Post by Emma on Jun 6, 2013 0:52:14 GMT -5
While Broddring and the Riders celebrated, Du Weldenvarden suffered the poison of hatred.
The rage Dellanir felt was so deep and gripping that even the living trees that made up the palace of Ellesméra could feel it. They had twisted themselves into unnatural shapes, moaning and growling threateningly. They had uprooted themselves in places so that the floors of the palace were soiled with dirt and leaf litter. No one was there to sing the trees into shape or clean the ruins. Dellanir had banished everyone from the palace shortly after Anurin’s betrayal. Nobody was allowed in, not even the guards. Anyone who tried to enter risked being strangled by reaching branches or sucked underground by roots into a suffocating prison. The palace was more akin to a haunted castle than a Queen’s home by now. But Dellanir found that it had given her real peace for the first time in centuries. She’d forgotten how much she preferred to be alone with her trees. It was one small blessing amid the sea of curses.
The queen now sat on the floor of her bedchamber, peering into the mirror. She didn’t know what had caused the change. It could have been that human weapon that she was assaulted with. Maybe it was a side effect of the new, forbidden magic she’d been experimenting with. It might even have been because of her stress and anger, or a combination of the three. Either way, she was different. Her hair had remained dazzlingly white, but now her skin was the exact colour of new-fallen snow. So were her lips, the quick of her nails- even her eyes lacked pupil and iris, and were the glowing white of diamonds. It was as if every pigment had been removed from her body. It was a curious side effect, not to mention likely the least dangerous of the ones to come. But it was all worth it.
Dellanir was surrounded by chaos- books, charms, runes, rotting plants, even a live snake slithered past her and underneath the bed. She also appeared to have aged ten years. She had slept little and eaten sparingly. In less than a human lifespan, her whole life had been overturned. Her mate, murdered. Her only son, deathly ill and unlikely to recover. And now, the Riders- the Riders that she had adored as a little girl, that had always made her feel safe at night, had betrayed her in the worst possible way.
Humans as Riders. It was vile. Unnatural.
Dellanir had been sitting in a fog for many days now, unable to think of anything but the wrongs that had been done to her. Paranoia had begun to pull the threads of her sanity. If so many people had betrayed her, how many more would there be? Would Njord Floros assassinate her in her sleep? If she asked Kolbjorn to raise an army, would the General turn that army against her? And the countless nobles who wanted to slit her throat and take her throne- would they only grow in number now that the elves were on their own? Nayeli Richards was Queen of Broddring. She had mines in the Plains, trade routes to the Hellenes and the Saxon Empire- and the Riders were gone. Dellanir had no one to turn to anymore. She had unsteadily decided to do things herself, to take charge- but she knew it was only a lie to herself. She was beginning to lose her mind, just like Palancar. She would go mad.
A noise startled Dellanir out of her dark reverie- the sound of footsteps. It was the first outside noise she’d heard in well over a week. Frightened, she lurched to her feet and turned to face the intruder as the door to her bedroom was magically unlocked. As the door swung inward, Dellanir relaxed- a small female figure appeared there, head down. Her hair was long, wavy, and very light blonde in hue. It had to be General Kolbjorn. But when Dellanir opened her mouth to tell her to leave, the figure raised her head. Dellanir stared for a moment, her mouth working, but no sound coming out. Her hair was blonde now, and she was entirely clothed in that cloak- but that impossibly beautiful face could not be mistaken. The elven queen’s breath caught in her throat, and she trembled violently.
“… out,” was all Dellanir managed to whisper, her voice creaky and rasping with misuse.
The woman across the room paused and lifted a dark eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”
“OUUUUUT!” screamed Dellanir. She pressed her long nails into her skin, drawing blood. Behind her, the trees of the palace emitted high, bloodcurdling screams. They had been flung into a primal rage, sensing the blood of their queen. At once, gigantic roots burst forth from the earth, rushing forth towards Malandra like deadly spears and surrounding her, trying to force her under the ground. Dellanir grinned like a demon as Malandra disappeared beneath the soil. For a moment, there was silence, and the Queen wondered if she’d actually beaten the infamous Prophet so easily. But then the trees screamed again- in pain this time- and the ground shuddered violently, knocking almost everything to the floor. A great crack appeared in the earth, and the roots rushed out of it, burning, crackling. They’d been set aflame. Dellanir shrieked at the destruction of her trees and abruptly dampened the flames with a spell of moisture. Malandra elegantly stepped out of the crack, her cloak now soiled, but otherwise looking as smug as ever.
“And this is how you treat your guests?”
“Get out!” shrieked Dellanir. “Who let you in here? Get out now!”
Pure energy rippled at the Queen’s fingers. Dellanir sang to the trees to pull back as far away as possible, not daring to risk any more harm to them. At the same time, she concentrated on using spells that would only harm the disgusting woman before her. Malandra was readying for battle as well, narrowing her eyes in concentration and assuming a fighting stance. She reached up and bit the palm of her hand to draw her own blood. Then she flung something towards Dellanir- something that was black and smoky and made a disturbing shrieking noise. Dellanir flung up wards as the shrieking reached a horrible pitch and the horrific mass exploded. In turn, the Queen threw lightning bolts at the Prophet, which Malandra responded to by calling up water from beneath the earth and flooding the floor around Dellanir. As the battle raged, it became evident to Dellanir that she seemed to be fairly evenly matched with the Prophet, at least in magical ability. She had not practiced offensive magic since she was a child in Ilirea, but she was still an elf, and Malandra a mere human. As such, both women had long since broken a sweat, fighting viciously. Their wards kept off the worst of the attacks, but soon Malandra suffered a cut to the side, and a blade of darkness cut Dellanir’s knee. Then one of the roots of her own trees tore across her back, and a rock struck Malandra’s temple.
Both women stood there, breathing heavily, doubled over. The fight had taxed both of them, and Dellanir’s chambers were in a state of ruination. But they still kept their eyes on each other, ready to reinitiate the violence if necessary. But Dellanir was weak from hunger already, and Malandra seemed only ready to defend herself. Whatever she wanted, the Prophet wasn’t here to kill her.
“You won’t leave,” Dellanir whispered.
Malandra chuckled and licked blood off her lips. “Of course I won’t.”
“How did you get in?”
“I was owed a favour. Tell me, Your Majesty, are you aware that you are bleeding?”
Dellanir was taken aback by the Prophet’s question. Of course she was bleeding- she had been struck in two places. But as soon as Malandra asked it, Dellanir felt something like tears running down her cheeks. She dared to break gazes with the Prophet to touch her skin and look at her white hand, dripping with inconsequential drops of blood that had streamed onto it.
“It’s just a little bit,” she said irritably.
“No, my Queen,” said Malandra slyly, turning her head to regard her. “It’s not just a little bit. It’s everywhere.”
Dellanir looked down and gave a strangled gasp. The wound, the wound that the humans had given her with their weapon and had caused her insanity, had reopened. And there wasn’t just one. Here, two appeared on her arms, another at her waist, a gaping hole in her gut where she could see her intestines, steaming in the cool air. The shock overrode the pain, and Dellanir made no noise. Her mouth opened and closed as she gawked at the gaping injuries, unable to comprehend them. Her knees began to buckle, and all at once shrieks began ringing from her mouth. At once, Malandra sprang forward, grabbing Dellanir before she struck the tiles and clasping her head between her hands. She muttered something, a spell that Dellanir was sure was meant to kill her. As darkness gathered at the corners of her eyes, all Dellanir could think about was what little Evandar would do without her.
And yet, she could still hear Malandra’s voice, like it was very far off.
“You’ve been practicing blood magic,” the woman said tersely. Completely out of the blue, Dellanir vaguely noticed that Malandra’s heavy Gaulish accent seemed to have disappeared almost entirely. “Don’t you know it’ll take your own blood as payment if it must?”
Dellanir was jerked awake, and shook and spasmed violently. But there was no more pain. She looked down at herself, but her white evening gown was spotless. Malandra was holding her arm, muttering some foul incantation and seeming to be concentrating. Her wounds had disappeared as well, and except for the redness in her face, she looked almost untouched. Dellanir took a moment to calm herself and let her breathing steady, questions whirling through her mind. After a while, Malandra looked up at her. Then she smirked, a knowing, unpleasant smirk. Dellanir almost snarled.
“I had no choice,” she spat bloodily.
Malandra’s smug expression did not fade. “Such is the excuse for all the world’s crimes.”
“You’re not one to talk,” said Dellanir shakily. “I heard about the Cathedral and what you were doing in there. You’re absolutely disgusting. You’re worse than Queen Nayeli. How many people did you kill?”
Malandra merely continued with her ministrations. “I killed no one, Your Majesty. But you couldn’t resist trying blood magic for yourself once you discovered it, no?”
“I had no choice,” Dellanir repeated. “It’s my only choice, besides raising the army again.”
Malandra cocked an eyebrow. “Raising the army? Why would you do that?”
“The HUMANS!” Dellanir screamed. All of the hatred and the anger she’d kept pent up inside her came out in a rush. “It was humans that killed my husband and made my son so ill! It was humans that tricked the Riders and used that weapon on me!” All the things Dellanir had only been able to whisper to the darkness came out now, unable to remain hidden any longer. “Look- LOOK.”
Malandra was unable to keep the Queen from skittering away on her hands and knees and snatching an iron ball from among her clutter, stained brown with old blood. She thrust it into Malandra’s hands. “I needed a surgeon to get it out! And the humans have more, I’m sure of it. They’ll give it to the Riders. Where is General Kolbjorn? Bring her to me! She needs to raise the army-”
“Dellanir,” said Malandra, with surprising gentleness. It was the first time Dellanir’s first name had been used in her presence for over a decade. She was startled when Malandra took her trembling hands into her cool, steady ones. “If it does come to war, the elves will never survive.”
Dellanir just stared at her, uncomprehending, not wanting to believe it. She wanted to spit at her, but was unable to do anything but stare. Malandra continued, her voice warm and soothing, but the words horrible and heart-wrenching.
“Your species will feel the emptiness left by the Blue Divide for centuries. Perhaps even longer. It is a wonder you survived the war at all. Humans breed like flies. It takes them sixteen years to mature. If a human soldier dies, another will take his place. Elves are more selective in their breeding, but it comes with a price. And now Nayeli has resources and allies, wherein lays your dilemma. There is no possible way for Du Weldenvarden to survive another military conflict.”
Dellanir wanted to shrivel up and crumple on the floor. It was true. It was the unspoken truth that no one had dared mention. Nobody had thought there would be another war, not so soon. But Malandra still smiled like a loving mother trying to console a very young child.
“But there are more ways to dispose of the human filth than war, Your Highness.”
It was a minute before Dellanir could speak. When she did, all she could do was ask her, “Aren’t… aren’t you a human?”
Malandra laughed for real now, a soft, pleasant sound. “Don’t tell me you haven’t ever noticed, Dellanir. Do you think magic has kept me beautiful for this long?”
Dellanir had only ever seen Malandra closely on rare occasions, but had known her face for years- an unchanging face, she now realized. This new realization startled her. She looked up into the Prophet’s face, analyzing her closely. The roundness of the cheeks and fullness of the lips were very human, but the thick, wavy hair was not so, nor the elegant bone structure. And those eyes- they were hard and cold and intelligent, not watery and emotional like a mortal’s.
“You’re part elf,” Dellanir said, the moment the realization struck her.
Malandra nodded, seeming pleased.
Dellanir struggled with herself for a minute. The product of an elf and a human was unthinkable- she didn’t even know any were in existence. But at the same time, knowing that Malandra could truly see with an elf’s point of view changed her mind. After a moment, she asked, “What would you suggest?”
“There are more kinds of magic in the world than you know. Not just of blood- wild magic and pathways and even science. I could teach you some, show you how to learn more than I have, if you would like.”
“I don’t have time to learn!” Dellanir cried. “I have a country to run!”
“Then abdicate,” Malandra said flatly, like she was suggesting going for a morning stroll.
Dellanir stared at her.
“Evandar would be king. He is your blood, and also Vänskä’s blood. The people know that, and they would respect and love him.”
“Evandar is a very sick child, you idiot! How can he rule?”
“Appoint me regent, and I can make the difficult decisions for him.”
Dellanir was quiet for a long, long time. Then she began to laugh crazily, cackling and howling and bent double on the floor at Malandra’s absurd proposition. Coupled with how weak she was from blood loss and lack of food, the fit almost made her faint.
“A disgraced whore of a Prophet- no, a half elven, half human mutt- as regent of my country!” She gave a high-pitched shriek of a cackle right in Malandra’s face. “Why would I ever acquiesce to that? Why shouldn’t I kill you right here for suggesting such a moronic thing? Who would ever accept you, after everything you’ve done?”
Malandra remained patient and calm. Somehow, Dellanir found this more disturbing than if she’d lost her temper, and her laughter began to die off. Once the queen had fallen silent, the Prophet spoke.
“Because I can cure your son.”
Now Dellanir’s face became dark and twisted with pain and anger.
“Don’t you say that. Don’t you dare ever give me false hope! You know nothing of his condition. The Riders said none of their magic can cure him. That he wouldn’t live a day past eighty.”
“And that would be the first time they’ve lied to you, is that it?” asked Malandra pointedly.
Dellanir was quiet.
“Voila. It’s true that his illness is very serious,” Malandra went on, “and that it can’t be permanently killed. I can remove the infection, but it will grow back again and again without constant maintenance, like a weed. If I remain at his side to tend to the weed, he will live a long, healthy life. He can marry and even have a child of his own. Your husband’s line will continue. As for keeping him safe from irritating assassins… well, I’ve remained alive this long, have I not?”
Dellanir didn’t want to believe it. Her hopes for Evandar had been dashed so many times. And yet, she could see no lie in Malandra’s eyes. Her disgust for this woman was difficult to swallow- but not as difficult as the prospect of losing the only child she’d ever have. The only thing left of Vänskä. Dellanir looked down at her small hands, wringing them. What other choice did she have? Simply stand and watch as her son passed away, helpless? The prospect of a full, whole life for Evandar, where she didn’t have to worry about his illness, was too great a gift to pass on.
“I want my son to live,” she whispered. “But I don’t trust you.” She suddenly glared at Malandra, eyes flashing. “So you’re going to swear it. Here. Now.”
Malandra smiled, and it was not so sweet a smile anymore. “But of course. By the laws of the Ancient Language, Eka heita eom deyja er onr sonr hitta vansi. I promise to die before your son is harmed.”
But Dellanir shook her head. “That’s not enough. You’re going to swear to me by the laws of blood magic, too.”
