RE: Monarch

The sconces slowly died, a circular curtain of shadow falling around us. Only the table and its inhabitants remained visible, the light blue glow that illuminated them seemingly sourceless and ethereal, save scant ripples traveling the light like reflections off a pool. Annette's eyes were closed, and while she initially appeared stoic, her fists were clenched beneath the table. Ozra's hand remained fixed on her forehead, his face a mask of excitement and greed, not unlike a surveyor seeking the final valuation of some long-fabled treasure he'd finally secured.

But as the minutes passed, that excitement faded. His mouth pulled down in a frown, puzzlement playing across his lips, as if he couldn't quite process what he was seeing.

Then the puzzlement turned to rage.

"Who fucking did this?" He barked, startling Annette out of her trance, though he did not move his hand.

Vogrin materialized from the shadows, coming forward at his side. "The same question that has dominated my free hours as of late. I hoped you'd have better luck than me."

"If this is memory alteration, it's flawless." Ozra's voice was completely impassive, an odd contrast to his enraged expression. "You'd think an individual capable of such inventive savagery would find something more meaningful to do with it than tormenting a child."

Ozra taking issue with cruelty to mortal children immediately struck me as odd. The Azmodial legion, acting on Ozra's direct orders, slaughtered men, women, and children indiscriminately. I'd had that reality drilled into me over and over during the attacks on the Enclave. In any other situation I'd assume it was performative, and that Ozra was merely playing a part that made him appear more sympathetic to Annette. But the anger smoldering beneath the surface was very real. The only real possibility left was that he somehow considered what my sister had endured different from his own brand of depravity.

"There's the suppression to consider." Vogrin scratched his chin. "It's clear enough to state definitively. Princess Annette's mana development has been directly stunted through repeated applications of void. Both independently happening to the same person seems astronomically unlikely, but I hesitate to draw a direct connection."

"Why?" Maya barked. "Stop talking in riddles and share your insights, per our agreement."

"Because there's an obvious difference in skill," Ozra answered, the fact that he hadn't risen to the provocation evident of how unsettled he was. "From the traces that remain, whoever they were, the void practitioner was of decent skill. Covered their tracks well, applied an effective suppression while avoiding the usual pitfalls, and took measures to ensure the suppression did not damage the soul. A rather exceptional application, though not flawless. Well within the capabilities of a dedicated mortal." His face twisted. "However, if memory alteration occurred—and barring something else at play—the application is masterful. Perfect, in a way that magic rarely is."

Vogrin nodded along. "I agree that the manipulation could not have been managed by a human practitioner. During her tutelage, I kept watch over the princess's mind." He shot an apologetic look towards me. "When there is meddling in something as volatile as memory—a venture that almost always involves an artifact—there are inevitable cracks that appear, eventually. Wrinkles in the patchwork undetectable on initial survey but show themselves with time. Yet, despite monitoring her extensively, there are no signs."

"Troubling." Ozra gently removed his hand from Annette's head. "What's Xaraxos doing these days?"

"Still trolling the lower realms. We'd know if he returned."

"...And Lycaon?" Ozra asked, merely voicing the question seemed enough to put his teeth on edge.

"Imprisoned and bound. Not so much as a blip over the last millennia."

"You confirmed this directly?"

"It was the first place I went." Vogrin confirmed. "Tested his chains and the magic that bound him. Both, while ancient, are solid. Our predecessors fulfilled their obligations thoroughly. No evidence of tampering or decay."

It occurred to me that I'd heard of Lycaon. Sparsely, as the name was entirely absent from any of the histories and demonic accounts I'd read, yet I'd heard it before. Kastramoth—Maya's summon that hailed from the Bloodhound legion—often slept poorly, barking and snarling. On waking, the churlish demon never seemed interested in offering any actual insight to what plagued him. But rarely, when the day was long and morning was still far from sight, when his mind straddled the divide between wake and sleep, his deep voice somehow frightened and small, he would murmur that Lycaon was nipping at his heels.

It took a few repetitions to realize this wasn't literal. I'd since heard it from other demons since, always invoked in the context of describing something abstract they found frightening. The same way mortals referred to the hells.

"Who is Lycaon?" I asked.

"A relic of no relevance or import." Ozra replied smoothly, a little too quick and dismissive to be convincing.

"Yes." Vogrin agreed. "A stretch in reasoning that ended in a fruitless query."

"Yet he registered." Maya glanced between Ozra and Vogrin. "Stuck in both your minds with enough import that Vogrin voluntarily left this realm and a valuable charge unguarded to verify his imprisonment." She crossed her arms. "I'd like to hear the answer as well." ℝ₳ƝՕʙÈS

"What happened to me?" Annette blurted out, startling all of us. She'd been quiet until now, but her patience had finally worn thin, and her blue eyes radiated with a mania that was unlike her.

Ozra winced. "My reticence is not from spite, little princess. It is uncertainty as to the purpose—"

"For now, I don't care what the purpose was." Annette swiped at her cheeks, her bottom lip trembling. "Or the grand implications, or who was responsible. That matters, and there will be all the time in the world for elaboration and theoreticals later. But you saw it. I felt it uncoil in my mind, like a spring. Something always there that I could only scratch at the protrusion of, never uncovering more, despite knowing full well it lurked beneath the surface."

"The memories in question are fragments. Fragments from past lives that do not align with reality. What they depict cannot be possible. Which is why I'm hesitant to share something so volatile without seeking further context." Ozra said, completely even. It seemed that there was some veracity to his claim of fondness towards Annette. Because I recognized what he was doing. Shielding her from a hard truth by muddying the waters.

I put a hand on her chair. "If what he's saying is accurate, and knowing the truth will only bring you pain and more questions, are you sure you want to know?"

"I do." Annette confirmed. "Even if it hurts me. I need to see it. To understand."

There was an air of finality to it, and no one argued. Ozra grimaced, looking pinned in and unready to let it go. "It would be less distressing to simply relay the events in as much detail as I am able."

Annette shook her head. "Let me see it, arch-fiend."

"As you wish."

The corner of the den peeled back as if stripped from reality, a torn-out page that left nothing but a white void. I instinctively reached out, towards where Annette's chair had been, finding her shaking shoulder instead as my eyes still failed to find her. Unsure of what else to do, I wrapped my arms around her, holding her as the void took shape, the fading in surroundings intimately familiar.

"It always begins this way." Ozra narrated, still perplexed beneath his perpetual calmness.

Annette's rooms, filled with odd trinkets and untouched toys. Her Koss board sat by the windowsill as it always did, in the middle of a game she'd likely started playing out long before the chaos started. Every piece of furniture she owned besides it was piled in front of the door, stacked on top of each other in a sort of makeshift barricade. Annette—a more mature, older version of her that matched her appearance from the end of my first life—was sweating and disheveled as she tied sheets together in a panic, doing her level best not to look at the fire-razed city below, or the near constant smoke leaking in from the direction of the barricade, constantly seeping in beneath the crack in the door.

"I'm older." Annette observed, and it took a second to connect it was the real Annette talking, rather than the memory. "But these are my rooms. My possessions. More to the point, I'm still me. Isn't this supposed to be a past life?"

"And therein lies the confusion." Ozra agreed, disembodied voice carrying over the din of distant battle. "Some of it, anyway. Reincarnation coincides within the progression of time. Some find their vessels almost immediately after death. Others remain in the afterlife for centuries before they return. But no matter when they return, it is always after. Yet it appears that every life you've lived, as far back as I can see—which is considerable—is an echo of this one.”

"If I can offer a word of advice," Vogrin hedged, voice somewhere to the side. "Try to depersonalize anything you see. View this with the same lens you'd view the subject of an experiment."

"Very well," Annette agreed, just as the Annette tying sheets together was startled by a knock at the door, and cocked her head. It was an odd occurrence, with the chaos and ongoing battle around the castle, that someone would bother to knock politely.

The handle turned and the door collided with the barricade. Annette shrieked, stumbling away from the door until her back hit the wall.

In a peculiar turn of events, the would-be invader immediately closed the door in response. Annette waited with bated breath, her chest heaving. Moments later, the knock sounded again, this time accompanied by a woman's voice. "Princess? Are you in there?"

"Announce yourself." Annette demanded, trembling, searching for anything nearby she could use as a weapon.

"Apologies milady. The name's Iraia of Sunhaven. You don't know me, but I served your mother in the queen's guard."

Immediately, Annette moved towards the barricade and started to disassemble it before she paused, uncertain. "Pardon my manners, but I have no recollection of a guardswoman by that name and lack familiarity with Sunhaven. In what capacity did you serve?"

The person outside barked a laugh. "That's alright. Time's short, but a little caution never hurt anyone. Uh. I was one of the first pulled for that detail. Nothin' special about me, but there weren't as many women in the King's service as there are today, so the options were limited. She was pretty sick in those early days, shortly after you were born. Ended up nannying more than guarding, if I'm being honest. You were a sweet kid. Never cried, after the colic faded. Little after your first birthday they rotated me out with the men. Always... uh... tried to look out for you, after she passed."

Annette nearly relented, but something held her back. She squinted at the barricaded door. "That explains why I don't remember you, but... why were you demoted? It was a demotion yes?"

From my observations, it was a reasonable question. The Queen's guard were about a hundred strong, and primarily made up of two contingents. One that served Elaria directly and stayed in close vicinity, and another that safeguarded her surroundings and vicinity. Between the two, the inner-guard was the more desirable posting by far. They rarely saw combat, and my mother had a reputation for treating both her guards and servants as extended family. They shared her food, listened to her stories and regaled her with their own in return, and enjoyed the comforts of her lavish quarters, all in return for the typically uneventful but no less vital duty of keeping her safe.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

I remembered, at her funeral, nearly all of them were weeping as if they'd lost a friend. Perhaps they had.

It wasn't that Elaria treated the outer guard worse, more that she rarely interacted with them. They were most active when she was asleep, keeping watch over long hours, and any watchman will tell you the job is a thankless and often insufferably boring affair.

"Well." The woman beyond the door paused and coughed. "Nothin' really. I partook in the sort of things every sword-and-shield around here partake in. Dice. Cards. Difference being, I was bad at it. Terrible, really. And both the black shields and the queen's guard don't look too kindly on the sort of debt I was piling up. Vulnerabilities and all. Can't hold it against them, probably would have made the same decision if I was in charge. It's uh... getting really hot out here."

Annette took a moment to process that, ultimately dismissing it as irrelevant. "Still, you were with her—with us. For nearly a year. Tell me something only a person from my mother's inner circle would know."

"Sure. Sure. It was a long time ago, need to think." There was a long silence. "Ah. Well, I'm sorta betting the farm here if she never told you about it. Could have faded, too, but it's the best I got. When you were a baby, you had a birthmark on your left knee. Pretty irregular, more like two of 'em squished together. And when you stretched that little leg out, it always made your mother laugh, because it looked like a heart—"

"Just a moment." Cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment, Annette set to disassembling the barricade, setting the furniture aside in an orderly manner until there was enough space to open the door.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up, a dark chill traveling my spine as Thoth entered. She looked entirely different. Almost human. Short raven hair framed her face, replacing the white. When she smiled, her teeth were blunt rather than sharp. And her ears were rounded rather than pointed.

The golden snake iris that haunted my dreams was gone, but the color remained, somewhere between yellow and gold. Her movements were still too smooth, too graceful. And the aura of danger was ever-present.

Unfortunately, Annette was either incapable of identifying it or was simply too harried to notice. 'Iraia' didn't give her much time to think, rushing forward to give her a tight squeeze that was just the right amount of improper, before she released Annette and took a step back. "Gods. I'm so glad you're safe."

"I don't feel very safe." Annette admitted wryly, off-balance from the unexpected physical contact.

"Right." Iraia gripped her shoulders, all authority and determination. "Right. We need to get you clear of the castle. The fire around the east wing is keeping the miscreants away, which is a mixed blessing. They're keeping their distance, which gives us a window, but the flames are out of control. Gather what you need and we'll figure out the rest."

"Who's attacking us?" Annette stammered. "I could have sworn I saw an elven scouting party before I locked myself in, but that's impossible, right?"

"Entirely possible, sorry to say. And it's not just them. The knife-ears, the knee-highs, everything that isn't human and capable of swinging a sharpened stick is already out there laying waste."

"The rest of my family? Princess Sera and the King. Are they safe?"

"Can't speak for them. There's been a lot of bloodshed, so it's impossible to say for sure." Iraia shook her head, maintaining a gentle grip on Annette. "But ya gotta keep faith. They have their own people taking care of them, same as I'm taking care of you."

"But—"

"Listen to me." Iraia shook Annette gently. "You have questions. Everyone does. You were always inquisitive. Even before you could speak, your eyes asked for ye. But this isn't the time. You don't remember me. Can't hold that against ye, I remember nothin' from that age either. But I didn't spend years watching over you only to let some stinking horn-eater slip a knife between your ribs the first time they find the sack to try it. I'll get you out. But to do that, I need you to trust me, and do exactly what I say. Can you do that, Annie?"

It was the nickname that did it. Only two people called her that, and by that point, one of them had already died.

Annette didn't answer directly. But her noble facade slipped, revealing the child beneath. The child who desperately wanted someone—anyone—to take care of her. "Just... tell me what to do."

"Good." Iraia clapped her shoulder and gestured behind. "I've got a plan. A route that should get us around most of the violence. Grab your things, and we'll make a run for it."

Lacking her previous hesitation, Annette seized the small bag she'd already packed. "Done. What now?"

Iraia raised an eyebrow. "Decisive. Always liked that about you. Keep your hand on my back and stay with me." She opened the door and lowered her shoulders.

A billowing wave of heat rushed in the moment the door was opened, staggering them both, a wall of flames licking the doorframe. Iraia barely managed to force the door shut, unleashing a torrent of profanity.

"We're trapped?" Annette asked quietly.

"Looks that way." The guard scanned the room until she finally spotted the hodgepodge rope. "Unless there's more sheets stashed somewhere."

"That's all I have."

"Dammit. Elphion take me." Iraia paced like a caged animal, chewing her lip, the very picture of a person unraveling as their plans fell to ruin. "There's plumbing in the noble rooms. Any chance you have a bucket? Or literally anything larger than a goblet that will hold water?"

Again, Annette slowly shook her head. "I'm not sure it would make a difference if I did. What's happening out there is more inferno than fire."

Iraia tugged at her hair in frustration, pacing again, giving Annette ample time to think. To plan.

"It's desperate," Annette said thoughtfully, "But it's probably the best option we have." She looked up at Iraia. "We need to douse the blankets. The wet blankets will protect us from the worst of the fire but we should probably douse ourselves as well."

"Will that... work?" Iraia asked, confused by the notion.

"Not perfectly." Annette scanned her duvet, trying to approximate how much protection it would offer before the water evaporated and the fabric caught flame. "We'll likely sustain some injury, but I've read multiple accounts of people using similar methods to get out of burning buildings mostly unscathed. Once we're clear, we'll ditch them and take that route of yours."

"At this point I'll try anything." Iraia sprung into action, yanking the duvet off the bed with both hands and half-folding it, remainder dragging as she wrestled it into the bathroom and turned the handle on the sink.

Annette followed behind, moving further in. "That won't be quick enough. I'll start the tub."

"Good thinking."

By habit, she turned the "hot" handle first, then thought better of it and used a combination of both, ensuring the temperature was lukewarm. As the water filled, liquid rising ever higher on the ivory walls, Annette's expression grew more troubled. As if something was bothering her and she couldn't fully understand what.

"Haven't seen many guardsmen in leathers." My sister observed.

"I'm a scout these days. Finally moved up in the world a little." Iraia answered. "Not that it matters now."

"If that experience aided you in moving through the castle unseen, I'd say it matters quite a lot." Annette replied, turning to give the woman a quick smile.

"Perhaps." Iraia said, crossing over to Annette's side, gripping the sides of the raised tub with both hands as she leaned over to look. "These things always take too long to fill."

"Do you have any injuries we need to treat before we leave?" Annette asked, monitoring the woman out of her peripheral.

"Hmm? No. As you said, I'm unharmed."

"What about your hand?" Annette asked, point blank.

I reviewed the events and realized what Annette had keyed in on. To this point, Iraia had played the part almost flawlessly. As far as I could tell, the only mistake she'd made—a misstep Annette had noticed against all odds—was when she closed the door. Residences within the palace had doors with metal handles. Iron cast in gold, a combination that ranged from frigid to scathing depending on the temperature. And with the castle in flames... it should have burned the hell out of her, and didn't.

"Now that I think about it." Slowly, discarding her desperate, well-meaning disposition, Thoth slid her glove off. Angry white and red flesh clung to the opening of the gauntlet like a cobweb, her palm scalded and bloody. "Bad enough to put ointment on?"

"I—"

Thoth's damaged hand shot forward, her long fingers clamping over Annette's throat tightly. She chuckled, her voice laden with disappointment. "Oh Annette. Such a sad existence. Always so clever, yet never quite clever enough."

My sister tried to say something, emitting guttural noises as her feet sought the floor.

"Trying to say something?" Thoth cocked her head.

Somehow, Annette managed to nod.

Thoth considered it, demonstrating yet again, the sort of slow plodding cruelty I'd come to know her for. "Tell you what. You're a smart girl. Pretend like we've lived out this exact moment countless times. Take stock of all the things you might say to make me change my mind. Quickly, before what little air you have loses purpose." She waited, until Annette tapped frantically at her arm, nodding. "I'm not done. Now take all those things you just thought of and throw them the fuck away. If you can come up with an original appeal, some angle you've never tried—minding if we've done this countless times, you've tried many—I'll consider... letting you go. Fair?"

Annette nodded again, face growing scarlet from the lack of air, legs beginning to buckle. Finally, Thoth released her, and my little sister stumbled back against the tub. My sister coughed and struggled to suck in air through her damaged windpipe.

"Enough stalling. Speak." Thoth demanded.

"There's a nascent... monster... beneath Whitefall." Annette struggled to form the words. "Though I do not know its origin, I know its purpose. How it's being used, who's responsible, and why. If your intention is conquest, it will cause problems unless dealt with properly."

"Oh." Thoth nodded along, vaguely interested. "Fascinating. Are you also aware of who suffers most thanks to this monster?"

"Yes," Annette winced, horror overtaking her expression as she realized Thoth was already fully aware of whatever secrets she held.

"I get the sense you've kept this information to yourself. An odd decision, given the number of innocents who fall prey to it, day over day. Were you ever going to do anything helpful with this information, or was the plan just to keep it to yourself as just another card?"

"Of course I was." Annette snapped. "But this is bigger than me, and there are ears, everywhere. I needed to wait until a—"

The words died, as Thoth's hand closed around my sister's throat again. For a moment, she looked genuinely remorseful. "That was unnecessary, letting you go on for so long. Apologies. Just get a little caught up in the routine sometimes. Unfortunately, you have tried that before. Oh well."

With the same sort of ambivalence one tosses a silver into a prayer well, Thoth pushed Annette back, and shoved her head beneath the water. Her tattered hand dyed the water a dull red as my sister struggled, scratching at her, gripping the sides, desperate to free herself.

But Thoth was immovable.

As much as I prayed for it to be over quickly, it wasn't. The sloppiness of it—allowing my sister's head to breach the water, allowing a second's breath before it was shoved back down again—was all methodically intentional. Still held tightly in my arms, I heard the real Annette whimper. "Is it... okay not to look now?"

"You've been more than strong enough." I shielded her eyes with my hand.

But I didn't look away. Every second she struggled, I watched. The sound of the sloshing water echoed, etched somewhere deep within me. The way she laughed at my sister's terror.

The arch-fiend had been speaking for some time, actual words not reaching until sometime later. "...there are many variations. Certain details change—this is the only instance with any mention of a monster beneath Whitefall, for example."

"That's why you chose it?" Maya asked, her voice shaken.

"In part." Ozra hesitated. "There were other considerations. The approach can be entirely different. But it always ends with the princess drowning."

Somehow, I knew. As the vision faded, I moved my hands to my sister's ears, blocking her hearing with the gentle resonance of wind. "This instance was tamer than the others."

It had been a particularly cold night in the capital city.

"It... was," Ozra agreed, surprised. "Not the observation I expected, but yes. How did you draw that conclusion?"

"No real insight. Just, basic pattern recognition. Thoth's nothing if not consistent." I turned in the direction of his voice, keeping my demeanor casual. "Say, Ozra. There's a lot of variation, but it always ends with Annette drowning, right?"

"That's... mostly correct. It isn't iron clad. If things don't go to plan, the arch-mage isn't above improvising or abandoning the ideal outcome entirely. But the method is important to her, that much is certain."

Stoke the fire until it's so hot you can barely stand it.

"Is it always Thoth who drowns her?" I asked.

A second later, Maya gasped.

"Why does it matter?" Ozra asked, tone cagey enough that it practically answered for him.

"Neither you nor Vogrin seem to believe the memory manipulation theory is possible. If so, through an avenue none of us understand, we might be viewing glimpses of a potential future. It goes without saying that having more information is better than less. So, humor me." I glanced down, though sight was still taken from me. "She can't hear you."

Ozra breathed a tired sigh. "The Arch-fiend most often handles the violence herself, though the circumstances vary greatly. She engages in the sort of push-pull you witnessed, sometimes allowing the princess to wholeheartedly believe she is about to be saved. Less commonly, she lets her underlings handle it." There was a long pause. "On occasion, she will trick someone outside her purview into doing it for her."

That was all I needed to hear. Because, looking back, I'd already witnessed it firsthand.

Burn away the grief until there's nothing left.