Listen close to everybody's heart...

User: LeafeonWarrior

Words: Seraphic, Sly, Betrayal

Isabeau leaned against the railing, eyes closed against the brisk wind that carried the hint of salt.  She ignored the way the wind combed through her hair and turned it into a tousled mess against the back of her neck and in her face.  Once in a while she brushed it aside, or tried to, until giving up and letting the wind push it around some more.

With night having long since fallen it was almost brutally cold up on deck.  Without her cloak she would have been freezing, and even with it her hands felt numb where she gripped the railing.  It was better than the stifling confines of the berth she’d been given. Everything was too close, the walls, her memories.  It was better to up on the deck where there was only the cold, and sea wind to keep her company.

She looked down at the dark waters where they lapped against the side of the ship and her shiver had nothing to do with the cold.  

It hurt, a yawning ache between her ribs to realize she’d been lied to her whole life.  She had so many answers now to questions she didn’t even know to ask. Why her mother had feared the ocean and why she...hadn’t.

She was still having trouble believing it.  The whole mess was just too far-fetched when laid out beneath the hard light of day.  An ancient pact, a sea-monster bound by magic, a prince determined to save his child from the duty passed through his blood.  It should have been a fairytale, something to stay up reading until the candle burned itself out. None of the revelations from the previous day had any place in real life.

Isabeau wanted to deny it, but...even now she can feel...something.  

Ever since she was first brought on board she had an awareness of the sea that didn’t seem strange at first.  She’d never even seen the ocean before how could she have known.

There was something terrifying about how close she had come to falling into the trap.  Three weeks at sea and two sea battles. She’d even fallen into the water during that last battle trying to repair the rigging.  If her blood had touched the ocean water...the magic lying dormant would awaken a creature so terrible that even the legends themselves had tried to erase it.  

If she had any common sense she would be hiding in the middle of the ship and doing her best to avoid so much as catching a splinter.  Isabeau should be feeling vulnerable and frightened, but right now all she felt was a fury that left her almost breathless beneath the weight of it.  Had her mother ever intended to tell her? To explain the invisible weight that had always sat heavy across her shoulders and why she would dream of an ocean she had never seen.  

It had been a shock to recognize something she knew, she knew, she had never seen.  

If there was anything this blasted war had taught her, it was that ignorance was no excuse.  Her mother might have hoped to save her by refusing to tell her the truth, but in the end it had just placed her in more peril.  

“So this is where you retreated to.”

Isabeau startled as Captain Eliza joined her at the railing.  She immediately felt the fool for taking such a drastic risk with everyone’s safety by lingering by the water.   

Her immediate apologies were waved away as the captain leaned on the railing, resting her weight on her elbows.  “Don’t apologize. Considering what we learned yesterday I don’t think you could avoid the ocean even if you tried.”  She eyed Isabeau sidelong. “That does explain things at least.”

Isabeau pressed her lips together to hold back the tirade that tried to pour out of her.  Instead it sat on her tongue, heavy and bitter.

“So what are you out here brooding over?”

Isabeau stared outright in surprise.  “Captain?”

The Captain’s smile was soft, not the usual sly curve of her lips.  It was the look in her eyes that made Isabeau swallow hard and look back out over the water. * “Your world was basically turned upside down yesterday and judging from your reaction you had no idea it was coming.  That kind of thing can cut your feet out from under you faster than any wave.” She looked out over the night-dark ocean. “It might help to talk about it.”

“I don’t think it will,” Isabeau said, the words falling sharp and furious.  “My mother lied to me. She risked my life because she was afraid and let me stumble into this,” Isabeau gestured at herself and the ocean as if that was explanation enough, “without any warning.  She could have given me answers any time but instead she stayed quiet even when I was -”. Biting back the words Isabeau swallowed hard. She imagined the words were an actual physical weight in the back of her throat.

“When you were what?” the captain pressed.  If she had turned to look at Isabeau she would have brushed her off.  But her gaze was still on the endless ocean with its churning black waves gilded in moonlight.  It was as much privacy as Isabeau could expect on the ship and receiving it from the captain now gave her the courage to continue.

“I’ve always dreamed of the ocean,” she admitted, speaking barely above a whisper.  Just a touch louder than the quiet shush of the waves beneath them. “When we would visit the nearby lake I could never figure out why I always felt so strange in the water.  As if it was close to what I wanted, but not enough.” She remembered crying once, only the once, not even sure why. Her mother had held her close and wiped her tears away saying, it was okay, it would fade with time.

It hurt to realize what her mother meant now.  “I don’t know if she was ever going to tell me.  Maybe she was going to wait until whatever magic lived in me...died.”

“But then you ended up on the ocean.”

Isabeau nodded and looked down at her hands where she gripped the railing.  The water danced back and forth on the edge of her vision. It was frightening to realize that a part of her belonged down there.

“I saw a Mer once.”  Before Isabeau could pepper her with questions the captain continued, “It was a long time ago, back when I first started sailing.  It was in the middle of a storm and the captain had me up on the mast to help tighten the sails.” She laughed, shaking her head. “It was a wonder I survived the attempt.  I’m pretty sure the captain had done it hoping I would get swept away.” The captain’s smile was deliberately sweet, seraphic as the one gracing the lips of the Lady fashioned on the prow of the ship.  “He didn’t like having a girl onboard. Thought it would bring bad luck. But unfortunately for him I knew what I was doing. I was fighting to keep my grip beneath the wind and driving rain and suddenly lightning slashed across the sky.”

Captain Eliza shook her head and shared a commiserating look with Isabeau.  “I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. A Mer in the water several yards off the portside.  It was looking right at me.”

Enraptured by the story Isabeau whispered, “What did you do?”

“I was frozen until a crack of thunder right overhead nearly made my lose my grip.  By the time I had righted myself and was no longer in danger of falling the Mer was gone.”  Captain Eliza’s nails tapped against the railing, her chin braced on the heel of one hand. “I could be imagining things, but I almost think the Mer was waiting to see if I was going to fall.”  Another short laugh. “Hopefully they meant to rescue me, but I don’t know. It’s been a long time since they bothered to speak with us. In fact, I think it was almost two hundred years since any have bothered to speak with the royal family.”

Isabeau pressed her lips together.  “That would fit with when my supposed ancestor took his family and fled the ocean.”

Captain Eliza hummed in agreement.  “That would make them a bit salty about us land-lubbers huh?”

Isabeau blinked and then looked at the captain askance.  “Did you just…?”

The captain’s response wasn’t so much a laugh as an actual cackle.  Isabeau was pretty sure she’d heard seagulls make the same noise. “It did the job didn’t it.  Aren’t brooding anymore are you?”

“If it weren’t too dangerous now I think I would be tempted to throw myself overboard,” Isabeau muttered.

Captain elbowed Isabeau in the side, ignoring Isabeau’s yelp of complaint.  “You talk big. One of the reasons I like you.” The captain didn’t move away but instead slung her arm around Isabeau’s neck.  “One more thing before I leave you to your hopefully much lighter thoughts.”

Feeling a change in the air, Isabeau carefully nodded.

“What your mother did hurt you and only you can decide if you will ever forgive her for it.”  Isabeau tensed but didn’t try to pull away, aware that she wouldn’t be able to escape the captain’s hold.  “But if you learn anything from this, I want it to be that even the people you care about will betray you if they think they are doing it for the right reasons.”

Even with the cloak on Isabeau felt suddenly so cold.  “Captain…”

Letting go, Captain Riley carefully turned her until they were standing face to face.  She put both hands on Isabeau’s shoulders and leaned in, continuing just above a whisper.  “Be careful, Isabeau. Whatever protection your mother tried to give you is gone now. If it were only my crew who knew what you are I could try to buy you more time, but unfortunately I wasn’t the only captain at that encounter.”  She pressed her lips together hard enough to drive the blood out of them before continuing. “We are at war and there will be those who will look at you and see the key to an ancient power. They won’t stop to wonder if they can control it, or what it might do to you in the process.”

Isabeau knew the captain was right, but it hurt to hear it spoken out loud.  This wasn’t something she could hide from.

Not anymore.  

Jazmin knows the way the room has begun to waver at the edges of her vision has very little to do with the corset cinched just this side of uncomfortable, and everything to do with the panic that has been her constant companion since the ill-fated request to join her uncle in his office a fortnight ago.  In fact, the corset might be the reason she’s managed to cling to her composure for as long as she has during the course of the evening. Focusing on every breath and the corresponding ache in her ribs and spine has been a wonderful distraction from the reason for said gown.

Knowing she cannot afford to step out onto one of the balconies for a breath of fresh air, it would all too easily be seen as a form of retreat, she instead takes up a position near one of the wide open doors.  Close enough to stay in plain view of most of the hall and still enjoy the cool air from outside.

“Would the lady prefer a glass of wine?”

“No, I think not,” Jazmin demurs, knowing that wine will only make everything so much worse.  The small brown squares nestled in delicate paper bowls draws her eye and she gestures. “What are these?”

The servant promptly offers her one.  “This is chocolate, my lady. My lord had it brought over from across the Sea of Storms.”

Jazmin almost draws her hand back but conquers the impulse and accepts the small piece of chocolate.  “My lord Darius is generous. Thank you, that will be all.”

With the servant sent away Jazmin takes a moment to study the small treat.  It is common knowledge that King Rutherford wants nothing more than to forge some kind of connection with the realms across the Sea of Storms.  But the waters are treacherous, filled with ancient beasts of a bygone era and magical storms that would smash the hardiest ship to splinters.

That Lord Darius is not only capable of crossing the Sea of Storms but has crafted some manner of trade negotiation is the reason Jazmin is here now.  

Jazmin’s gloved fingers twitch and she conquers the urge to crush the small chocolate.  Instead she forces herself to take as deep a breath as she can manage in the rigid embrace of the corset, and slowly lets it out.  It is painful to think about, how much things have changed in the space of a fortnight. If everything were as it should be, she would be in her rooms back at the University pouring over her books in one last review before class the next day.  Tomorrow Master Virina is going to begin the coursework on the ancient city of Oepos, where history claims Rune-work was first created and Jazmin had spent most of the year looking forward to it….

Except she is no longer enrolled at the University.  No more classes or late night study sessions where she and the others have a few too many drinks and try to Divine the exam answers, only for Herad to inevitably set something on fire.  No more tentative plans to visit the Great Desert where the last remnants of Naming magic still linger and it is said their mages are nameless for fear of attracting demons. Every dream and goal she held for herself has been wrenched away in the space of a fortnight, and so here she is, clutching a piece of chocolate and focusing on each breath as she struggles not to succumb to the panic that will send her magic crashing out of her like thunder.

Eventually curiosity manages to usurp the panic enough that she succumbs and eats the small square in one bite.  At once her mouth is filled with the rich flavor, smooth and warm where it melts across her tongue. It is delicious and Jazmin is forced to take another steadying breath when the back of her eyes begin to prickle.  

She has barely mastered the impulse when a woman dressed in the livery of a House servant approaches her through the crowd. “Lady Jazmin, my lord has expressed the desire to speak with you.”

It was a request in everything but intent.  Jazmin knows she can no more refuse than she can fly.  Jazmin smiles and with a slight gesture encourages the servant to start walking.  “It is my pleasure to indulge the Lord Darius.”

Jazmin follows the servant through the crowd and does not imagine the way the crowd parts, the slither of silk and faint whispers following in her wake.  She can feel the pressure of dozens of eyes following her and it takes everything she has to keep her expression in place, her brow smooth and the faintest smile curling the corners of her mouth.  She is being given the highest honor and she is grateful for this chance to serve her country and her family, or so she must appear.

They reach the dais at the far end of the room and Jazmin swallows hard to see that Lord Darius has abandoned his seat at the top to meet her on the first step.  This is the closest she has ever been to the man and she seizes the moment to study him. Golden eyes with slit pupils follow her approach and as she gets closer she can make out the faint pattern of scales across his face and down his exposed throat.  Jazmin would not call him handsome, there is a coarseness to his features that denies him that, but she would not be remiss in thinking him compelling.

“My lady.”  He offers his hand and Jazmin can see that the scale pattern covers the back of his hand as well.  From the position of his hand, she can also see the curved points of his claws.

She does not hesitate, she cannot afford to not with everything that has led her here, and allows him to guide her up the steps.  There are two chairs atop the dais, thrones in everything but appearance for everyone from King Rutherford to the lowest peasant knows that Lord Darius is beholden to no one.

Jazmin takes her seat and looks out at the sea of gowns and suits and the way everyone is staring without actually looking at her.  She clenches her hands into fists, and is startled when she realizes she is still holding the small paper bowl the chocolate had come in.  

Lord Darius follows her startled look and makes a small sound of satisfaction.  He takes his seat and says, “How did you like the chocolate, my lady?”

She can still taste the chocolate where it coats her tongue, rich and strong.  “It was delicious, my lord. Like nothing I have ever experienced before.”

He nods and Jazmin does not know whether to be relieved or concerned that he is not looking at her, but rather at the rest of the nobles as they dance and socialize, the music overlaying it all in a bright tangle of noise.  She is trying to come up with something to say when he breaks the heavy silence that has settled between them.

“I am aware of the circumstances that have brought you here, Lady Jazmin.”

Cold washes through Jazmin and it is only the corset and her refusal to jeopardize an already fragile situation that allows her to keep her composure and not immediately panic.  Of course he was aware. Everyone knew about how her cousin abandoned her family and years of negotiations regarding her betrothal to Lord Darius to elope with Lord Heath’s second son.  Both had been cast out and rumor was they had fled the country entirely, but the damage had been done.

It might have led to war, if her uncle had not seized upon the notion that Jazmin might not have been raised with the proper education of an heiress, but she too was a powerful mage and more than capable of fulfilling her cousin’s side of the negotiations.  

For King Rutherford wanted an alliance with Lord Darius and access to his connections across the Sea of Storms, and what better way to do that than to offer him a wife from one of the noble families.  Even more important, a wife who was also a mage, and would be able to carry a dragonborn child to term.

“I wish to commend you on your honor and your courage.”

Jazmin freezes and this time cannot control her expression.  She stares at Lord Darius with wide eyes and he turns to meet her gaze.  It is a hard face, for there is nothing soft in a creature rumor says was born from the bones of the earth, but Jazmin does not think she is imagining the flicker of regret that passes through his strange gold eyes.  

“I am aware that you were studying at the University before agreeing to be my wife and I wish to assure you that if you desire it, I will do whatever I can to assist you in finishing your studies.”

“Why?”  The question escapes her before Jazmin can swallow it back, but once she has voiced it she finds she desperately needs to know.  Her cousin had risked everyone by her betrayal. There were stories of the kind of destruction a dragon’s fury could bring about and Jazmin had known what she was being asked to risk by taking her cousin’s place.  “My family humiliated you. You would be well within your rights to take retribution -”

His hand closes over hers and Jazmin stops, feeling the prick of his claws through the thin satin of her glove.  “I do not blame you for your cousin’s actions.” Lord Darius’ voice is a deep rumble, carrying the hint of a growl.  “Were I a younger drake I would no doubt let my rage carry me into some manner of vengeance, but I am not. Instead I see a woman who is determined to uphold the honor of her house, and a partner I believe I can respect.”

It takes an act of will Jazmin did not know she was capable of to hold back the tears that burn behind her eyes.  Instead she looks at the man who would be her husband with clear eyes and feels the panic that has been clawing at her slowly fade.  She slowly twists her hand in his grip so that she can hold it in return and takes some satisfaction at the way his strange eyes widen.  

With the taste of chocolate in her mouth, rich and warm and sweet, and the first stirrings of hope in her heart, Jazmin manages the first real smile in a fortnight.

Vasha does not fight when she is forced to her knees before the throne.  She hisses in pain when her knees hit the marble floor and only just catches herself before her face can follow.  The manacles around her wrists were removed but the ache lingers, the skin raw and aching. With one last bone bruising squeeze to her shoulder the guard who had forced her down releases his hold and takes a step back.  Vasha ignores him, only having eyes for the man seated on the throne.

“So one of the Old Blood yet lives.”  The king’s fingers tap against the armrest of his throne, soft taps that seem to break through the heavy silence that had descended in the audience chamber once she was brought forward.  “Now what am I to do with you?”

There is a faint murmur of surprise and dismay amongst the gathered nobles.  Vasha can smell the acrid stench of their fear as the king’s words spread, stones casting ripples into the water.  No one is foolish enough to try and leave, not with their king watching, waiting for the first sign of treachery. They fear him and the power he has gathered here, in this dark mountain with a heart of ancient power.  Like moths to a flame they cannot resist the draw, and can only pray they are not taken by the flames.

She laughs.  It is soft at first.  Everything aches, from her eyes to her toes, and here she is slumped before her greatest enemy.  Beaten and alone, her allies too far to reach her in time, her greatest secret given life in only a few words.  She is cursed, her blood heavy with the power that had once ruled this realm before treachery brought down an empire.  Everything she has endured, everything she has lost, to end up here on her knees with blood in her teeth and her enemy victorious.  

The king’s eyes narrow and he makes a short gesture.  Her only warning is the creak of armor behind her and then pain explodes across her back as haft of a heavy spear is slammed into her back.  She ends up sprawled across the cold marble floors with their delicate mosaics detailing the fall of the Old Blood, the Black Empress herself thrown down from her dark mountain and all her blood with her, from her eldest son to the babe still learning to walk.

Her hand covers the image of the infant moments before the sword comes down and Vasha continues to laugh even as pain leaves her breath coming short.  She doesn’t fight when she is hauld back up and this time the king is staring her down with dark, furious eyes.

“Do you find your death that amusing?”  The king leans forward on his throne, a gilded thing of polished wood and gold inlay.  “Do you wish to join the rest of your kind that badly?”

“They are afraid of you,” Vasha says once she has the breath.  “Everyone is afraid of you. They whisper of your cruelty and your lust for blood.  They play court to you in the hopes that you will spare them or in the hopes they might feed your wrath with their enemies.”  There is a shift amongst the nobility at her words, and she turns to smile at them. “Three hundred years ago your ancestors rose up against the Black Empress and the power she wielded, but look at you all now.  Serving this wretch who has found power and thinks he knows how to wield it.”

The king’s face has grown dark with fury and his eyes sweep the assembled court long enough to ensure the flurry of whispers die before he looks back to Vasha.  He smiles down at her, a sharp slash that reveals the pointed teeth and too red lips. “Do you think to convince them to turn on me? I am not a fool, not like her.  They know what will happen if I am not here to hold the Mountain.”

Again, Vasha laughs and when the guard once again brings the butt of his spear down on her lower back, this time she will not yield to the pain.  She stays upright and when she can draw breath she looks up at him with her own sharp smile. “You do not hold the Mountain.”

Confusion flits amongst the nobles, but she is staring at the king and his narrow face and she smiles when she sees it, the fear.  “You are king but you are not Master. You have the Blood, that is true. But you don’t have enough. Not enough to hold the Mountain in truth.  Instead you have forced it to sleep.”

Where only moments before the king had stared at her with dark fury, now the fear is growing.  It blooms across his face in a slow awareness that is truly glorious. “I am the King,” he says and Vasha smiles with her teeth covered in blood.  “You are pretender.”

It is the work of a moment to [reach] and it is just like she remembers, the pulsing heart of power that lies in the center of the mountain.  The warp and weft of her realm, the shadow to every step she took within it’s borders. It had screamed in power and shaking earth the day she had been cast down, when her blood had soaked the earth and the air filled with the cries of her children.  With her dying breath she had crafted one last working, and in its grief the Mountain had reached back and caught her soul before it too could pass on.

Even forced into slumber it had guarded what remained of her life until one was born who could carry the burden of her memories, and her purpose. Until she could return and once more claim her place as Black Empress of the Mountain.  

Vasha gets to her feet as the very mountain trembles, a giant waking from its slumber.  The assembled nobles cry out as there is a crack, and the king tumbles forward, his gilded throne split into two.  Where it once stood the marble floor begins to tremble, and steadily a shape begins to rise up out of stone that has gone soft and malleable.  A new throne born of stone and power gradually takes shape and eventually hardens with one last shifting crack.

It is stark lines and stone that shines like black glass beneath the spirit lights that adorn the high sconces.  Ragged and aching, Vasha climbs the steps and stands before the dark throne before turning. She surveys the nobles in their silken finery and the palpable cloud of fear that covers them, as well as the frozen pretender who even now gets to his feet as if he has the right.  One glance from her and the stone softens beneath his feet until he sinks up to his knees. His shout of outrage is cut off when she lets the full weight of her fury touch the air. The very air hums with it, and she imagines she can hear the click of his teeth as he shuts his mouth.  

Vasha looks once more to the men and women who controlled the realm with their money and their connections, all of them descendents of traitors.  “You were afraid of him,” she says, smiling down at where the king was trapped in stone. She turns to smile at them and takes a deep breath and lets it out as the Mountain reaches for her.  The great doors of the hall grind shut and as they slowly realize that they are well and truly trapped, Vasha sits on her throne.

“I will show you what true fear looks like.”