Chapter 3: Ties of the Past
"Look at her, Liyal. Isn't she beautiful?"
The woman smiling at him was pale and had trouble focusing her eyes, and there was blood everywhere. He knew that babies were usually loud and annoying when they first came out, but the one in front of him gave one cry at first, and then fell silent. He peered down at the infant only to find a pair of burgundy colored eyes staring back.The eyes followed his hand as he wiggled his fingers in front of her face, then she gave a cry of delight.
"She likes you already," the queen murmured. "Her big brother – she knows who you are."
"How can she? She doesn't know anything," he argued, with all the attitude of a stubborn four-year-old.
"Babies know more than we think they do. They see more than we do," his stepmother corrected. "She has red hair...Remember this.Her name is to be Evalia, for defiance. Look after her for me."
"Mama, why me? Why can't you...?" His voice trailed off as she smiled a bitter, knowing smile.
"Promise me, Liyal. Look after her for me. Dear one, for me. The future of the Empire...lies with you now."
Liyal's eyes fluttered open, and he rolled over in bed with a groan. Another dream, this one more vivid than the others. Each one was becoming more and more clear, each a memory. He clearly recalled that day, a balmy day in Rose Moon, the fourth moon of the year. The day his sister had been born he had been a skinny brat of four, and couldn't fully appreciate what had happened. And now, looking back twenty years later...
Are you proud of what she's become? Or is there something else? Some bigger purpose?
"The Heir has been born! Goddess bless!"
"Heavens above, there is now a successor for the Telemari line!"
Liyal rubbed his eyes tiredly. Now wasn't the time to be remembering things like this. It hurt far too much. Everything had happened too fast then. The birth of his sister, the Heir to the Imperial throne, had been a momentous event by itself. As a spectacle the Empire hadn't seen for forty years, she had been surrounded by the poisonous embrace of the corrupt nobility from the first moment she had drawn breath. Her birth alone had been something few could cope with, much less himself, a mere child then.
Nothing had prepared the nation for what had happened the day after.
Nothing was worse than having one's own mother die the day after one's birthday.
Queen Rimeria fa Nolindori died the next day. The official reason was childbirth, cited with loss of blood, though Liyal didn't remember there being that much lost. Liyal had been stricken with grief. His stepmother had been the only mother he had ever known, since his own had died of a fever a few short weeks after he had come into the world. Rimeria had cared for him as though he had been her own son, playing with him, telling him stories, holding him late in the night when he cried about the creatures hiding under his bed. The only real mother he had ever had, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, taught him the importance of being able to think on his own.
"They can take away your wealth, your titles, your family and friends, even the clothes on your back. But they can never take away your thoughts, your knowledge. That is with you forever."
Every time he signed a law into effect, every time he stood in the debate arena, he remembered his mother. His real mother. The one who was always there for him, made him stronger than he could ever be with just himself, even in death. She was always there.
What was even stranger was that even though he'd only known her for four years, he could see bits of her in her daughter. The way Evalia could just smile and it would reassure him that there was some good in this world, even if it was hard to find. It was her mother's smile, an expression that could brighten up even the gloomiest of days. A smile that was a pure ray of sunlight, one that elicited a smile in return, every time.
"There isn't enough laughter in this world. What a shame that something so good should go to such waste."
It was as if every time someone laughed or smiled, she lived through them. Every gentle gesture and kind word, all of it reminded him of her. She was such a good soul, that the world was left poorer for her death.
He had mourned her for far longer than anyone else had. He didn't even want to see his sister. She was her full daughter. He had only been a stepson – he meant less than her own flesh and blood. In reality, he felt sorrier for himself than he felt grief for his stepmother. He shunned everyone, refused to eat, and destroyed his room in several fits of self-pity and sorrow. No one had known what to do.
Then Nawayi, at that time a teen wizard, a student of the University, had come in carrying the princess. She was bundled in a small blanket, but she was far from asleep. Her large eyes peered at the wreckage, while Liyal stared at them both in horror. He remembered shouting for them both to get out, but Nawayi had stubbornly stayed.
"Your Grace, think of the example you're setting for your sister, which is none at all. You're her big brother. She wants to look up to you."
'Big brother.'
If he had to pick a phrase that defined him, it wouldn't be 'unrealistic idealist', or 'crazy pacifist'. Though the two were very true, 'big brother' had defined his life from age four. For twenty years, he had been obsessed with his role as a big brother. Everything he did or said was as a brother first, a man second, and a noble third. He didn't want wealth, or power, or women. Only one thing mattered in his life – the love of his sister. It was all he ever wanted.
He'd spent two months feeling sorry for himself. Two months he could have spent instead holding his baby sister, feeling her tiny hand hold his finger. He had used the next two months to stare into her eyes. They were a rich burgundy color, darker than the red fuzz on her head. She looked nothing like either of her parents, but more like the Founder of the Empire, Evalia the Great. She'd had red hair and bright blue eyes. Red hair, just like his sister.
The people took it as an omen, that the Heir had crimson hair. Red was the color of the Empire. The color of love, hate, passion, conquest, blood, and fire. This one would bring change to the Empire, or so it had been whispered when the princess was presented to the people.
And then the Queen had died.
No one had been able to explain why, but after her death was announced to the public, a riot erupted in Mage's Square. The rumor had been that the Queen's bloodline was in dispute, and the people didn't want a daughter of hers sitting on the high seat of Ithilia Palace. But the older, more experienced Liyal knew better.
The people of Draza had loved Rimeria. She could have been a hamster for all they cared, the goodness in her heart won them over and pacified them for the time being. Despite her Northern lineage, she had the popularity of an Empress. She was also the most beautiful woman in the world, if that were to count for anything. Lords from the Southern Territories, the Begnion Empire, even so far west as Gallia would come to see her. The cities of Alantaiya and Ninael paled in comparison to Draza's queen.
She had beauty, wealth, and was Queen of one of the most powerful Empires in history. She had the love of her people, and yet...
Looking at it now, Liyal realized why he had been unhappy, and why she'd always been so sad.
Despite the adoration of her subjects, her personal life was devoid of that love. She'd had a husband who hated her, and subjected her to horrors Liyal couldn't even imagine. She had clung to Liyal, who had worshipped the very ground she walked on. She had died before she could even love her daughter. He couldn't even begin to imagine how alone she must have felt. There was no one she could turn to in her times of pain or true sadness.
It was the same life his sister would lead.
***
Snap.
Shadows flickered across the wall, casting dark shapes on the large portrait and the ornate gold frame surrounding it. Three faces stared back at him, completely familiar...and yet, entirely alien.
Crack.
The faces of his family, people he saw every day. But it was the false sense of peace in the painting that always enraged him. What family lived such a disgusting picture of lies? Growling low, he turned away, still brooding as he tipped the decanter of spiced wine into the cup. His mood very black, he took a savage swallow, the drink burning a path down his throat. His cool eyes seemed to burn with a hellish fire, reflecting the light of the hearth, which was crackling merrily, almost in defiance of his mood.
Snap.
It wasn't often that Liyal, son of a king and a baroness, lost his temper, but today had soured his high spirits. He was surrounded by liars, mired in a sea of deception that slowed his political movements to a crawl. The way things stood now, the throne itself was an even worse tangle of dishonesty that he felt he was condemning his sister to a slow death by way of pointless squabbling and the burden of the sword hanging over the head bearing the Imperial crown.
"Your Highness," came the voice of his Lord Chamberlain Sol, head of his staff. Somehow the man managed to sound both apologetic and disgusted at the same time. "Lord Olimar e Fayinu would like to see you."
Liyal tried to swallow the wave of bile that came with that name, and nearly told Sol to turn the unwanted guest away, but instead sighed. "Let him in."
Olimar was approaching his fortieth year, and stood barely half an inch over Liyal himself. The older man had deep coffee-colored hair that he wore fashionably cropped at mid-neck and tucked away from his hazel eyes. His looks were now endowed with a sense of dignity, as opposed to his more charming youth. Despite the handsome exterior, Liyal couldn't help but see through to the infamous ruthless ambition verging on cruelty. It warped his attractiveness into something more twisted and repulsive, something humanity should have been ashamed for producing.
And this is our supposed exemplary form of nobility. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
How his Founder would have cried.
Snap.
"What is it you seek, Lord Olimar?" What is your desire? More than likely, it is something you should be damned for thinking.
"I seek for you to consider my request for your sister's hand, Your Grace." There was no lie in his eyes, and with a serious set to his jaw that would never let him back down. Tenacity was something Liyal admired in general, and here was a phenomenal example of it catching up with him.
"I have already given you my answer."
"Can you blame me for persisting, Your Grace?"
Yes, I can and already have.
He continued, "Your Grace, with all due respect, Her Majesty is an uncommonly charming and beautiful young woman--"
Liyal's head whipped violently to look away from him, so he didn't have to look at the man who in other cultures would be considered a lecher for desiring a woman far younger than he. "And there is the key that you miss time and again – she is too young." Please don't talk about my baby sister like that. Hearing her discussed by you makes me want to scour my ears out.
"I beg to differ, Your Grace--"
Liyal's pale green eyes, haunting with the reflection of flames in their jade depths, stared back at him. "Are you quite sure it is the lure of her looks and not the attractiveness of her position of power that you desire so?"
Olimar's mouth opened to say something, but Liyal cut him off with his hand. "It is no matter. My answer to your suit has and will remain unchanged."
The older man clenched his jaw, muscles twitching in frustration and rage. Liyal merely glanced at him, but the glare he gave the lesser noble was a clear dismissal. "She is too young for marriage, but too young for you in particular. She has already expressed her opinions, which I will honor. You can go."
Snap.
"Beyond our borders, dear one..."
Liyal closed his eyes, the all too familiar voice ringing in his mind from the depths of memory as Olimar closed the door behind him. The click of the latch resonated like a particularly large ripple, disturbing the calm surface of his mind, unmasking the deeper current.
"Beyond our borders, dear one. Her love is beyond our borders. He will not know her, yet he will seek her with an unrivalled curiosity and a need to understand. He will find her, and will uphold everything you have striven to achieve..."
He stared into the wineglass, and saw his reflection glare back at him. Slanted green eyes set in a face that looked to be carved from marble, crowned with waves of chocolate brown hair that reached slightly past his shoulders. He was twenty four, in the prime of his life, yet he felt like it was the end, not the beginning. What have I achieved? He was an idealist with a penchant for supporting more radical ideals like pacifism. He presided over both Houses in the Senate, particularly in the House of Nobles, where he stood in for the Throne. But what had he actually accomplished?
Allowing scum like him to exist? To continue to pester him with their lust for his sister? His own sister. It was for times like these that he was grateful for his iron-like self-control. But it was sodifficult. He was to sit and wait. But wait for what? As the days passed, he became more and more aware of this sense of inevitable disaster. And somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling...
Liyal took a deep breath, finished his wine, and resolved to visit his sister before going to bed. Talking to her always helped to cool his temper.
***
He was still seething when he knocked on her door. Perhaps it was more of a self-righteous anger. How dare he even ask me again...?
The door opened, and his sister peered out. "Brother?" she whispered. "It's late..."
Liyal leaned against the doorframe. "Just a few minutes, then." His eyes still had a haunted look. "Please."
She nodded, and stepped aside to let him in the room. "What's bothering you?" she asked, her voice worried.
He chuckled weakly. "It's that obvious? Sol asked me the same thing."
"And what did you tell him?"
"To mind his own business."
She raised an eyebrow. "You must have been angry, then."
"Olimar asked me. Again. Of course I would be angry! The fool is far too persistent!" He slammed his fist into the wall, and he felt something crack. "I'll kill any man here who asks for the right to marry you."
"Liyal, maybe you're overreacting--"
"Li, don't say that to me," he interrupted, his eyes staring into hers, unblinking, begging her to listen. "Your mother said as much to me."
"Beyond our borders, dear one. Her love is beyond our borders. He will not know her, yet he will seek her with an unrivalled curiosity and a need to understand. He will find her, and will uphold everything you have striven to achieve..."
He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the image of her face, pale and cold, and very dead. "So long as I can, I'm going to keep my word." Both as your brother, and as her son. "My mistakes shouldn't include condemning you to the same fate she had."
The very idea of her marrying for anyone but herself, anything but love, made him sick to his stomach. He would rather walk himself to the gallows than allow her to suffer the way Rimeria, his beloved stepmother, had. No one should have to endure that pain. And he would do everything in his power to prevent it from happening to her daughter.
"Liyal, it's okay," she murmured. Her eyes caught his and held them. "If I'm meant to find someone, then I'll find them. It's all part of the Goddess's plan."
Was it part of the Goddess's plan to lose your mother before you could even know her? Was it part of Her plan for you to hold the highest seat of power in the Empire, with the authority over men and their lives? I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, and you believe in some larger plan? "He'll find you. Li, I don't think I'll get to meet him..."
"Why not?" she blurted out, perplexed at the sudden change in mood.
"It's just a feeling. I don't think I'll get to meet him, that's all. Just a feeling," he muttered.
"Is this one of those morbid things Hen keeps telling me you go through?" she said irritably.
Liyal stared at her for a few moments before starting to laugh. Tears came to his eyes as his body shook with the sudden uproar.
Evalia gaped at him. "It's not funny!"
"It is to me," he said with a grin. "Hen thinks everything I say is either morbid or political, which could be the same thing at times, so it's no surprise to me. Just the way you said that, it made you seem more your age."
She blinked, and then smiled softly. "You're the one who needs to act more your age. You act like a seasoned veteran, not someone who's twenty four."
I feel like I'm a seasoned veteran, he thought bitterly, his mood sobering quickly at the mention of age, and all the other thoughts that came with it. "You're only nineteen, Li. You need to enjoy life more."
"I do enjoy life!" she argued.
"And we are not counting the garden."
"And why not? That is enjoying life," she said stubbornly.
What am I even saying? A girl confined to the palace walls can't enjoy life. She's not allowed to ride a horse in the grasslands, not allowed to befriend anyone, not even permitted to run through the rain. "Nevermind, Li," he said with a sigh, shaking his head. "Forget I even said that."The only way you could enjoy life is to get out of here, and to forget what you are, and your place in life. He bent down to kiss her forehead gently. "Good night, Li."
Walking through the halls long after she had gone to bed, Liyal brooded over the day. The ominous feeling that something bad was about to happen hadn't left him yet, and it just made him sink deeper into his dark mood. He pushed the door to his chambers open, and froze.
A young woman, blonde-haired with green eyes, sat in a chair beside a window, and her expression was one of concern. "Master Liyal?" Asked the cleric, seeing the door finally open after an hour of her waiting. "The other healers and clerics are worried about you."
"They shouldn't have to worry!" he snapped without thinking. "I'm fine! Walking, talking, breathing. What more do they want from me? To poke and prod and be aggravating and waste my time?"
Henri blinked quietly to herself. The look she wore now couldn't be read by Liyal's eyes. He sighed heavily, and leaned against the wall, his forehead pressing into his palms. The cold stone didn't soothe his fury. "I'm sorry, Hen. I'm just so...I don't know."
Henri nodded, and, reaching for her staff, she removed something from the leather skin on her back. The blue stone pulsed lightly and the energy wafted to her hands. Reaching for Liyal's lowered head, the energy focused again and moved in a similar dance to ever turbulent waves. "Just rest, Liyal, remain calm." Henri whispered softly and continuously she strung the magic back and forth. An occasional spark snapped at her skin, but she ignored it.
When the light faded, he opened his eyes and smiled sadly at her. "You and my sister fuss over me like two old women. When can I be allowed to take care of you? Must it always be the other way around?" His voice, though tender as he spoke to the closest confidant he had outside of his sister, was tired and sounded beyond its years; wiser, yet already tired of the world.
Henri came around and knelt beside Liyal. Reaching her hand up she lightly brushed at his brown fringe and caressed his face. "Liyal, you have so much of a burden to bear already. Everyone will always care for you, even though you think that you must be the one to do everything alone. I will always care for you." Henri thanked the goddess that she managed to suppress her rising blush.
He smiled again, but this time it was the smile only she saw, where the true Liyal shined through just a bit. "Hen, I know that. Believe me, I know that. I'll always care for you as my closest friend."
Henri took a moment to register his words. Her eyes expanded far beyond their normal size and she took a moment to regain her composure. "There...are no words I can say that can express myself!" Henri grinned cheerfully. More like no words that can voice my disappointment.
He chuckled, his smile faltering. "Hen, let's be honest, that wasn't what you were really thinking. My sister does the same thing when she doesn't want to say something to me."
How can I tell her that I know how she feels about me, but I can't crush that? How could I possibly say that if I tied myself to anyone, I would only make them even more miserable?
Liyal shook his head, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering for a second longer than usual. "Hen, if you don't want to say it, you don't have to."
Henri stood up slowly. She quickly bowed to him and walked rather quickly to the door. A low sniff passed through her lips and she broke into a run through the castle halls. The empire colors all whirled together in one vast swirl. Turning the next corner over, Henri crashed head long into someone else. "Ahh! Henri!" he exclaimed brightly. "Hey, I was looking for- Henri?" The swordsmaster, named Kenneth but preferring Kei, was the captain of the Imperial Guard, a select few of soldiers charged with protecting the Empress.
Her cheeks had become increasingly swollen with the tears she suppressed. Kei blinked twice with concern. The dam broke and Henri wrapped her arms around him and wailed into his chest. "O...ookay...uh, you needed a cry...I guess."
In his own room, Liyal stared at the hand that had touched her. She'd run off. His chest tightened uncomfortably, and he bit his lip. She'd run off...maybe he'd been wrong, and she'd said what she was really thinking. But he could have sworn that there had been something there...
