at him like he hates him. Slowly, he turns around and walks out of the camp. A few of the soldiers look at him strangely, but he mostly ignores them. Outside of the camp, he sits down on a flat stone.

He did the right thing, he knows he did. It is better if Jurian hates him than if he hates himself. And it’s not like he will spend eternity believing the lie Drakon told. He would be surprised if it took him more than a few days to figure out the truth.

Andromache arrives a few minutes later. With a sigh, she sits down next to Drakon. “That,” she says, “was without doubt the worst lie I’ve ever heard. I hope you know that Jurian believing it can only be chalked up to wilful ignorance.”

“Yes, I know,” Drakon mutters. “I didn’t think it through.”

“It was a good idea, though.” Andromache lets out a dark laugh. “I mean, it was a completely terrible lie, but it actually worked. You probably just saved Jurian’s life.”

Drakon stares down at his feet. Today seems to be the day of him constantly being forced to make choices that are strategically and likely morally correct, but completely catastrophic on a personal level.

----

The door to Miryam's cell bursts open and blinding light floods in. Miryam blinks as her eyes try to adjust. She has been alone in the dark cell for what she assumes was a day. No light, no food or water. Her head is spinning and the pain from the poison hasn’t entirely faded, but she is nearly certain she can stand if necessary.

Amarantha rushes into the room with all the force of an autumn storm. Where her fury was a cold, lethal thing yesterday, today, it is burning hot. Miryam remains sitting with her back against the wall, knees drawn up to her chest, and calmly looks up at the general.

"No one came?" She asks, voice hoarse.

Amarantha stalks across the room and slaps her. Hard. Miryam's head snaps to the side, blood shoots out of her nose. The world starts spinning and she lets herself drop to the ground, allows herself to gasp in pain.

"I'll admit," Amarantha says, voice burning, "that I am disappointed. I assumed at least one of your lovers - which one is it you're with, anyways? - would turn up to help you. But maybe they don't care as much about you as I thought they would."

"Or maybe they're too smart to fall for your trap," Miryam whispers. She lets her voice to tremble a bit at the words.

She tries to summon a feeling of triumph. After all, she spent the past day hoping desperately that Jurian and Drakon wouldn’t come to save her. But now that they actually didn’t come, she can no longer push away the knowledge that them not coming means that she will get tortured and killed.

"None of your other allies came to help you, either," Amarantha taunts. "Leader of the Alliance, and yet none of them care enough to try and save you. It's almost like they are glad to have you gone."

Miryam hates that the words sting, hates that deep down, she hoped someone would come. Expected the Alliance to care enough to save her, even though she knew it was unlikely. But no one came for her.

She will die. Likely slowly and extremely painfully. Amarantha will torture her, likely until one of her friends can't take it anymore and tries to rescue her. Which will only result in their death.

Miryam refuses to be part of that. She won't let anyone use her to harm her friends, harm the Alliance. And she refuses to die like this, slowly, painfully and on someone else's term. She may be quickly running out of choices, but she at least wants to be able to dictate the circumstances of her own death.

Amarantha gestures to two guards posted in front of the cell. To Miryam, she says, "I believe things are about to become truly unpleasant for you."

Miryam lets herself be pulled to her feet by the guards. She stays limp in their grip, forcing them to hold her by the arms to keep her from falling back to the ground.

“Move,” one of the guards snaps at her.

Miryam tries to stand up on her own feet, but her legs give out from under her. She makes a great show of only barely managing to keep up her head. (She doesn’t have to pretend to be weak as much as she would have liked to.)

“I always forget how pathetic you mortals are,” Amarantha drawls. “Drag her if you must.” With that, she turns around and stalks out of the room.

The guards do drag Miryam along, and not all too pleasantly. They walk her out of the cell and through a narrow corridor. There are small slits of windows let in the stone walls, and through them, Miryam glimpses the ground at least forty feet below. She must have been imprisoned in a tower or high up in some castle.

She slowly turns her head to survey the guards. They are both a little bigger than her, and both armed. Miryam, on the other hand, is still weak from being poisoned and locked up, and she is shackled. The odds aren’t exactly stacked in her favour, but she doesn’t have anything to lose.

Miryam waits until they reach the end of the corridor. Amarantha opens a door to a narrow stairway that leads down to what Miryam can only assume will be a torture chamber. Amarantha steps aside to allow Miryam and the guards through.

Miryam waits until they are almost at the stairs, then, she twists in their guards’ grip, slamming her elbow into the side of the left guard the way Jurian showed her to ages ago. He lets go of her, likely more out of surprise than pain. The ground is shifting under Miryam’s feet, but she manages to keep her footing as she whirls towards the second guard.

She twists her arm out of his grip. Still moving, she manages to reach for his weapon’s belt. The chains hinder her movements, but she gets hold of a knife and jumps back, weapon in hand.

“Oh, stop it,” Amarantha says. She stepped aside and doesn’t seem inclined to get involved in the struggle at all. If anything, she looks bored. “You don’t really think you’ll be able to escape, do you?”

She isn’t trying to escape.

Miryam flips the knife around and points the blade towards herself. She is about to plunge it down, but now, their guards seem to have overcome their surprise. One of them reaches for her and Miryam jumps back, narrowly avoiding his outstretched hand. When she lands, her legs give out from under her. She stumbles back, arms flared in an attempt to regain her balance and only barely manages to keep her grip on the knife.

The guard makes to grab for her again, and Miryam stumbles another step. But suddenly, there is no ground under her foot. She feels her body tilting backwards and realizes with a start that she will not be able to find her balance again now.

The world seems to slow down. With sudden clarity, Miryam remembers the stairs that were there, somewhere behind her. Remembers one of the few times she trained with Jurian, when she stumbled over a branch and he told her to always keep track of her surroundings in a fight.

Then, time returns to its normal pace. Oh shit, is all Miryam manages to think before she goes tumbling down the stairs.

----

Amarantha lets the guards scream for three hours, imagining their screams are Jurians. She would have let it go on for longer, but they die quickly like the pathetic weaklings they are. Perhaps she should have been more careful with how much she cut them up, but she was too furious to care. She wipes the blood off her hands and snaps at her torture master to select one of the slaves at random and make them scream loud enough that the entire fort will hear it. Today, she needs to hear the sounds of something dying.

By the time she stalks out of the torture chamber, one of the humans is already screaming. The sounds fails to take the edge off Amarantha's anger, though. No, the only thing that could perhaps ease her fury would be if it was Jurian screaming in that torture chamber.

He killed her Clythia. Clythia, who loved him in spite of his lesser standing, who refused to heed any of Amarantha's warnings regarding his true nature. Mortals aren't worthy of a Fae's love. They are lesser creatures, spiteful and backstabbing. Amaratha should have listened to what her instincts told her, should have killed Jurian instead of listening to her sister's pleas to spare him.

Her lovely, sweet Clythia. Slaughtered like an animal by some unworthy mortal.

Amarantha never understood what her sister saw in him. A decent general he might be, but he's still mortal, little more than an animal compared to them. Amarantha owns dogs that are good at their tasks, but she certainly wouldn't take any of them to bed.

But Clythia had so much trust in her visions that she was ready to disregard his lesser station. She loved him in spite of it. Even when she hated mortals as much as Amarantha, was as repulsed by their quest for freedom - who are these animals to demand being treated as equal to them? - even then, she was willing to make an exception for Jurian. And he killed her for it.

Amarantha will tear him apart limb by limb. Every moment of suffering he caused her sister, he will repay tenfold, and even then, they won't be close to even. But she will think of something. Clythia promised Jurian he would live forever, and Amarantha will gladly spend her eternity making his hell.

But to do that, she needs to catch him first. And thanks to the idiocy of her guards, that is now further away than it was hours ago.

She had assumed Jurian would come running the moment he got word that she had caught his little lover. Assumed he would throw caution to the wind in some misguided attempt to save the girl. But maybe he cares less for her than he thought, now that she married another – something Amarantha only found out about after she already captured her, no thanks to her incompetent spies – since he made no move to help her so far.

Still, Amarantha was sure he would come once she started working on the girl, was sure he wouldn't be able to stand her getting tortured for his deeds. (And maybe destroying something Jurian holds dear would have eased some of the pain raging in her, maybe it would have brought them closer to being even.)

But now, she can't have Miryam tortured. Instead, she had to call in a healer to make sure that stupid girl doesn't die. All because she fell down a flight of stairs. Mortals are so very breakable, she keeps forgetting about it. No Fae would ever die from falling down thirty ridiculous steps, yet her healer informed her that she can count herself lucky that the half-breed is still alive. And that she can forget about any ideas of torturing her for at least a week if she doesn't want her dead within hours.

She should have taken more time killing those guards.

"General!" A soldier calls from behind her. There's a slight quiver in his voice and his face seems pale as Amarantha turns around.

"What?" She snaps.

"Queen Ravenia is here," the soldier says. "She requests to speak to you."

Knowing Ravenia, it was likely more of an order than a request. Amarantha certainly understands the soldier's nervousness. Ravenia tends to have that effect on people. Being the most powerful person on the entire Continent will do that to you. Even though that power has been dwindling lately, largely due to the girl Amarantha currently has locked in her dungeon. Which probably explains the visit.

"I'll meet her in the courtyard," Amarantha says and the soldier hurries off.

The screams of the slave are still ringing through the fort by the time Amarantha arrives in the courtyard. If Amarantha tries hard enough, she can imagine they are Jurian's.

Ravenia stands in the centre of the courtyard, head held high, golden jewellery glimmering in the light. She looks for all the world like she owns the fort. At least she didn’t bring Artax. Amarantha already works for one witcher – that’s more than enough.

Amarantha bows. "Your Majesty. To what do I owe the pleasure?" It is no pleasure at all.

"You have something I want," Ravenia says. She snaps her fingers, making a letter appear in her hands, and holds it out to Amarantha. "You are to hand Miryam over to me. I already cleared everything with your king."

Amarantha scans the contents of the letter, then crumbles it in her hand. Her face twists with fury. "No," she says far less politely than she probably should. In the background, the screams turn more high-pitched. "I still have use for her."

Ravenia's eyes darken further. A flame flickers at her fingertips. (Amarantha wonders how often anyone told her no in her life. She is sure it hasn't happened often.)

"Miryam is leader of the Alliance," Ravenia says. "The Alliance we are currently losing this war to, in case you forgot. This might just be the biggest chance we’ll ever get to turn the tide and you are not going to squander it for your private feud with some inconsequential mortal general."

Amaratha's fury boils over. Anger rushes through her. "If you wanted to catch her so badly," she snaps, "you should have done so in the past several years. Now, it's my turn and you will wait."

"I will do no such thing." Ravenia gives her a withering glare. "You think anyone cares that your idiot of a sister was stupid enough to fuck a mortal and got murdered for it?"

Amarantha's hand clenches around the hilt of her sword. She has to resist the urge to draw it. Ravenia and her fucking arrogance. She has always been like this, arrogant and always so damn superior. Even now that she must realize everything is crumbling around her, she still acts all high and mighty.

"You're one to talk," Amarantha hisses. "If you had managed to control your slaves, we wouldn't even have these problems." She lets out a humourless laugh. "What does it feel like to be constantly bested by a mortal? To have one start a war against you and win." Amarantha relishes the fury that clouds Ravenia's face at the words. It’s almost as good as the screams. "The most powerful Fae in the world," she taunts, "bested by an unworthy mortal worm."

Ravenia's face turns cold, but flames dance in her eyes. For a moment, Amarantha thinks - almost hopes, really - that she will attack her. But Ravenia merely shakes her head, fury vanishing from her face like she put on a mask.

"You are to hand Miryam over," she repeats.

"Why?" Amarantha laughs again. "So we can win this war, or so you can punish her for crossing you? Because to me, it looks like the latter." She grins. "Tell me, are you upset that your would-be fiancé prefers a little mortal to you?"

The taunt is more of a guess, if Amarantha is being honest. She never quite understood Ravenia's obsession with the young prince. As far as she knows, the only interesting thing about Prince Drakon of Erithia is that people who are far more powerful than him keep taking an interest in him. Otherwise, he always seemed like a distinctly uninteresting young man from a slightly more interesting and very old family.

Ravenia's face darkens at the mention, though, either out of embarrassment or genuine annoyance at having a person she wanted choose a mortal over her. "I am giving you a direct order to hand Miryam over to me," she says sharply. Apparently, she is done playing games.

"And I’m disregarding it," Amarantha says. "She is my prisoner, and if you want her, you should have come up with a way to catch her yourself. Now kindly leave my fort, I have more important things to do."

There really is no need for her to cower before Ravenia. Why would she need to listen to a queen who can't even defeat one of her former slaves in war? No, Ravenia's age is over, gone are the times when the world danced at her command. Maybe it might have changed if she managed to win this war, and maybe handing Miryam over might bring that about.

But Amarantha doesn't care about Ravenia's power games, and she doesn't care about this war. These things lost all importance the moment Clythia died. Now, all Amarantha wants is revenge. And she will have it.

----

Drakon stands on the highest tower of the castle that guards the Callian Pass and looks down at the army stretching out below. A brisk wind pulls at his hair and ruffles his feathers. Down below, red flags imprinted with Ravenia's crowned sun flap wildly over the camp her army erected a safe distance away from the walls.

What he sees down below isn't Ravenia's entire army, but still a large enough part of it that Drakon's soldiers are outnumbered two-to-one. The odds still aren't too bad for them. They can remain behind their walls and barricades, wards and traps, while Ravenia's soldiers will need to leave theirs behind if they want to attack. Should it come to battle, they’ll have all the advantages.

But there's still Artax to contend with, him and the second witch Ravenia sent to support her army. The Alliance sent over Helion Spellcleaver to help with that, but he already told Drakon that he will be able to do little against one witch, let alone two. Let alone Artax. Brilliant as Helion might be, it is nearly impossible for a non-witch to best one in spell work, and Artax is the most powerful witcher in the Guild. Even Miryam, Helion pointed out with a rueful smile, would likely not be able to hold out against him.

Drakon knows he should be thinking of battle, of the army before him. But no matter how hard he tries, his thoughts keep drifting back to Miryam. Amarantha’s ultimatum has run out hours ago, he let it run out. That means that Miryam is likely being tortured right now and he stands here, doing nothing.

Drakon turns away from his lookout and walks back into the castle. As he passes, soldiers keep shooting him strange looks. He can basically hear them thinking about how Miryam got kidnapped less than one day after they married. They didn’t even get time to officially announce their marriage.

He is almost glad when he closes the door to his rooms behind himself. The guards that have been trailing him without pause ever since Miryam vanished remain outside.

“Anything?” He asks Sinna, who is sitting in his living room side by side with Nephelle.

They both look tired and miserable enough that he doesn’t even need the answer to his question to know they have no news. He lets himself slump on the sofa opposite them. Nephelle abandons her place next to Sinna and walks over to him, puts an arm around his shoulder as she sits down.

“She isn’t getting tortured, at least as far as I know,” Sinna says. “We have a spy inside, and he says they haven’t brought her to the dungeons.” The word yet seems to ring through the room unsaid, but Drakon is still relived.

“If we have someone on the inside, can’t we use them to get her out?” He asks. The hope will likely be in vain if Sinna hasn’t brought it up yet, but at this point, he is willing to grasp for straws.

Indeed, Sinna shakes her head. “One person isn’t enough to break out Amarantha’s most valuable prisoner. It would never work, and we’d lose our only inside source.”

Drakon presses his lips together and nods, trying not to let the disappointment sting. Nephelle squeezes his arm.

“We’ll keep trying,” she says softly, but Drakon isn’t stupid enough to take the reassurance for anything but empty words.

Before either of them can say anything else, the door bursts open. Drakon flinches, Sinna immediately jumps to her feet, hand going to her sword. She doesn’t let go of it even after it’s long clear that they aren’t being attacked.

“Knocking,” she says sharply, “is generally expected before entering a room.”

Rhysand barely spares her a look before turning towards Drakon. He stalks into the room, face tight. Drakon gestures to the guards hovering in the doorway behind them and they slip out of the room.

“Hello Rhys,” he says.

“I heard what happened,” Rhys says. “I’m surprised you are still here.”

Nephelle frowns at him but remains silent. Slowly, Sinna returns to her seat, flipping over the papers she had strewn out over the table as she does. She doesn’t even try to hide that she doesn’t want him seeing the documents.

“I have orders,” Drakon says. His voice sounds flat. “It is vital we hold this pass, and the Alliance refuses to send replacements. There’s nothing I can do.”

Rhys shakes his head. He is wearing his dark armour, still splattered in mud at places, and for some reason, he lets his power flow freely. Drakon isn’t sure if he knows that this is impolite – impolite enough that even Drakon knows you shouldn’t do it. It demonstrates a lack of control at best, and is seen as an intimidation attempt at worst.

“She’s your mate,” Rhys says. “And you’re just… You’re just going to let her die? Mere days after you married?” He shakes his head. “Who cares about this stupid pass?”

Drakon lowers his eyes and begins drumming a rhythm on his leg. “I can’t risk this war,” he says. “Miryam would never forgive me.” He wouldn’t forgive himself, either. But it’s not like he’ll ever forgive himself for letting her die.

“At least she’d be alive to hate you,” Rhys snaps and Drakon thinks they might have very different ideas of what it means to respect your partner’s wishes even if they contradict your own. Or of the importance individual lives hold in comparison to the millions of lives at stake in this war.

Nephelle sighs. “Is there a reason why you’re here, Rhys, or do you just want to make everyone feel worse about necessary choices?”

Rhys winces slightly and runs a hand through his hair. His anger seems to ease slightly, although his power remains uncontrolled. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking at Drakon. “That was stupid of me. If you say you can’t do anything, you’re probably right.” He pauses. “But maybe I could…”

“Don’t even think about it,” Sinna snaps before Drakon has fully realized what Rhys is implying.

Rhys crosses his arms. “Why not? I have an army, and we aren’t defending anything vital right now.”

“Your army is too small,” Sinna says. “You won’t even make a dent in the fort’s defences. And even if you could, you don’t have the necessary skill to be able to pull it off without accidentally getting Miryam killed instead of freeing her.”

Rhys’s face tightens. “I could do it,” he says. Drakon doesn’t quite understand where he takes the confidence to doubt the assessment of a general several centuries his senior.

“Thank you for offering,” he says before Sinna can give a reply that would likely send this conversation spiralling into an argument. “I truly appreciate it. But there’s nothing you can do.”

Rhys seems to consider for a moment. Too long for Sinna’s taste, apparently, since she straightens in her seat. “You will get your soldiers killed,” she says, “each an every one of them. And Miryam on top of it, if you are unlucky.”

Still, Rhys remains silent. Only after another moment does he finally nod. “Fine.” His tone is clipped. “I should get back to my soldiers, then. I wish you good luck.”

With that, he turns around and stalks out of the room, leaving Sinna, Nephelle and Drakon to stare after him in surprise. Whatever kind of visit was this?

“Odious boy,” Sinna mutters. “I really don’t know what you see in him.”

Drakon wraps his arms around himself. “He was just worried,” he says. After all, Miryam is his friend. Not a close friend, but still.

Sinna snorts. “About what? Not being able to use Miryam’s name for protection anymore?”

Drakon shakes his head but doesn’t reply. It isn’t worth it, really. What’s the point in arguing about Rhys when Miryam is still being held prisoner by Amarantha. He leans his head against his knees.

“Are you alright?” Nephelle asks. “You aren’t going to do anything stupid, are you?”

“No.” Drakon sighs and looks up. “I’ve been perfectly reasonable the entire time, haven’t I? I went to that meeting, I made sure Jurian doesn’t run off and get himself killed, I reassured my soldiers.” He shakes his head. “I’m being so fucking reasonable I can’t even look at myself in the mirror anymore.”

He knows what he’s doing is the right thing, knows it’s what Miryam would have wanted. But it also means that he’s choosing to let her die, and he isn’t sure if that’s a choice he can bear.

“I don’t know if this is any consolation,” Sinna says, “but I would have locked you in your rooms if you had shown any inclination for being less than reasonable.”

Drakon gives her a weak glare. “If you ever lock me up in my room, I’ll give your position to Nikine,” he says, naming Sinna’s least favourite co-general.

Sinna grins and Drakon shakes his head. It’s not like she would actually lock him up – if only because she knows that being locked up makes him uncomfortable. Still, it occurs to Drakon that conversations like this might actually be part of the reason some of the other Continental leaders believe that he isn’t actually in charge of his own country.

Nephelle rolls her eyes at their antics, but a smile has stolen itself on her face. “I’ll see if you can find us some food,” she says. “I’m sure you both forgot all about eating again.”

Drakon is the furthest thing from hungry, but he still nods, if only because he doesn’t want anyone to tell him that not eating won’t bring Miryam back. He knows, but that doesn’t change anything about the fact that the thought of eating anything makes him feel sick. He’ll have to try to at least force a few bites down.

Nephelle closes the door behind herself. Drakon looks over at Sinna.

“If it was Nephelle,” he says, “you wouldn’t just sit around and wait.”

Sinna watches him for a moment, considering. Then, she nods. “Yes, I’m afraid I might be less reasonable than you are if our situations were reversed,” she says. “But they aren’t, so I can regard these matters from an outsider’s perspective and tell you that you’re doing the right thing.”

“I know,” Drakon mutters. It just doesn’t make him feel better.

----

A/N: The Amarantha pov will probably be a singular thing, but I needed it to convey certain plot informations. I hope I handled her pov okay, I don't usually write the pov of villains. Also, you might have noticed that I don't like Rhys, and while I have to include him in the next few chapters, the way I write him won't be too favourable. (It also won't bee as bad as I'd like it to be, simply because I have to write him as a person Miryam and Drakon might be friends with, but I really don't feel like making him a great person.) But he barely plays a role, anyways.

Tags: @croissantcitysucks

#people are Not Having A Good Time #also #i'm VERY proud of finding a way to make Rhys (kind of) the asshole in a situation where he basically risks his life to save Miryam #before the wall #miryam #jurian #drakon #andromache #amarantha

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