Abolisher

Azryle was still comatose in Syrene’s bedroom. After the escape, she’d brought him to her own apartment, and he’d been unconscious since then. Eliver stayed in the guestroom, and Syrene moved to Navy’s bedroom for a while.

Refusing to get much farther from Azryle, Ferouzeh and Vendrik stayed in Kavous’ apartment across the hall—Kavous, confused as he was, only threw Syrene a wary look before deciding he trusted her, and let them stay.

Faolin, Vurian, Levsenn, and Undesin rented another apartment in the building.

After everything had calmed, Syrene went to bathe—keeping the temperature of water just cold enough to slacken the power, just not enough to press it further.

Syrene didn’t want to leave the bathroom, wanted to stay there for a few days, until everyone returned to wherever they’d come from. She didn’t know how to face all of them—Navy, mostly. Otsatyas, what would she say? I’m sorry I lied about who I am, and using you to stay hidden from the Queen of Cleystein? Or Sorry I might have overturned your entire life? Or Hi. Cerys Omdrial, the woman I’d conjured up in your imaginations was just that—your imagination?

Or maybe she should start with I’m Duce of Tribes, I have Drothiker running in my veins, and I am the last Starblood, and the last heir of King of Hemvae. Also, did I mention I might burst out any second and take the whole planet with myself? Please forgive me.

Syrene sighed. What would she say to Vurian? How would she tell him that she’d cowered from her purpose, her Destiny? How would she face his disgust and hatred?

She sighed, leaning against the door. Her hand on the knob, her eyes on the mirror. A confused girl gazed back.

Who was she? What had she become? What was she to do now?

Survive, a voice whispered. One step at a time.

Syrene squeezed her eyes shut. She knew no one was sleeping, despite the hour.

Alright, then.

She opened her eyes, turned, and stepped out of the bathroom.

And paused.

Ferouzeh sat beside the bed, holding the unconscious Azryle’s hand, tears skittering down her face. The Ferouzeh she’d had met a year ago, the one full of life and mischief, was lost today. She looked broken, and weak.

Her gaze snapped to Syrene when she shut the bathroom’s door. She bolted to her feet, rubbing at her tears. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” Syrene said. “Ah—it’s fine.” She walked over to her side.

“He’s going to wake up, right?” Her hazel eyes landed on Azryle’s face. So peaceful—he looked so utterly at peace without that broody thing his face did, or even that insufferable grin that had her seeing red. “The poison was mixed with xist—I can’t reach out to heal him.”

Syrene swallowed. “Well, he is breathing.”

Ferouzeh let out a broken snort.

“He’s going to wake up, Ferouzeh.” Her voice softened. “If he doesn’t, I’m going to go to Saqa and swear at him.”

A breathy chuckle. “Kill him for me while you’re at it.”

“That might be difficult—but I’ll give it a try.”

Silence fell.

Then, Ferouzeh turned to face her. Her arms came around Syrene. For a moment, Syrene froze. Otsatyas, how long had it been since she’d hugged someone?

Slowly, her arms went across the healer’s slender back.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything you’ve done for him.”

Syrene rubbed her back in a reply.

Ferouzeh withdrew. “I’ll leave now.” She sighed.

“You can stay, if you want,” she offered. “I’m staying in Navy’s room, anyway.”

“No—I should get some sleep.” A hint of humor returned in her eyes. “Don’t want this bastard to wake up and find me crying over him.”

Syrene chuckled.

✰✰✰✰✰

After Ferouzeh left, Syrene made for Navy’s bedroom.

But her feet paused before she opened the door. She wasn’t ready—she wasn’t ready for this. She could face anything in the world, but not betrayal in Navy’s eyes. A hint of which she’d perceived the other day in the arena—the way her friend had looked at her as if she were a stranger.

Syrene couldn’t do it. Not now. She withdrew from the door, put on a jacket, and slid out of the apartment.

She walked down the hallway. And knocked at the last apartment.

The door opened at the first knock. The boy—Undesin—loomed on the other side.

“Are they awake?”

There was no mistaking the redness that swelled beneath his freckles as the boy nodded, looking down, and beckoned for Syrene to come in.

Upon hearing her voice, Vurian hurried out of a bedroom. And stilled when he beheld her. Syrene stopped too.

A warm, comfortable moment passed, no one spoke.

Vurian stepped forward. “Hey, kiddo …”

Syrene leapt across the living room and crashed into him. She threw her arms around him, and felt his come around her. What she didn’t expect was the sob that tore her throat.

Family—she still had family left. Not all was lost, after all.

Syrene breathed in his scent, a sense of belonging crushing her.

“You bastard!” She slapped his arm when he set her back down. “Why didn’t you tell me—in that crypt. Why didn’t you tell me it was you—”

“And miss this look on your face?” His brows shot skyward. “You still look hideous when you cry.”

She kicked his leg. “Good thing I’m not crying for you.”

A cocky grin. “Then why, exactly, are you crying?”

“Because you stink.” She wiped her tears. “I know

you’ve had a long journey here, but at least you could have bothered to shower.”

Vurian mimicked her words.

“Syrene!” Levsenn, who stood at the threshold of her room, exclaimed, grinning. “I’d come hug you, but I don’t really want to.”

Syrene crossed her arms. “Thank the otsatyas.”

Levsenn snorted, stepping out of her room. “Starflame would have lost her mind seeing you saving the Prince of Cleystein, instead of wanting to see his insides.”

She angled her head. “How do you know about that?”

“About your hatred towards the deary prince?” Levsenn shrugged as she came beside Vur. “You know the faerie loves to chat. Toasted my ears talking about how pretty the ripper is—and how she wants you to stop trying to kill him.”

As far as Syrene remembered, Felset had enraptured both Starflame and Raocete a year ago, to make Syrene accept the bargain. Only after her battle against those baeselk had Deisn divulged that she’d helped both the prime and the faerie escape. “You’ve been to tribes this past year?” she asked.

The siren nodded. “Yeah, she was with Prime Raocete when we went to see—”

As if snapped to attention, her words halted. Syrene didn’t fail to notice the rigidness in Vurian. Her suspicions peaked when her cousin and her friend exchanged a glance.

She held her breath. “Went to see who?”

Another voice spoke.

“There’s a lot you need to learn, Czar.”

Vurian and Levsenn turned, stepping aside, clearing the view for Syrene.

Faolin Wisflave stood leaning against the doorframe of her own bedroom.

“Your mother sends her regards.”

✰✰✰✰✰

Breathing became a monumental task by the time Faolin finished.

A stillness lay claim to Syrene—it was all she could do to keep herself from slumping against the backrest of the couch. She stopped feeling the air against her skin—she couldn’t think, couldn’t keep her heart from twisting cruelly.

Alive—her mother was alive. In hiding—

Her throat ached, seared the words until they vanished. Eyes burned from the looming tears. It felt as if someone had hammered at her bones, leaving them rattled.

She didn’t understand this shock—until a year ago she hadn’t even known of the supposed death. When she’d learned, she’d barely had any tears to spare. But now …

Syrene forced herself to not feel this shock. She forced herself to sit straighter, and tried to not think like a daughter. Because if she did, if she began thinking back to the years before Jegvr, before the curse …

What would a ruler do? How would a duce react?

Syrene held the tears back—forced her face to harden. She met Faolin’s gaze. “What would happen should the tribes find out?”

For a moment, the sorceress only stared, scanning her face for any other reaction, her lilac eyes narrowed slightly. Then, “They would be disrupted, surely. But it wouldn’t matter because the Crown now belongs to you.”

Syrene felt hollow. She wanted to ask how her mother had been when they visited her. How had she been taking care of herself.

But those were the questions of a daughter. Not a duce.

“She wanted you to know that she’s proud of you.” Faolin seemed to grimace. “And … there’s something else you should know, Czar.”

Syrene searched her face, but it betrayed nothing. The sorceress lifted to her feet. “I would like to have a word in private.” She jerked her head to a room’s direction.

Syrene tried not to cast a gaze towards where Vur stood cross-armed across the table and nodded, lifting to her feet, still shaken to her very core.

✰✰✰✰✰

When Faolin finished, Syrene was sure the air had dispelled from the room. Sure that any minute now the dream would end. Surely, this day had to be just that—a dream.

“So you’re oathed to me?” she asked, breathless, needing to repeat the words.

Faolin nodded slowly, leaning against the now closed door, the gleam of light shifting in her pearl-white hair with the movement.

Syrene pressed her fingers against her forehead. “What if I don’t want it?” she asked. “What if I don’t want you bound to me?”

Faolin stilled. “You will have to read a few words, and the oath should break.”

“What words?”

“There are no exact holy words. You only have to will it, and free me.”

“Okay, then. I …” Syrene sucked in a breath. “My mother was lucky to have you to protect her, Faolin. And otsatyas know I could never repay what you’ve done for me. I just … I don’t know if I can afford another life lashed to me—”

“I understand.” The sorceress’ face was free of any emotion, though Syrene scented the hint of what might have been despair she was trying to hide. “Do as you wish, Czar.”

Silence fell. Heavy, and taut.

“It’s late.” Syrene broke it. “I should leave.”

Faolin nodded, and stepped away from the door.

Syrene was just at the doorknob when the sorceress spoke again. “Although …” A sigh. “I have spent my entire life serving the Crown of Stars, Syrene. I’ve been here before you were even born. The tribes, this oath—they are my life. I guess all I’m asking is …” A pause. “Reconsider.”

Syrene turned to her. “You’ve spent your whole life serving the Crown, and you don’t want out?”

Faolin shook her head. “It’s my life.”

“The tribes?”

She nodded. “I know you don’t understand, because you’re given a burden you don’t want. But I chose this, and this is all I have. All I want.”

“Faolin … Do you realize what you’re asking? You want to surrender your life the day I die? Because that’s what you’re asking. You’re asking for death—a painful death, for that matter. And it might be so near, with Drothiker—”

“Death can suck my—” She bit her lip.

Syrene grinned. “I like you.”

“Then keep me.”

She paused. Considered.

“With the Kaerions hunting you, and with the Queen of Cleystein practically at your doorstep, you need all the protection you can get. Tribes are yours now, Syrene, don’t abandon us.”

For moments, she had no reply.

She hadn’t the energy to think this over, not when she’d just discovered the truth about Hexet … Syrene simply stretched a hand, managing a small smile. “Well then, Faolin Wisflave, let’s lay this world to ashes.”

Faolin grinned, clasping a hand with hers.

✰✰✰✰✰

Syrene returned to the apartment, her heart hammering in her chest.

Nowhere else to run to now.

She didn’t allow herself to hesitate, to overthink, before she entered the room.

As expected, Navy was sitting wide awake, playing with a dagger—hopefully not planning to slit Syrene’s throat with it.

The lights were off, but the moonlight streaming in from the floor to ceiling windows sprawled widely on the bed, giving Navy’s dark eyes a shade of blue.

As Syrene shut the door behind, her eyes went to the couch, and then to the bed. Which one was she to approach? Had it been any other day, had she been Cerys Omdrial, she would have doubtlessly headed for the bed. But now …

Syrene chose neither, and leaned against the door, the Deathraze a heavy weight under her sleeve. She didn’t deserve it—the gift. She didn’t deserve Navy.

“There’s a lot I need to explain,” she began.

Navy’s eyes remained on the dagger. “Yes, you do.”

“I don’t know where to start—”

“You don’t know where to start?” Navy echoed, incredulous. “How about you start by giving me a reason to not slit your throat right now—and every one of your friend’s, while I’m at it.”

Okay, definitely the worst thing to say. “Navy—” she tried again.

“Ten seconds. The reason. Now. Ten.”

“Navy—”

“Nine.”

Syrene pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes.

“Eight.”

“Give you a reason to not slit my throat?”

“Seven.”

“Because you’re my friend, Navy!”

She paused the counting. “Am I?” she gritted. “I don’t even know who you are. Cerys Omdrial was my friend, and she never even existed.”

“I’m still the same person,” she insisted. “Navy, please—”

“Cerys Omdrial was a Grestel. You’re a Vegreka—a very powerful one, for that matter. Cerys Omdrial couldn’t hurt a person for her damned life, but you went in that tunnel crammed with armed sentries and returned alive, untouched. Cerys Omdrial never touched a weapon, you’re clothed in them, skilled with each single one. Cerys Omdrial was my friend. And you—” Her voiced faltered. “You are definitely not.”

Something in Syrene’s chest cracked.

“Three,” Navy continued. “Tick tock, Syrene.”

It was the utter venom in the way she spoke her name that had Syrene’s hand reaching for Quemcet hanging from her neck, as if that locket would keep her from crumpling.

“Two.”

“Because you matter to me, Navy,” she whispered.

The counting paused.

“I know I haven’t done right by you. And I know I could have done things differently. But I was in hiding, Navy. I had to change my identity—everything about me, to keep myself—and everyone else around me—alive. I didn’t plan this whole thing out. I didn’t plan for this to get so far. What would you have done, if your father’s lenders were still hunting for you?”

Silence. She caught the anger guttering in her friend’s eyes at the question.

“I have done everything to survive—I have killed and I have risked. I wasn’t going to take the avoidable risks. I left my life behind before I entered Silvervale, and I had no intention of returning to it.” She swallowed, truth rushing to her lips. “For the whole year I forgot my purpose—I let myself forget, because these past months have been the closest I’ve come to having a normal life. I got a taste of it, and I realized how badly I’ve craved it. I didn’t want to risk that.”

“What changed, then?”

Syrene pressed her head against the door. “I realized there is no such thing as normal life. Here, some people are slaves. Some are rulers. Many are in tribes. Some are in military. Others are living in corrupt ways. Life is never exclusively normal. It depends on your definition of the word. What I was imagining was fantasy. I had to get out. And when I did, I reminded myself who I am.”

Navy stared at her, saying nothing. The anger had evaporated from her scent. Then—

“Who are you?”

Syrene tensed.

“Why do you have so many enemies— Why is Queen of Cleystein your enemy? I’ve gotten the wind that woman is wholly out of her mind. But how does she happen to know you—or hate you, for that matter?”

For moments, Syrene was so stunned that she didn’t think she could speak. But then she supposed this was as much of a peace offering as she could’ve expected from Navy. She smiled.

“Well …”

✰✰✰✰✰

Navy wasn’t breathing when Syrene finished.

Her eyes were so wide that she thought they would fall out of the sockets. Her lips moved, hesitant, but no sound came out, as if she’d lost sense of words. Then—

“Oh …”

Syrene waited. But Navy returned to the silence.

Suddenly chill, Syrene pulled the blanket up to her shoulders. Sometime between her tale, Navy had beckoned for Syrene to sit. She hadn’t denied—why would she?

Minutes passed in silence, Navy’s mind still processing everything. Then, when Syrene reached over to the nightstand, and poured herself a glass of water, Navy finally spoke.

“So, what are your thoughts on going back to being Cerys Omdrial?”

Water spurted from Syrene’s nose and mouth.

“Come on now, the poor girl was wasn’t that bad.”

Syrene laughed until she couldn’t breathe.

“Duce of Abyss-damned Tribes,” Navy was muttering. “Syrene Alpenstride.” She swore. “You’re like—really powerful. Not only the queen, but every single human is hunting for you.” Then, as if an afterthought, “Wow, if I want, I could sell you out right now and welcome a rich life.”

“Hey,” Syrene spoke, when her laughter eventually died, wiping water from her mouth. If only to see Navy’s reaction, “You know what else I learned today?”

Navy cautiously said, “I don’t want to, do I?”

Syrene smirked. “Did you meet Faolin?”

Her dark brow rose. “Yeah …?”

“She’s the Moon Sadist.”

Navy’s jaw dropped; her big eyes widened again. “You’re joking.”

“I’m definitely not. You know what else? The man unconscious in my room? That’s the ripper. The Prince of Cleystein. He’s the one I was supposed to kill a year ago. The man staying with Kavous—”

“The firebreather,” Navy breathed.

“Attagirl!” Syrene snorted, feeling as if she’d been drinking all night.

Silence fell again, as Navy endeavored to swallow the information. This time, Syrene finished her water before Navy spoke. Still, the words were unexpected enough that Syrene choked.

“So this ripper—are you in love or something?”

“What?” she exclaimed. “Did I not just tell you we were bid against each other last year?”

“Yeah, that was last year. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you were ready to take down the world today, to get him alive out of that place.”

“I am not in love with him.”

Navy fell back on the bed, a triumphant smirk tugging at her lips. “Funny, how you didn’t deny that you would take down the world for this man.” Bullshit. Syrene opened her mouth to say as much, but Navy cut her off, staring up at the roof. “Who gave you that locket?”

Only then Syrene noticed she’d be fidgeting with Quemcet again. She dropped her hand. “Why do you ask?”

“It was from him, wasn’t it?” She grinned. “You refuse to admit that you’re in love with him, yet you touch that locket whenever you’re thinking of him. And let me tell you, that’s a lot of times.”

Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. Syrene touched the locket because it gave her a comfort—

“You’ve been in love for over a year, Cer—Syrene.” A pause. She swallowed. “No wonder you never cast even a glance towards anyone else. Whenever someone approaches you, you’re touching that damned locket again.”

Syrene cursed. Of course Navy had noticed things even Syrene hadn’t. Nothing—absolutely nothing missed her eyes.

“You’re unbearable.” Syrene lay down beside her. “Azryle is … he’s been through a lot. And I mean, a lot. And I feel for him. But that’s not necessarily love.” She paused. “It’s a familiarity—he knows what it’s like to suffer and suffer and suffer until you can’t breathe. Until you don’t know how to breathe—until you forget something so beautiful as joy exists. He fights, he survives, he always has. He’s … Azryle.”

Syrene’s gaze slid to Navy, but her friend had already collected herself in the bunches of sleep. She looked outside the window across from the bed. The sun was creeping out at the horizon.

“He matters to me,” she whispered to the asleep world.