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rue-dixon · 2 months

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"Maybe I should just marry you then..."

Chilchuck x (Future) chilwife

(or reader/oc if you'd like to view it as that. But it is written about his canon wife.)

A conversation two childhood friends have, unaware of how their life will turn out when they're older.

Word count: 2930

Warnings: mentions of abuse and old values

His wife will be referred to as Bellana.

"Do you ever think about what happens after you die?" Chilchuck spoke.

Chilchuck and his childhood friend, Bellana sat at a river bank. Their shoes kicked off lazily next to them as they kicked their feet around in the cool water. It was a hot summer afternoon, Bellana had finished her chores around her families farm for the day at last. While Chilchuck had been released from his work for the day. So they met up like they always do, sitting under the shade of a large oak tree. Chilchuck's pants rolled up while Bellana pulled up her dress.

"Heavens, Chil." Bellana gasped, looking to him. Her fingers pressed to her chest. That being the very last thing she expected him to say.

"I'm serious." Chilchuck played with the tall grass around them. "I mean, something must be after death, right?"

"... maybe our spirits stay here." She shrugged, pulling her legs up to hug her knees. "They say ghosts are spirits who can't move on, perhaps we just never depart to begin with."

Chilchuck shrugged as well, "that seems depressing. Wandering around aimlessly forever." He stopped for a moment, taking a blade of grass he had plucked from the ground and swirling it around in the crystal like water.

"Do you believe in a god?"

Bellana looked to him, out stretching her legs once more. Her brows fround as she studied his face for a moment. Chilchuck was ever much of a "deep thinker", all he really focused on was working for his next meal. Despite them both being only ten years old, teenagers for halfings you could say. She wondered where all these deep life questions were suddenly coming from.

"Our ancestors say there were gods."

Chilchuck looked up at his best friend, letting the blade of grass go, causing it to float lazily down the stream.

"Do they?"

"Have your parents never told you this?" She titled her head.

Chilchuck averted his gaze, slightly irritated. She knew very well his situation. His father died three years ago. And his mother was always working.

"They didn't teach me much about anything if I'm being honest. Even when my old man was alive. Especially not things like this." He paused, "the only thing I learned from them was to work hard and not rely on anything but yourself."

He picked another blade of grass, fidgeting with it in his lap. Almost as a way to not have to look at her, which did not go unnoticed on her part.

Bellana frowned, she knew Chilchuck wasn't close with his parents. That's why all his free time was spent with her and her family. Even so, it was hard hearing it.

"My mama says there's a god for everything powerful. That way nobody can have too much power." She hummed, picking up a rock and tossing it into the water. The small stone hitting the surface with a small plopping sound. Splashing their legs.

Chilchuck's small scowl faltered. Despite these things being common religious beliefs and knowledge in their home village, she didn't look down on him for not knowing. She was patient, and sweet about it. Chilchuck had to subconsciously stop himself from smiling as he realized this.

"And how many of these gods are there exactly?" Chilchuck asked, continuing to pick at the grass.

"How should I know?" Bellana shrugged, the sass in her tone almost sounding childish.

"I'm just asking." He rolled his eyes a bit. "You don't gotta be a kid about it..."

"We are kids."

"We're practically adults now." Chilchuck sat up, crossing his arms.

"We're old enough to start thinking about this kind of stuff. We're not babies anymore who can't tie our own shoes."

"We have four more years." She huffed. Kicking the water again. Four more years. Four more years until they would reach age fourteen, the age where halfings are considered mature and are deemed adults by society.

Chilchuck let out an exasperated sigh, "Well- Yes, we are still kids. But that doesn't mean we should act like it."

Bellana shook her head, "you wish to be an adult too fast."

"And you don't want to grow up at all," Chilchuck retorted.

Even as a kid, it always bothered him how often Bellana was more than happy to cling onto whatever childhood she had left. Chilchuck couldn't even recall the last time he had felt any sort of childlike freedom. Maybe it was jealousy, jealous that she still gets to act like a child under her parents' protection. While he had been working to feed himself since he was physically able.

"What reason would I not? All adult halfing, woman do is bare children, serve their husbands and weep because he does not treat her well." She crossed her arms, glaring at the water. Speaking the reality of the roles halfing woman must succumb to in their villages society. Not everywhere was like this of course, but their isolated village was old fashioned in many ways. Heavily believing the old ways, back when other races barely interacted, were better.

Chilchuck's annoyance completely faded at hearing her words. His stomach dropped when he realized that she wasn't exaggerating. He had never really thought of what life ahead could possibly look like for her. Just assuming in the back of his mind she'd always be a farmer's daughter.

"Bel." He said, his voice firm. "That.. that can't be true. Women do so much more than that."

"Not in this village they don't." She grumbled, she was silent a moment before continuing. "That's all they tell us from the moment we are born. All we are here for is to be good wives and give our husband many children." Even through her angry gaze at the ground, she could feel herself wanting to cry. Her throat tightening as she fought back tears.

"It's not fair..." she whispered.

Chilchuck was silent for a few moments before he spoke up again, still firm but with a softer tone than before as he stared at her, but she still refused to make eye contact with him.

"Well, that's not true. Your parents and everyone else who says those things are wrong."

"It's not like I have a choice..." she mumbled. "No woman works in this village without being shamed." Even your own mother. Is what she wanted to add, but reframed from it. She slowly looked up, looking at the sky that poked between the leaves. "I can only hope whatever man I marry will treat me well... be loyal and won't raise a hand to me..." she murmured.

Chilchuck's heart broke at hearing this. He hated seeing how miserable she suddenly was. He wished there was more he could do besides trying to lift her up and comfort her. However in the long run, there was nothing he could do to save her from her possible fate.

"Hey," he began, grabbing her shoulders, she jumped a bit, turning her upper body to finally look at him. "Listen to me. Not every man is like that, I swear to you. Any man who lays his hands on a woman like that is no real man. Not all of us are unfaithful cheaters either, if they are they're just cowards and idiots."

Bellana stared at him for a moment, her dark, normally hooded eyes seemingly more wide. Taking in his serious expression and somewhat panicked body language. Her eyes studying all of him, as if she was trying to figure something out. The intensity of her gaze couldn't help but make Chilchuck feel somewhat uneasy.

"... you'd be a good husband, wouldn't you..?" Her voice was soft.

Chilchuck was frozen for a second, his cheeks turning pink at her comment.

"Uh..." He suddenly realized how close they were, her soft breathes fanned his cheeks gently. Tight hands still on her shoulders from trying to hold her attention.

Chilchuck quickly let go and put some distance between them, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to calm his sudden flustered face. The muddy ground almost causing him to slip in his sudden motion. Low friction against him and the ground caused him to not end up getting as far from her as he would've liked.

"I-I- um..." Chilchuck mentally cursed himself for his stuttering. It's been happening more and more lately every time he talked to Bellana. Big brown eyes darting to everything but her face.

Bellana frowned more and looked ahead of her again. Staring into the distant forest that kissed the other side of the river bank. Resting her folded arms on top her knees once more.

"I suppose it doesn't matter in the end. I doubt we can still be friends once we both have our own husband and wife."

Chilchuck's shoulders slumped when he heard that. He hated this, he hated how they were both expected to get on with their own separate lives eventually. Just because of what was 'expected.'

"Why," he began, crossing his arms around his knees as well, "why can't we just... stay friends?"

"Your wife would never let you share your private time with another woman. And my husband would think I am a whore for spending time with another man." She looked down at her feet, as she dipped her toes into the water. Swirling a them around and splashing it upwards. Although Bellana's face and voice were as calm as the river before them. The unsettling feeling of despair and doom that chained her heart down was not being ignored by her. However her strong demeanor was not broken.

Chilchuck's hands clenched against his arms. He hated that Bellana was right. Any women he married would most likely get jealous and any man Bellana married would most definitely be possessive. He didn't know many, or any, adults in the village that had close friends with the opposite gender. If they did, it was their spouses friends, not theirs.

It hurt to think about. That he wouldn't be able to stay friends with her once they were both married. Chilchuck cursed himself again when he felt frustration build up and tears at the corners of his eyes. He quickly blinked them away before they could fall.

"Well, why don't we just... not get married?" Chilchuck suddenly suggested, his voice betraying the slightest bit of desperation.

Bellana looked at him before bursting into fits of laugher.

"Not get married? Yes, perhaps you could manage. Move away from here, or start your own business. But for me? It's either a husband or nothing. Be on the streets when my father dies, begging passing families for their moldy bread." Her laughter died down as she leaned back on her hands. Although she had a smile on her face, she was anything but happy about the situation. Having excepted her fate as a child, as most woman did, she could do nothing but laugh at the thought.

Chilchuck's shoulders sagged in disappointment as he crossed his legs together. Last ditch effort he had, had fallen flat. It was a far-fetched plan to begin with. Besides the alternative, wanting to yell it at the top of his lungs. "Let's get married!", but he feared only laughter would be thrown at his face if he did.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. He felt defeated, he didn't really know what more he could do, as just a boy and as her childhood friend. There wasn't much he could do.

Chilchuck didn't want to lose her, he didn't want to watch her get married off to some idiot who didn't even treat her right. He truly wanted her to be safe and happy. A selfish part of him wanted her to be happy and safe with him, and him only.

"Maybe it won't be so bad." Bellana suddenly spoke up, staring at her finger as she poked holes in the mug, kicking the water with her feet still.

"We'll see each other at the village dances, and around the markets still." She hummed.

Chilchuck was silent for a moment, thinking over her words. Realistically, she was right. They'd still be able to see each other. Still, the thought of never being able to spend time together, just the two of them in the small moments that they do have... hurt. Only ever having contact with small "hello? How are you? Good, me too." As they walked by each other. Each holding the hand of someone else. Chilchuck swallowed back his feelings and forced a smile, knowing Bellana was still upset. Despite her hiding it well, knowing her as long as he has, he had learned her body language. Knew her ins and outs as if her mind was his own.

"Yeah, I guess we will..." he said, trying to inject some optimism into his voice.

Bellana had a small smile on her lips, as if ignoring what her situation could truly turn out for her in the future was the obvious solution. She as silent for a moment before speaking up again, her movements stopping but she still did not look at him.

"Hey Chil...?"

Chilchuck lifted his head when she called out to him. He could tell she was still putting on a smile, despite her voice sounding hesitant.

"Yeah?" He answered, his hands still crossed around his knees.

Bellana slowly looked up to him, "promise... promise me you'll treat whatever woman you take as your bride well... you won't be like those asshole drunks here... you'll be a good man to her.." she stared at him, her eyes big and a small frown resting on her lips. Her body now close together making her look like a sad child begging for warmth in the cold.

Chilchuck's eyes widened slightly at her question, or more like a plead. He didn't expect her to ask him that. He didn't hesitate however. Chilchuck reached over and placed one of his hands on top of Bellana's hand that rested on her knee.

"I promise." He said, keeping his voice firm and giving her hand a squeeze. "I won't ever be like that, Bel."

She felt a tingling warmth in her chest that spread to her cheeks as his dark brown eyes met her dark blue ones. The seriousness and sincerity taking her by surprise. Finding it seemingly harder to breath, before she shook herself out of it with a laugh.

"Maybe I should just marry you then..." she joked.

Chilchuck's face instantly went red at her words, causing Bellana to crack a smile. He wasn't expecting that. She had to be joking...

"Y-yeah right," he said, trying to sound casual and calm, although his voice sounded somewhat strained. He quickly took his hand off of hers, crossing his arms again. Chilchuck looked away to the trees, desperately trying to compose himself as she began to laugh again. Looking ahead of her once more, letting go of her knees and sitting back on her hands again.

"Yeah.. you're much too grumpy for my taste."

He rolled his eyes, "and you're too much of a brat." He shot back, but thought how happy he was that she seemed genuinely amused at the moment. No longer sitting in her own devastation of the near future.

"Yeah... we'd never work. Just fight all the time." She hummed a giggle.

"Yeah, imagine. You'd get annoying after the first hour."

She scoffed. "And you'd start whining right after the wedding!"

"And you'd start bossing me around the second we said I do!"

"You'd start nagging before we'd even be able to lay together that night!"

Chilchuck's face went bright red at her words. Immediately swerving his body the other way, he went to cover his face with his hands. His palms pushing sharply to his cheeks and eyes. Bellana already covering her mouth to suppress her giggles.

"O-oh my God," he mumbled under his breath. "I am not taking about that with you." Imagines flashing in his mind, only heightened his undying embarrassment.

Bellana finally burst into more very loud laughter. Much louder and more joyful than before, she clutched her stomach as she fell into the soft grass, kicking her feet around.

His shyness never failing to amuse her, even as she struggled to catch her breath and her sides began to ache. All her worries and anger from before gone and forgotten. All from the stupid face her best friend made. Chilchuck just sat glaring at her as he watched her having, to what he considered, a dramatic reaction.

"Oh shut up.." Chilchuck muttered, crossing his arms.

The whole conversation was steaming with hot irony. Of course, neither knew that at the time. Or maybe they did, deep down they both knew the thing they felt in their chests when they looked in each eyes was deeper than any friendship could possibly give them. That the hypothetical wife and husband was actually sitting near steps away from them. The promise he made was to the woman herself, and not some future mystery lady. Bellana's nightmare would not come true, and both of their fears of no longer being friends would technically never come to be. Maybe they denied it, lying to themselves that the feelings they felt was just a strong platonic connection, perhaps for the only purpose of saving face in case of a possible rejection. So it seemed obvious at the time they would marry other people. That the possibly, that the future husband and wife, was the very person they had that very conversation with at that moment, was absolutely absurd.

#chilchuck #chilchack #chilchuck's wife #chilchuk dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #chilchuck tims #dunmeshi #Bellana Sams (chilwife)

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books-of-the-great-leviathan · 2 years

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Chapter 20- Luca

***

Luca would never forget the feeling of home: the wind rising off Bellana's Arm, the lush humidity of the air, the scatter and cry of white cloud gulls coursing with the breeze. Still, nothing could dull his nerves, loosen the tension inside him. This wasn't a homecoming, no matter how much he wished it so.

On deck, the crew seemed subdued. Nadya marched the length of the Fishcutter, calling orders, but her eyes were hard, her hands never far from the hilts of her weapons. Rigging spiders scanned the horizon. Niive wasn't riding the high winds, like she preferred to do on the open sea, but rather stood on the bow, her arms raised as she filled the ship's sails, her black hair whipped round her shoulders. The sky was open, clear, sun making its slow climb to the apex. The water was a deep, vivid blue, all rolling swells. Luca helped where he could, but kept straying to the railing, kept his eyes on the horizon, waiting.

By noon, he caught his first glimpse of Lapide.

It was only a haze, a faint green trace, a wisp of cedar scent, but it was there. Luca went to the railing and leaned over, as if he could will himself closer.

"Not bad to look at from here," said Irene, behind him.

"The crew doesn't seem to share your appreciation."

"These are wartime waters." She moved to his side, hands in her greatcoat pockets. "Makes for uneasy sailing."

"I trust the thought of the Fishcutter foundering under a fortune in Lapidaean gold helps them sail easier."

"Gold," Irene snorted. "Gold in your words, gold in your hair. Gold lining our coffins. I'll rest easier when we're pointed toward the Gulf of Storms and I can't smell the reek of this water on me anymore. Are you ready, then?"

"I left Lapide a traitor. I won't be sailing in, that's certain." He kept his eyes on the trace of land. "We wait for night."

"I hope you have a plan, Valere."

"I assure you, neither you nor your crew nor your pretty little ship will come to any harm. I'll see to that."

Irene snorted. "Mind yourself first. You, and yours."

Luca glanced to Sirin. She was perched on the bowsprit, Puppy curled on her lap, snapping at seabirds that spiraled too close. She'd ventured out of the cabin these last few days, weak and gaunt but able to walk without assistance.

She'll be all right, he told himself. She was strong enough to do what she did in An Gholam, wasn't she? If she can survive that, she can survive anything.

He would never forget the sight of her at the bow. She hadn't commanded the storm. She was the storm. For a moment, he'd thought she really would let her shadows crush them all instead of the monster.

Irene's eyes flicked from him to Sirin, then scanned scanned the glimpse of Lapide, her brow furrowed over her mismatched gaze.

"You know how I lost this eye?" she asked. "My pa did it. He was a right old bastard. Ork-hunter first mate who murdered his captain in grand mutiny, stole his ship, and sailed it straight to Vaarghaul. Heard of the place? Better if you hadn't. It's hell, if ever there was one. A frozen wreck of a city clinging onto a frozen wreck of an island. Our mother was a flower-seller, a poor wretch who couldn't say no to him. Maybe it was animal magnetism. Maybe the reek of ork-oil got her in the mood."

She let out a snarl of laughter. "My pa had this whip from his ork-hunting days, used to control the dying beasts when they're hauled up on deck. He liked using it on people. And one day, I came in from plucking pockets to find dear old dad standing over my mother's corpse. Matteo was huddled in a corner, hiding his eyes, but I knew. I knew he'd seen. He was just a boy. Four years old and sitting in a pool of our mum's blood."

"Triune," Luca muttered.

"Yeah, well." Irene smiled. "He tried to turn the whip on me. On the ground, Irene, he yelled at me. He was so far in the drink I don't think I was his daughter anymore. I was too scared to move, and it cost me. Next time he cracked that whip it took out my eye."

She stopped. Her brows were drawn together.

"He wasn't done. Get on the ground or I'll put a notch in your little brother, he said. Well, that couldn't stand. I kept on coming. I stuck my little oyster knife in his guts and then he didn't hit me anymore."

"What did you do?" Luca asked.

"Me and Matteo chopped up our father's body and tipped the pieces into the dockyards chum-buckets. He always did like the sea, after all. Didn't take long to ferret out his stash of cash and make for the open ocean."

Irene drew a short breath, studying the waves.

"I was scared," she said. "Not just of him. I was scared 'cause he was my pa and it was me and Matteo, or it was him. If part of me hadn't wanted to spare him I'd still have two eyes."

"You can't regret mercy."

"Oh, yes I can," Irene said. "This world won't show you any. The Leviathan won't show you any. Your sister, Severin Azare, they weren't spared. They were flukes, motes in the beast's eye. We're all the same in its world."

She fixed him with her whaleglass stare. "I understand why my pa liked his whip so much. It gave him power. And if I had power like Sirin's-"

She let out her breath.

"We all saw her turn the monster," she said. "I'm grateful for that. Truly. But I saw what she might have done, too. She could have killed all of us as soon as smile, and she was so far gone in her shadows she might have done it without knowing."

"What in all Hells are you saying?"

"You know what I'm saying, Valere. You aren't as stupid as you look." Irene curled her hand over the pommel of her pistol. "I'm saying there are all kinds of mercy. Some don't look it. Not until after. Some we have to make for ourselves. Me, and you. And you're a merciful man."

Luca rounded on her. They were nearly the same height; Irene barely had to tip her chin up to look him in the eyes.

"I wouldn't make threats like that," Luca said. "If I were you."

Irene smiled. "Best be glad you're not me, then." She stepped back and gave him a mocking bow. "Welcome home, Luca Valere."

The Fishcutter drew no closer to shore. By dusk they made harbor off one of Lapide's many small barrier islets, a solitary crag of white rock rising from the sea, crowned in scrub and threadbare cedars and a circlet of gulls. The crew dropped anchor and trimmed sails, and as the shadows lengthened over the water the Fishcutter seemed to melt into them, its tarred hull invisible against the lee face of the islet.

He joined Niive, Sirin, and Cereza at the bow, settling down on a sprawl of balding velvet cushions. They sat round an oilcloth spread with fresh-caught shallows fish, pickled ginger, and raw pink crustaceans rubbed with spices and citrus juice. The crew had wasted no time netting fresh food after weeks at sea, and Luca was grateful for an end to hardtack and touga jerky.

A glimmer of ice swirled in Niive's palm, the air around her colder than the rest. "Nervous?" Luca asked, licking juice off his thumb.

"You wish." Her tone was cool, but the icy wind danced and fluttered around her fingers like an agitated glimmit. She saw Luca looking and clenched her fist, banishing the wind. "Are you going to stare, or are we going to plan?"

"We can't sail straight into the harbor, as much as I'd like to," Luca said. "The last command Isabella gave was for her Falcii to shoot us down. We'd violated our mother's direct orders. More than that, we'd sprung Cereza's would-be assassin from under Isabella's nose."

"You...freed her from prison?" Niive asked, glancing at Sirin.

"We did," Cereza said, Puppy curled in her lap. "I helped."

"That's true. You were there," Luca said.

Cereza kicked him in the shin. Sirin's eyes flicked skyward. Regardless, we three won't be getting into Valeris by any typical means.

"That's where Niive comes in," Luca said. Niive gave him a level look. "Can you fly with us three, and Puppy?"

"Puppy?" Cereza echoed.

"Puppy stays with me. I'm not leaving it with these pirates."

"I can fly the distance," Niive said. "I will not be nimble, but I should make it."

Should? Sirin cut in.

Niive fixed her with a golden stare. "Doubt me, witchborn?"

You, no. I simply doubt my ability to remain in one piece should I fall from sufficient height.

"You're sure you want to come?" Luca asked her.

She tensed. I am fine, Valere.

"You don't have to-"

I'm fine. Her shadow on the planks writhed and spread. The welt she'd burned into Luca's arm gave a hard throb, singing in the backs of Luca's teeth. He winced, and her eyes widened, then hardened, fastening again on the darkening sea.

Do not chide me, Luca, she signed after a moment. I am going.

Cereza jabbed a knife through the last shellfish and fed it to Puppy. The little creature crunched it down it in one bite, shell and all. "We still don't know what we're looking for."

"Valeria had to have left behind something in Valeris. It was her citadel. Her fortress. Triune, she built it from the foundations up-"

"Luca, no one knows what happened to Valeria. We don't even know where she was buried. No tomb, no trace."

"Just because no one knows now doesn't mean it doesn't exist," Luca pressed. "She was real. She was our bloody ancestor. You think she gave up when she saw the might of Laurais' armies? If she had, we wouldn't be here today."

"Incredible," Cereza said.

"What?"

"How much you can make me want to punch you within the span of five sentences."

"Try to avoid the nose. It's had enough abuse for one lifetime." He cleared dishes out of the way and spread a map of Valeris over the tarred planks, weighing down the corners with empty crockery. The map was one of Irene's, a creased old thing much stained from years of salt wind, spattered with what looked suspiciously like blood. It was at least a decade out of date, but Luca knew the city well enough to make up for it.

"If we approach from here," he said, tracing the arc of mountains that cupped the city, "we'll take the shortest route over Valeris, straight to the Palace itself."

"Homesick?" Niive asked.

Luca shook his head, twiddling the small oyster knife between his fingers. "The rest of Valeris has been rebuilt, remade, dug into to make new canals. The Palace and Valeris Ridge are the oldest parts of the city, the original foundations of Valeria's first settlement on the ruins of the Estaran Empire's prior capitol."

He tapped the Ridge and the Palace built atop. "We shouldn't be sighted. The Palace is well guarded, but the city's built to look to the sea for attack, not the sky."

"Awfully clear skies tonight," Cereza murmured, glancing toward the first of the three moons already visible overhead.

"They needn't stay that way," Niive said.

Luca grinned. "That's the spirit."

"Do you think Isabella-" Cereza began, her voice small.

"Isabella can go to the glowlands," Luca said. "We keep to the plan. We don't hurt anyone. We'll wait for moonsrise, then get flying."

"And I'm coming with you."

Luca looked up as shadow fell over them. Azare stared down at him, eyes narrowed against the setting sun.

"Alois is in the Palace," he said. "Your mother's prisoner. Isn't he?"

"Last I know of."

Azare turned to Niive. "Can you carry a fourth?"

She shrugged, picking at her nails.

Luca set his teeth. Azare met his gaze again, steady and dark. At last, Luca looked away and stood.

"Fine," he said. "Everyone should get some rest. Whatever else, we're in for a long night."

***

As the moons rose, their light swept over the ocean, touching the waves with silver and turning Lapide's coastline to a brushstroke of deep blue and blanch-white. The only color in the world came from the running lamps, dull red globes at the Fishcutter's bow. They cast a glow like a banked coal in the black water.

Cereza was right- the sky was cloudless, the stars unobscured. Heat still shimmered over the deck, but the wind held a chill. At the first trace of cold breeze, Niive seemed to perk up. She was balanced on the railing, poised on her toes, weightless as a bird. She eyed the land, the sea, then turned her face toward the sky, her eyes narrowed against the drenching light of the great moon.

"I can work with this," she said.

"Then let's go," Luca told her as he stroked Puppy. "Before we run out of night."

Azare knelt nearby, murmuring to himself- a prayer to Bellana, his weapons arrayed around him, sword and stiletto and boot knife. When he was done, he sheathed them once more and stood. All wore dark clothes, plain and weather-beaten, hardly the sapsilk and brocade Luca had left Valeris in.

Niive straightened, her hair lifting as the breeze kicked up around them. She nodded to Sirin a few yards off, tugging a hood over her short curls. "With her power, we hardly need the winds. She could make us disappear easier than I-"

"No," Luca said, his voice hard. "She already did enough for us."

"You don't trust her?"

"Of course I trust her!" Luca faced the sea, scanning the shoreline for any sign of lights. "You think I want her to push herself like she did in An Gholam? She almost died."

"That is true," Niive agreed levelly.

"Just be ready to fly," Luca told her. "Sweet-talk some clouds or whatever it is you do."

She gave him a look, then lifted her arms. Her hair rose with them, shifting and iridescent. It fell into form, becoming feathers. The railing creaked, the entire ship shifting to the side as her bird-shape took on mass.

Niive fixed one eye on Luca and clicked her beak with a sharp snick, as if to say your turn, Valere.

"Hurry up, Luca," Cereza said, brushing past him and swinging easily onto Niive's back. Azare followed after giving Niive a once-over.

Yes, Luca, hurry up, Sirin signed as she came up behind him.

"I was ready by sundown," he retorted, but didn't waste more time. He gathered Puppy and climbed onto Niive behind the others, winding his hands deep into her feathers. He felt her muscles flex beneath him, felt her weight shift, before her wings flared wide and she flung herself off the deck, into the sky.

The winds carved out around her; he barely had time to strengthen his grip before the Fishcutter fell away and they were borne up into the night.

Luca flattened against Niive's feathers, his eyes filled with tears from the cold. Niive gained altitude, then stopped, her wings outstretched, the wind keeping her aloft at her command. The shoreline stayed at a distance; they would fly down the coast to the mountains visible in the distance, pale and jagged, like the spine of some long-dead creature. The sea was a great rippling expanse of dark water and silver moonslight, Bellana's Arm spread beyond.

Luca glimpsed the light as Sirin did, as she glanced back at him with eyes wide. It flickered over the waves some leagues to the south: a great line of lanternlight, drawing closer with each of Niive's wingbeats.

Puppy gave a soft whine, pulling close against Luca. The lanterns drew forms from the waves, and soon the first of them became fully visible in the bright moonslight. A ship, tall and white-sailed, glorious and triple-masted, its flanks bristling with cannons. The blue Lapidaean flag snapped from its mainmast, emblazoned with his mother's pale hawk.

Even far away, Luca knew that sort of ship like he knew his own hands: a navy battleship in full wartime splendor.

Sand seemed to slither down his spine. A second ship appeared alongside the first, and then another. Within minutes, a line of ships had appeared below, all in full sail, all of them battleships with broadsides at the ready.

"A blockade," Azare said quietly.

Luca's pulse hammered in his fists. Had they wandered into a battle? Had the war escalated so while he was gone? The sky was clear of spellfire smoke, but he imagined he could still smell it on the breeze. His hands tightened on Niive's feathers as a curl of dread unfurled in his heart.

They veered sideways, away from the blockade, toward Lapide. The shoreline rushed nearer. It skimmed past, and the land overtook it, rocky coastline and the first broken fangs of the mountains jutting from cedar forests and scree.

Luca's heart hammered in his wrists, his palms slick as he gripped Niive's feathers. The crust of mountains cleared, and he glimpsed the first spear of pale stone.

Valeris. Even faraway it was familiar as an old song, long-since memorized and never to be forgotten. The spear became a spire, a single finial spike crowning the highest point of the city: the grand dome atop the Palace.

The Palace itself rose into view atop Valeris Ridge, spilling down its side in terraces and cascades of whitebrick curtain wall, waterways joining the great silver road of the Vie pointing toward the bay beyond. The great canal was fed by its countless lesser siblings, a web of tributaries twining through the rest of the city. Some served as roadways, others as drainage canals, built to channel storm rains and monster waves away from the city, preventing floods and protecting Valeris from the worst of what came.

Luca's heart ached as he felt the breeze off the city, not Niive's captured wind, but muggy and full of familiar smells. The mineral mud of the Vie, the sweetness of overripe fruit, factory smoke and tar and the sun-bleached salt-stone of Valeris itself, whitebrick baking in the heat of noon, buckled cobblestone streets steaming in the sun.

He caught Cereza's eyes as she watched the city, and she returned his look, her brow furrowed, her face pale.

It was still. Too still, and too quiet. The streets were dark, the harbor dark, the Vie bereft of vessels save for patrol boats. The Palace loomed on the Ridge. Even in the height of wartime, Valeris had never looked so empty. First the blockade, and now this, Valeris lightless and lifeless and spectral. Cereza glanced back at him again. He knew what she was thinking, and thought it too. What by the Triune had happened here while they were gone?

Something wrong? Sirin said.

"I don't know," Luca muttered.

Cereza leaned in. "Should we go back?"

Luca shook his head. The monster, the Leviathan- it wouldn't wait around. It wouldn't hold back, nor hold off.

Sirin watched him with her steady gaze, expression unreadable.

"No." Luca drew a short breath. He didn't have time to doubt. None of them did. "We keep going."

The mountain crags whipped beneath them, wind singing off the pale points of rock. They were almost clear of them and flying in empty air again. Luca nudged Niive with his knee and she tipped her wings in response. Around Luca, the air tightened. Pressure mounted in his ears, and the wind scoured past him, numbing his cheeks with ice. He felt the wind strengthen. The moonslight dimmed, and the air around them swirled with mist. A churning blanket of clouds gathered from the corners of the sky, sweeping like a cloak in Niive's wake.

Luca couldn't resist a grin as the entire sky darkened, the stars, the moons, and Niive alike shrouded in what would appear to the guards below as nothing more than night-fog. The last time a witch's storm had veiled the city was when Valeria had first come to Lapidaean shores. Luca had traveled long enough with Niive he'd almost forgotten the extent of her power, but if this city remembered anything, he was sure it would never forget the onslaught of Aiatar magic.

He glimpsed of the statue of Valeria in the grand Palace agora, so far below she was little more than a glint of upraised sword and pale stone.

A chill rippled under his skin. He remembered the Leviathan's eyes, his fear and uncertainty reflected back at him.

Let this be right.

Let me be right.

Niive tilted and swooped on one wing, mist descending with her. The city drew closer, the Palace dome breaching the cloud layer as Niive swooped in ever-widening circles. Tower windows blurred past, some lit, some shuttered; a guard patrolled on a narrow moonslit battlement, his rifle slung over one shoulder.

Wind skittered over the battlement. The guard looked up; as he did, Niive sent mist coiling around him. She passed yards over his head, silent as a ghost. By the time the mist cleared, they were long gone.

Ahead, a rooftop rose into view, a curved expanse of tiles like the back of a breaching sea-ork. With a twist of wind, Niive flared her wings and landed. Her talons let out a high scree against the tiles as she scrabbled for a grip, at last finding it on the roof ridge. Her massive claws bit deep into the stone. Luca and the others swung down, keeping under the protective canopy of Niive's wings; the towers rose around them, shielding them from the worst of the wind.

Azare nodded to Luca. "I'll find my own way out."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means not to wait for me," Azare said. "I'll find Alois, or I won't. Either way, look after yourselves. And her."

He nodded at Cereza, who looked up, her brow furrowed.

"Azare-" she began.

"Go," he said. He seemed about to add more, then shook his head. "Calm seas, Valere."

"And clear skies."

Without another word, Azare turned and sprinted away. Within seconds he was another shadow. He vanished over the edge of the rooftop and was gone.

Niive's form shifted in on itself, shrinking into her human shape, her wings remaining. "What do you need me to do?"

Luca pointed to one of the arched windows set in the wall of a dome below. It was dark and shuttered, too narrow to allow Niive's wings, the wall too sheer for her to gain a clawhold. "Can you get us down there?"

Niive fixed him with a look. "I still think you're mad, trusting those contraptions of yours."

"Land us silently on that sill and I'll never tinker again."

"I wouldn't want to rob you of the pleasure, Valere. I'll keep watch." She caught Cereza's hand and squeezed it. "Try not to need me."

Cereza chewed her lower lip, her eyes downcast. "I..." she began, then shook her head. "I'll be careful."

She went up on her toes and pressed a swift kiss to Niive's cheek. In the moonslight Luca couldn't be sure, but he thought he glimpsed a flush on Niive's face, gone by the time she pinned him with another glare.

"Let's see it, then," she said.

Luca reached in the pack slung over his shoulder and drew forth a folded sheet of canvas. He shook it, and it unfurled, springing into form: oiled sailcloth stretched on a flexible framework of lightlock, the entire contraption shaped roughly like a spearhead. It snapped taut, pulling at Luca's hands as he gripped the rough rope handles he'd hastily spliced onto the underside.

It looked like some huge tailless kite, though none of a sort he'd flown as a child, no paint nor gilt nor sapsilk tassels. This glider looked rough, and from the way it jagged and jumped at his grip, it would handle rough, too.

No matter. He hadn't had time for more, nor the tools, simply his memories of glider-models he'd made in his workshops.

"Here," he said, passing a second and third glider to Sirin and Cereza.

You're...sure, Luca? Sirin asked, eyeing the thing.

"No," he admitted. "Every prototype I made in the past crashed within minutes. Have you seen the rather impressive scar on my calf? That was from a test I did off a cliff. I must admit it was spectacular- when I hit the ground my fibula snapped like a twig, and the bone was sticking right through my-"

Will it work? Sirin cut in.

"That time I didn't have witchery on my side." Luca let out out his breath. "It'll have to work."

He went to the roof's edge, slinging Puppy over his back. It dug its claws into his shoulders. The mist swirled around them, the cool wind ruffling his hair, steadying the high keen of his nerves. The drop called, a plunge straight down the side of the ridge, all the way to the red rooftops of Valeris below. He made out pinpricks of lanternlight moving on the Vie's distant surface.

Puppy whined. Luca gave the creature a scratch behind the ears. He gripped onto the rope handles of the glider as he crept closer to the edge.

Grit showered into the empty sky.

"Niive," he said, between clenched teeth. "I could use that breeze around now."

In answer, wind swirled beneath him, snaking under his shirt; he had an instant to grip tight before it coiled under the glider, a swell of warm air. The canvas twanged and hummed on its frame; his feet left the tiles, and with a lurch in his guts, the roof was gone and he was swept into the sky.

Moonslight rushed past; wind stung tears from his eyes. His hands burned on the rope, but it didn't matter. The Palace spread around him, the wind buoying him up, Niive's control keeping him aloft.

He wanted to let out a laugh, to hear his voice echo off the pale walls below; he bit it back. If a guard's rifle shot nicked the canvas, even Niive's control over the wind wouldn't be enough to save him from the drop.

The window spun toward him; he felt the glider shudder as the white wall flung itself at him. Luca let go of the glider with one hand, reaching for the broad windowsill, knees to his chest. He braced and kicked out for the edge. His toes scraped stone. With a strangled yelp he scrambled onto the sill and dropped to his knees, still clinging to the glider as it danced and twisted at his hands, threatening to pull him back into the empty air.

Shaking, he wrestled it closed, then crouched on the sill and waved toward the distant roof, barely visible through the mist. Within minutes, Cereza swooped close, then Sirin. Luca reached out for Cereza and caught her, then turned to help Sirin. She was already crouched on the edge of the sill, her glider folded, shadows swirling around her like a cloak.

She lifted her eyebrows.

"See?" Luca said lightly. "They worked."

Sirin broke the lock on the cedar shutters with a twist of her shadows. The shutters swung open onto a corridor, darkness striped with slats of moonslight. They illuminated the arched columns of the corridor, the ceiling patterned with blue and silver tiles like fish-scales.

Sirin cast her eyes down the corridor, a look of distaste on her face.

"This is the residential wing," Luca whispered. "Our mother usually puts guests in here. I don't suppose we'll run into anyone. These aren't terribly social times. We need to get down to the lower levels of the Palace, down to the tunnels-"

You'd best be sure, Valere, Sirin said. Her posture was tense, hands clenched. Shadows danced around her shoulders like black flames.

"I am," Luca told her. "There was a city before Valeris, sundered to its foundations over five hundred years ago. Whatever was built on its bones was Valeria's."

Built over a battlefield, Sirin said. There will be bones indeed.

Cereza closed the shutters behind them, cutting off the keen of the wind. Silence fell, broken only by the plash of a fountain echoing from some nearby walled courtyard, by the faint, omnipresent rumble of the waterways coursing just under the Palace's skin.

The doors were closed, no light visible under them. Whitebrick walls became carved cedar paneling as they wound deeper into the dome, and in them Luca glimpsed their own blurry reflections traveling at their sides, strangers to this place, no longer Valeres at all.

Sirin jerked to a halt, lifting her hand. Lamplight flared through the colonnade ahead. They crept forward, shadows thickening under Sirin's command as they kept in them. Luca's breath was visible in the air as he peered over the mezzanine.

This colonnade overlooked the Palace's grand agora, the great courtyard that was its heart, dominated by a vast bronze statue of Valeria herself with upraised sword and face lifted to the sky. Moonslight fell in a heavy swathe over the statue, over the agora at its feet, over the gibbet raised beneath Valeria's sword, the smell of decay rising thick through the warm night wind.

Cereza gasped, flinching back, while Sirin stood rigid. Luca recognized the faces of the corpses swinging from the gibbet. Duchess Melia, with her graying hair unbound and fluttering in the breeze. Lord Maryen, from the Irial Ridge, who had been one of Sofia Valere's chancellors, whose daughters Luca had grown up alongside, who had ever sent him little mechanicals of Buyani porcelain and delicate clockwork. Several of the Falcii, still clad in their blue uniforms.

More Falcii guarded the gibbet's foot, rifles shouldered, pacing circles around their executed comrades. Luca's vision pulsed, his skin hot and cold in courses. Sirin's eyes were fixed on the gibbet, unmoving, lightless.

"It's Mother's chancellors," Cereza whispered. "Maryen, Melia-"

"I know."

Cereza's eyes shone with tears. "Why would Mother execute her own chancellors?"

Luca pushed back from the parapet, his mouth bitter. "We need to find a way down. We...we shouldn't be here-"

"You! Stop!"

Luca whirled as a pair of Palace guard burst from the archway, rifles at hand, eyes narrowed behind the silver faceplates of their helmets. Cereza stumbled back, but Sirin stayed where she was, her hands at her sides, her expression hard.

"Wait." The first guard blinked, taking them in. "All Hells, that's-"

Sirin moved.

Her hands snapped up, shadows rising like a wave. A howl filled Luca's head as frost fanned over the walls, the heat stolen from the air. The moonslight dimmed. Muscular tendrils of shadow snaked over the guards and pulled tight, cutting off their shout.

Darkness streamed from Sirin's body. Her eyes were wide, so black they seemed like pits in her face, like she'd slipped through some crack in the world, straight through to an abyss beyond. She'd looked that way facing the monstrous Leviathan, so deep in her shadows she hadn't realized the entire fleet was breaking apart around her.

"Sirin," Luca cried. Her shadows flexed, tightened; the guards cried out as bone crackled. "Sirin, let them go."

More shouts echoed down the colonnade and from the agora below. Luca looked up as lamplight flared, as a woman strode toward them, her hair springing round her shoulders, her sword drawn and shining. He flinched back as if struck. In the lanternlight, he knew her face- her unbound curls, the scars glinting on her dark skin.

Cereza knew her, too. Her fist went to her mouth, her eyes wide. Little wonder. The last time they'd seen her she was laying Luca's back open with a sword. Now she came to a halt, flanked by more Palace guard with live blades.

"That's Ziva Lapin," Luca snarled. "That's the Witchhunter's bloody lieutenant."

"Valere?" Lapin said, her brows drawn together. "You survived? But-"

She blinked. Her eyes widened.

"No," she whispered. "Can't be-"

There was no time. Without hesitation Luca plunged his hand into Sirin's shadows. It was like reaching into icy, fast-moving water. Cold crackled through him, darkness veining up his skin. He ignored it, ignored the pain, and grabbed Sirin's arm. The spike of cold when he touched her was worse than the rest, but he didn't let her go.

"Sirin!" he said again. "Now!"

She blinked. Her eyes cut to him. Her hands curled into fists, shadows slithering from the guards. They collapsed, groaning, to the floor.

"Get after them," Lapin ordered. "I'm headed to the gardens. They can't have come alone."

Luca grabbed Cereza's arm and pulled her and Sirin both back into the corridor. Lapin's commands rang behind them. The walls blurred; Luca tasted bitter magic in the air. Puppy bounded by his side, claws skittering on the flagstones.

"We need to call Niive," Cereza gasped, scrubbing at her eyes. "We need to get out of here."

"Look for a terrace," Luca said. He was still hanging onto Sirin, his arm numb to the elbow. He let her go and doubted she noticed. Her gaze was still distant, her body quivering. Shadows flickered over her skin like black flames.

"What in all Hells were you doing?" Luca demanded.

Saving our lives-

"By nearly killing those guards? We agreed to do this without hurting anyone-"

Her eyes flashed. What did you want me to do? Let them shoot us?

"No-"

This is my power, Sirin said. This is what I am.

Luca clenched his jaw. At his feet, Puppy yipped and began down another corridor. Shouts echoed from behind them, back the way they'd come.

"This way!" Cereza called, following Puppy. "There!"

She pointed. A pair of double doors loomed at the end of the hallway, carved with patterns of platefish and stars. They burst through at a run and skidded into the dark rooms beyond.

Luca slammed the doors shut, his pulse hammering in his palms. "Lapin's here," he panted. "Lapin is in Valeris. Why would Lapin be in Valeris?"

"I wish Niive had fried her with lightning when she had the chance." Cereza shook her head. "We need to get out. We can still-"

"Cereza."

One of the ork-oil sconces on the wall guttered to life. In its amber glow stood a young man, his dark curls mussed, his round face covered with healing bruises. He wore a light robe and sleeping clothes; he'd clearly just woken up. He stared at Cereza, his lips slightly parted, as if she was a trick of the moonslight.

"Alois?" Cereza said faintly.

"You're alive." Prince Alois blinked, as if taking her in. "You...you broke the curse? Saints, you found the Great Leviathan?"

"Alois, I'm sorry." Tears shone in Cereza's eyes. "You need to get out of the way."

He stood between them and the balcony. Luca saw it past him, a broad expanse of moonslit terrace flanked by statues, so close he felt the night breeze on his face.

"Isabella banished you," Alois said. "I saw you come in. You shouldn't be here."

"I wish I could explain-" Luca began.

Muffled voices echoed through the doors. Sirin lowered her head, shadows swirling around her again.

"Why is Lieutenant Lapin here?" Cereza demanded. "The queen would never-"

"It's at the queen's word she's here at all," Alois said. His hand crept to his side- reaching for a weapon?

"Mother let the Witchhunter's lieutenant into the Palace?" Cereza said.

Horror crossed Alois's face. "You don't know," he said.

"Know what?"

"I'm so sorry, Cereza," Alois said. "Your mother-"

He cut off as lamplight flickered under the door.

"Get out of the way, Alois," Luca said. "I don't want to make you."

Alois's jaw clenched. He didn't move.

"Alois, please," Cereza begged.

Shadow blurred, knocking Luca aside. Sirin. She sprang, all bared teeth and hands crooked into claws, talons of shadow sharp enough to tear Alois in half. Wood splintered behind Luca, and light blazed through the darkness. A rifle shot cracked. Sirin snarled in pain and collapsed at Alois's feet, clutching her side. Blood wept through her fingers.

"No!" Luca rounded on the Palace guard, fists clenched- to do what, he had no idea.

He had no chance to find out.

A hand closed on his wrist and wrenched his arm straight, pulling him round. Gold flashed in the lamplight.

"Bell?" he gasped.

His sister stood before him, tall and straight-backed, her grip tight as a fetter. She stared at him in turn, her gray eyes bright. Without warning she drove her knee into his guts. He went down hard, slamming back-first to the floor.

Isabella stood over him, her swordpoint pressed to his heart.

"Going to kill me after all, Bell?" he panted, taking in the new cuts on her face, the half-healed bruises darkening her jaw.

"What do we do with the witchborn, Majesty?" one of her Falcii asked, standing over Sirin with pistol drawn.

"Chain the monster," Isabella ordered. "Bring a magister with enough night-drop to fell a wild gholiant."

Luca twisted, looking for Sirin, but Isabella's sword dug deeper into his chest. Majesty, the Falcii had called her. Luca felt his pulse in his palms, felt the sickening twist of dread in his guts. He saw the harsh light in her eyes, and it was like she'd run him through after all. "You...you're queen? But Mother-"

"Mother is dead," Isabella told him, as Cereza began to weep, as the Falcii closed in. "I am queen of Lapide, now. And you should have stayed lost."

#grave of the great leviathan #tales of the great leviathan #fantasy fiction #serial novel #original fiction #chapter 20

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