Thunderheart and
sickswimbobblehead the
spinspindizzy of
whoopbreathchoke and
stumbletripstumbletrip until
crashsmack and grimaceblush
or gritgrin
or flinchsmile
and achewalk, groansighslump, yearnreachwish —
bowkneelplant,
bowretchsob,
holdtight holdfast holdon
givein giveup giveout —
wavebreak of tidalrush
Brokenheart, griefstruck.
Stricken.
Rememberlove. Darlinglove.
Wonderjoy, brighteyes,
sweetheart.
So.
Very.
Loved.
Goodbye.
I feel it,
the welling sorrow,
the sucking, drowning black of it,
the empty chill,
the hollow barren-blue
of a dead sky overhead
and a whorling sea around.
I feel it,
the way there was once a fire in me,
a burning,
a smoldering,
a bite-toothed wreckage
of horrors and need,
consuming every single thing around me.
I feel it,
the down-draw of a Charybdis,
the way it alway comes,
the way the wanting rises,
the way it forms a sharp edge
and bites in,
blood-red of a former fire
finally settling down
into a dark liquid chill,
finally gelling
into shadow.
I miss
kisses.
I miss
the taste of
lips on lips.
I miss
the hunger in your eyes
and the warmth of your hands.
I miss
the violence of your love,
the way your teeth would sink in,
the way I could hear the growl
in the back of your throat.
I don’t know
how to make sense
of the love you give me,
or how to give it back,
but no matter how hard you hit me,
or how much I bleed,
I promise
I will find a way
to share love with you,
in the language you have taught me.
This is Issue #121 of DeathWatch, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find ‘A Beginning’ and read from there, if you need to catch up.
Happy Reading!
* * *
“Why do you delay?” Lucida wondered, standing at the balcony, looking out over the expansive gardens from on high. Guests wandered far below amidst the trailing lights. The lights glowed inside the labyrinthine hedges that whorled through the gardens. She looked back over her shoulder. “We have finally done as Immanis declared. We are wed. You are mine, and I am yours,” she said, her dark eyes curious. “Caro, you remember what Gemma said.”
“I am not ready,” Jet said to her. He, too, stood at the balcony, looking out over the gardens, his eyes unfocused, thinking of things far beyond then and there.
Lucida sighed, rolling her eyes, and continued pacing about the chambers, exploring all of what had been left out for them both. Gifts of cloth, of spices, jewels. She began to fuss with a container of aetheris resin and a magnificent, delicate huqqa. She ignored Jet for a bit, and let him dream, and had herself a smoke, blowing silverblue rings from her full lips, until she felt the muzzy sweetness she’d been hoping for.
Jet was still at the balcony, hands on the railing, and he watched the sky, as though it might tell him something. He turned to look at her, after a moment, as though able to tell she was looking at him. He untied the mask he’d been wearing, and took it off his painted face. The ferocious snarl of the Guardian unnerved nearly everyone… except her.
“You love me,” Lucida whispered, stalking toward him, bare feet, one after another, the trail of her wedding gown still leaving streaks of blood over the floor. She reached up and put both hands on his face, one on either cheek, and leaned into him, arching up to press her mouth to his. The kiss was long and slow, and Jet accepted it calmly; when it was finished, Lucida did it again. She kissed him, until his arms began to tighten around her, and then she finally pulled back, and looked pleased with herself. Her dark eyes shone, and she leaned up to kiss him yet again, but there was a knock at the door, and he carefully pulled back, gently rebuffing her advance.
Jet nodded, and his voice was low as he answered. “You’re right. I do.”
“Whoever that is,” Lucida hissed, “I shall skin them alive. Who would dare to interrupt–”
Jet laid a finger to Lucida’s lips, silencing her. “I love you, Lucymeabella,” he promised. “And that is why I have made certain to get you a wedding gift I knew you would truly enjoy.”
“I thought the huqqa was from you,” she said wryly, rolling her eyes.
“No, this is better,” Jet promised. “Come in!”
“You and I are supposed to–” Lucida looked exasperated as she turned toward the door. Her expression blossomed suddenly, however, when the door opened, revealing Secta and Gemma.
Gemma’s expression lit up, as well, and she ran through the door and threw her arms around Lucida, kissing her face, kissing her all over. “Meameamealucida,” she purred. She held the Princess close, and pressed her cheek to Lucida’s.
Lucida melted into Gemma’s embrace, laughing delightedly. They swung around together, briefly.
Secta’s face bore a look of joy, to see Lucida and Gemma so united, while Jet’s face wore both hope and wonder, watching Secta’s.
She turned to smile at Jet, and withdrew from Gemma’s arms only long enough to kiss Jet’s mouth suddenly, and then return to her lover. “Thank you,” she laughed. “You, caro, you are… perfect.”
Jet smiled even wider, saying, “I love you, Lucida. I do. And you are my wife. But it is Gemma who will give you the wedding night you deserve.”
“And what will you be doing?” Lucida wondered, quirking a brow.
Jet laughed, shaking his head. “Go. Concern yourself with your one true love, yes?” he whispered, touching her face, squeezing Gemma’s hand. “Enjoy.”
Secta let them both out, and Gemma’s face was a beatific smile as she locked the door behind them.
* * *
“Tell me, my Lord,” Secta said, trying to keep his expression neutral, rather than knowing. “Where will you go, now?”
Jet looked tired, smiling sadly as he said, “My rooms, Secta. I have need of another bath. I am perfumed and painted more than I wish to be. I–”
Secta kept his eyes on Jet, kept watch of him, and echoed his master’s smile. He laid a hand on Jet’s arm as he interrupted gently, asking, “Will you remain there for the duration of th–”
“In the morning, in the small hours,” Jet sighed, looking down at where Secta’s hand touched the sleeve of the robes in which he’d recently been married. “I’ll need to go back to the wedding suites, and send Gemma away.”
Married.
I’m married now. I have a wife.
Jet’s expression was somewhere between confused and curious.
The young servant smiled up at his master, ever helpful. “Allow me to take care of that,” Secta offered. “Gemma belongs to the Princess, as I belong to you. We should be the only ones waiting on you — therefore, if Gemma comes or goes at any hour, it should not be of any import. If no one sees you come or go, they will imagine you are there, with the Princess, when you are in fact…” Secta let the sentence hang, watching Jet with curious eyes.
“…not,” is all Jet finished with, his voice without inflection. He nodded to Secta, dismissing him quietly, and walked quickly to his suites, where he washed and redressed in a manner of minutes, and then spent another thirty combing paint from his hair.
When he was finished, he dressed in long white braccae, and put a white hooded robe about his shoulders, then stepped from his rooms out into the hallway, bare feet padding on cool marble tile. The gold of his eyes shone from beneath the hood, but he kept them looking at the floor while he made his way from his own rooms, to the Prince’s suite.
* * *
This is Issue #120 of DeathWatch, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find ‘A Beginning’ and read from there, if you need to catch up.
Happy Reading!
* * *
The light in Hana’s eyes went out, and she hung from Immanis’s hands like so much dead weight.
He dropped her like refuse, shaking his hands off briefly, as though they had been contaminated in touching her, and she collapsed to the floor, sprawling, limbs splayed. When her head hit the tile, tilting at a grotesque angle, her glasses skittered off, one of the lenses popping out. She did not move; she did not twitch; there was no life left within her to be shown.
Immanis turned his back on the soldiers, those still alive from the Jacob’s crew, as though they were inconsequential, and addressed his guests vehemently. He spoke in what they called the vulgar tongue, so the soldiers would understand him as he condemned them. “This is the mercy we will show the Westlanders, if they cross our borders ever again. We shall not wait for more atrocities to be visited upon us! Even now we rebuild, and our armies grow. We are strong enough now, we could reclaim them — if they will not retreat, if they will not leave us be, we will destroy them!”
Nathan winced, turning his face away, gritting his teeth. His shoulders slumped, and he choked down his sobs as he turned, looking for Jules, who also lay on the floor like a broken doll. He had been under Immanis’s orders, under his control — it was only just now he seemed to see her for the first time. “Jules,” he breathed, and without thinking, he began to walk for her. “OhJules. Get up,” he whispered, unashamed tears on his face.
Sha’s shoulders shook; she dared not bow her head, dared not show defeat. The rest of her crew looked to her — these people were alive, still — she gritted her teeth and called out to distract Immanis, “What of us, your majesty? Have you spared us? Or only delayed our execution?”
Standing next to Secta, Gemma said softly, “Escort me from this place, would you?”
He nodded, offering out his hand. “If you please,” he said, and he deftly slipped through the crowds, leaving the murderous celebrations behind. “Are you well?” he wondered of Gemma, glancing back at her as they retreated.
Nodding, Gemma smiled sadly, “I have seen all that I wish to. I know our Guardian is the future of Ilona. Not for the Prince’s lack of strength, but–”
“Hold your tongue,” Secta said softly. “I believe with all my heart in your prophecy, Gemma, but there are too many about for you to give it voice here, now.”
* * *
Not noticing Gemma or Secta leaving, Immanis turned back to the soldiers, and looked Sha up and down, “What of you? What of you, indeed.” He glanced to the side and saw Nathan crouch over Jules and pull her up into his arms. He did not stop the man, but his lips curved in a cruel smile.
Kieron watched Nathan rock, holding Jules in his arms, his cheek pressed to hers. He murmured to her, but Kieron couldn’t hear it over the sound of Immanis addressing his guards.
The Prince gestured to Nathan and Jules, saying, “The man.” He gestured to Sha and said, “The captain.” He sighed, looking around, and dismissively said, “A handful of others. Get them arranged.
“And the rest?” asked a guard quietly.
“Deal with them,” Immanis shrugged. “Make them field slaves. Use them as target practice. Skin them and send them back to the Westlanders. I don’t care what you do to them. They were a delightful party gift, and now I’m done with them.”
The guard nodded, bowing as he left Immanis’s presence.
From the guests came a tentative query. “Majesty?” Coryphaeus straightened his uniform and asked quietly, “If you are disposing of the rest of them, I should like to choose one.”
“Legatus, is it?” the Prince said, looking Coryphaeus up and down. “You’re familiar looking.”
“My sister, Nixus, is Summus of one of your cavalry legios, majesty.”
“You’re Mirus, then?” Immanis watched Coryphaeus, one brow lifting.
“Coryphaeus, sir. Our brother was Mirus, sir,” Coryphaeus explained.
“The family’s done well for itself,” Immanis said, smiling faintly. He narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to Coryphaeus, quietly saying, “You’re welcome to as many of the filthy beasts as you like. I’ve had my pick.”
“I also wanted to let your majesty know — one of your soldiers…” Coryphaeus paused, watching how Immanis looked him over with keen interest. “Has the sight,” he finished.
“I did not know Mirus had a brother,” Immanis noted quietly. “I knew of two sisters.”
“My apologies, your majesty, but you are mistaken,” Coryphaeus said.
“That’s quite a thing to say to your Prince.” Immanis sounded amused, rather than angry. “Still, you are beautiful. And as long as you are a loyal citizen, Legatus, I am pleased. Which one?”
The change of topic confused Coryphaeus, he frowned, saying, “Excu–Oh. The–” He looked at the Prince, then out at the soldiers being ordered about by the guards. He looked back at the Prince, who smiled at him knowingly. I am pleased, he had said. Was it as simple as that? Coryphaeus chose. “The boy with the scar around his eye. He has the sight.”
“Which one do you pick, Legatus?”
“Ah. The redheaded one.”
“The quartermaster?”
“Indeed.”
“She may yet need breaking, Legatus,” the Prince noted. “Do have a care.”
Coryphaeus nodded, and retrieved Jules, throwing her over his shoulder, and walking out; he headed for his rooms in the guest wing, and once he was clear of being seen, he held her more carefully in his arms, the better to watch her face for any sign of waking.
* * *
Immanis called out to the wedding guests, saying, “Please let us now retire to the gardens. We’ll continue to celebrate, to drink to my darling sister’s good health and fortune.”
The prince guided the wedding guests from the hall, and the revelry continued, with blood staining the hems of nearly every noble Ilonan.
* * *
“Where shall I take you?” Secta wondered aloud, though mostly to himself.
“My lady’s chambers, if you please,” Gemma said, sounding mournful. “I should like to be alone, for now. Though if you think you may be needed elsewhere, I could–”
“I am needed in all places,” Secta sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Truly, though, my master has what I believe to be a better idea. Come with me, Gemma, and perhaps the evening will not be all lost.”
* * *
