In Which Severin Decrees What Will Not Be Said

April 17, 1180

Since taking control of this castle, Ovrean had been lucky enough not to have gotten much use out of his dungeons. He hadn't even known the need to further divide the cells with iron bars. A dusty odor lurked about, but beyond that, Remiel's cell was as tidy as they ever got. He would have been much more comfortable here than he'd been in the dungeons of Veldora Keep.

But he would not get that luxury. He would not live to sleep another night.

But though he must have known it, he was frustratingly at ease. "No guards, I see. Your mother met me alone as well."

Of himself, however, Severin could not say the same. "You have no right to say a damn thing about my mother--or anything else, for that matter."

"I shall say as I please. You know you can't touch me, and you appear to be unarmed."

"And why would I have come armed?" 'Defense' might have been Remiel's answer, but Severin would have no need. Sheer rage would fuel a stranglehold of an offensive. "Did you really believe I'd do you the honor of killing you quickly?"

"Say what you like, but I'm more inclined to believe you won't kill me at all." He'd practically yawned it. The wrath boiling in Severin's veins made it a struggle a stand still; throughout the room, the air began to stir. "You don't have it in you. I'm willing to guess you've never killed a man in your life."

"Then perhaps you're not as uncanny as your reputation would have us all believe." Remiel snorted. The air drifted wallward. "Not that it matters now. You killed my mother today; for that, you will not see tomorrow."

Some seed of a cackle twisted around Remiel's silver tongue, but it would not pass his lips. Not as the last of the air forsake him.

Not as the reserves burst from his lungs.

"I will not--"

"--have it said--"

"--that you died laughing."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Celina Uses the Word

April 17, 1180

If Celina knew Severin, he'd thought to send any surpluss guards, especially given Ovrean's dispatch. Not that her husband had left her and the children unguarded in the first place, but Severin's supplements couldn't have possibly arrived the second Ovrean departed, nor did it seem that Celina's own guards had been sufficient.

"What do you want?" When the question left her mouth, it nearly pulled a wad of spit behind it.

She doubted he would have flinched even if it had. "I believe we both know the answer to that question."

Celina clenched a fist, to the point where had her nails been sharper she might have feared breaking the skin. How dare he. How dare he intrude in her home. How dare he resort to whatever schemes or sorcery that had let him pass the guards. How dare he return her long-lost child with every intention of taking him back. "You shan't have him."

Remiel snorted. "And who are you to tell me this? I created him."

"You created him?" Celina scowled; it had been so long since she'd last needed to that she'd forgotten her mouth could curve that way. "In case it didn't occur to you, I happened to be there the night he was 'created'--and you, most assuredly, were not."

"That is hardly creation." You chose the word--not I. "I found him a body. I called forth his soul. I fixed the two parts together and made him whole again. You spread your legs like a common harlot and something happened to come of it."

"That is not how it was!"

"Oh, but how could it have been any other way?" His seeming near-amusement was enough to distract him as Celina's ten-year-old daughter slipped through the door, stopping in her tracks at the sight of him, scowling as if to mirror her mother. Celina didn't know what Riona had come for, but she made a point not to acknowledge her; she did not care to tip off Remiel in regards to her presence. "Your husband already had an heir, and a spare, plus a pair of daughters he could marry off as he pleased--both of which, I'm sure he'd say, could have done much better. You couldn't have wanted a fifth; it was for the fun of it, wasn't it? Disgusting.

"Perhaps that is why the Lord deemed it right to take the boy. He was extraneous, unnecessary. He was a leisure."

"And who are you to make that call?" She struggled to keep her eyes on Remiel as Riona grabbed a candlestick from her father's desk and held approached at a silent crawl, the blunt base pointing upward then falling as she wound back her arm. "Who are you to say such things on behalf of the Lord you supposedly serve? Don't you dare use any god as an excuse for any of the horrible things you've done, you vile, hypocritical fucker!"

She'd never used that word in her life and for all Remiel had convinced himself of her depravity, the bulge in his eye said he knew it. Or maybe it was just the split-second of alarm right after the candlestick struck the back of his head and right before his irises rolled out of sight as his body crumpled to the floor.

Almost as shocked as Remiel by the looks of her, Riona dropped the candlestick. It would leave a dent on the floor; Celina didn't care. "Mother?"

"It's all right." Celina stepped over the unconscious monster and embraced her daughter. Never again would Riona be denied a request for an extra helping of dessert. "Run and fetch some of the guards, all right? There's a knife in one of your father's books; I'll hold it to his throat until you get back."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Laveria Does as Meant

April 17, 1180

No less than ten minutes over the fire and the mixture had yet to spew forth a single bubble. Had she done something wrong? She must have. Too high a concentration of solid ingredient, perhaps, or too low a storage temperature--of course, the latter could be blamed on the weather, but the thought stung nonetheless.

And it only served as further proof to Laveria that this day did not in the least promise to be a good one.

She'd retired late, as she'd refused to turn in before she'd heard from her family. Severin had guards, as did most of his children, but Aerina and her family were vulnerable, as were Raia and Vera. It wasn't until Rifden had shown up to confirm that Aerina and the kids were settled at Sir Searle's castle, then Falidor for his family at Lonriad's, and Isidro for Vera's at his and Riona's, that Laveria even thought about going to bed, and once she actually did, sleep was a much more considerable feat than simply resting her head against a pillow. Add that to having run out of bread and a batch of her merchandise expiring and the troubling lack of any messenger bearing good news...

The mixture still hadn't boiled by the time the knock at the door finally came, and it wasn't the right knock. Not that she would have recognized any guard Severin sent--partly why she'd refused his offer of posting a few here, as she knew better than to trust just anyone--but there was something about it, some intrinsic tone in the sound or some variation in pressure that told her that whoever it was, they were not here to reassure her. Whoever it was, she would be, in the short-term, better off not answering.

And yet, there was some other sense--a tug at her heart, the faces of loved ones dancing in front of her--that said whoever it was had not come without some cosmic purpose. Whoever it was, she would answer. Whoever it was, she was meant to open the door.

Even if it was the last door she ever opened. "Figures that you're mad enough to come here even with the whole shire on the watch for you."

"Maybe." He crossed the threshold of her shop and kicked the door shut behind him. "But the fact remains that they still haven't found me."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Severin and Remiel Agree on Something

June 12, 1179

"So you finally came down for another visit." Remiel tipped his head back against the cell wall, a slight chuckle in the way he inhaled. "Here I was, thinking you were finally going to just leave me here to die. Thank you for the hay, by the way; a little messy, but much more comfortable than sleeping on a stone floor."

As if the hay had a gift. It was only in the cell because it was from a batch so old that the horses no longer deemed it edible; Severin had told the men to dispose of it as they saw fit, and apparently they were more generous than he. Or perhaps they'd just never met Remiel. "Remember how I confiscated your notes?"

"No, but with my not having seen them since you locked me up, that seems to be their logical fate. Why?"

Severin's grip on the key ring tightened, the teeth of one caught in his hand digging into the flesh. That was the key to Remiel's cell. Never again would it meet its lock until the prisoner was fit to be transferred to another cramped, lonely space--namely, a wooden box beneath six feet of dirt. That would not be today. There were questions to ask, and there would be more. "I've spent the past couple months looking them over. I've bounced my thoughts off everyone I can think of who might know and who wouldn't tell the duke's family. I keep looking for any other explanation, but I keep coming back to the same conclusion. So I want you to admit it."

The monk's brow arched as if out of confusion, but the sureness in his eyes betrayed it as mocking. "And just what is it that you want me to admit?"

"The suit of armor." He thought he felt a trickle of blood seep through the skin of his palm. "It's not an enchantment or some sort of manufactured sentience. There's a soul in there--the duke's brother's soul."

A rat scurried across the floor and Remiel's gaze followed. The creature found a crack between the stones and squeezed itself through; nothing larger would have fit, but Severin would see to it that it was sealed anyway. There was no such thing as too much caution with a criminal no more remorseful than a greedy child who'd made off with a cake. "I told you that I had conquered death. It shouldn't surprise you that holding it at bay is only half of it."

"And for the other half, you stole a kid's soul."

"A boy who had been dead for years." Remiel shrugged as another rat scampered by. This one met the swift and cruel fate of his boot. "I've done him no harm. You might even say I've done him a favor."

Of course he had. What else could it be, calling a stilled conscious forward in time to when the children he'd played with had children of their own? To brothers and sisters who'd mourned him long ago, nieces and nephews he'd never known he had? To a mother who indulged him, might have even loved him at this point, but didn't recognize him? "That's no life for a child."

"His soul might age. I'll admit that my previous experiment didn't go quite smoothly enough for me to say so with certainty, but if my calculations are correct, his mental progression should be unaffected."

"But he'll live forever." Remiel nodded, raw fingers twisting around the dead rat's tail and pulling it nearer. He only flung it aside when the thing burst into flames. "So he'll grow old and senile and he'll still be walking around long after his mind is gone. Is that really preferable to death?"

The monk fell back into a recline, the straw crunching against the rough linen of his robe. "Can we really say, those of us who have never been there? He might be able to tell us horror stories. A pity that I couldn't fix him to anything that would have given him speech."

It was almost sickening, hearing something with which he could agree. "I'll say. You'd have saved us all a lot of trouble if you'd let him have your body."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Severin's Answer Is Silence

February 10, 1178

"So the guard said your daughter was ill."

And why had the guard told Remiel that? Trying to guilt him for all of this? Annoyed as he was, Severin supposed he couldn't blame him; he himself had only come down here to gloat, after all. "Not so ill as my other daughter was."

"Then it must have been given freely, whether she realizes it or not." The monk gave a knowing, nonchalant shrug. "They all catch on to that eventually. They learn that they won't be stuck in bed for weeks if they cooperate."

A hint of a smirk lurked on his lips. Severin frowned. "You are one twisted son of a bitch."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that; you don't know half of what I've done." He was begging to be asked but he wasn't about to answer, so Severin kept silent. He wasn't sure he cared to know anyway. "But enough about me. Fire still giving you headaches?"

Again, Severin said nothing. But it was a quiet Remiel could read. "Yes, then. The water as well? That's strange; water was your mother's strength, you know. Maybe it's not hereditary. Or perhaps you take after your father--not that he has a drop of that blood in him, but he's always struck me as an air man."

"My father?" His father knew Remiel too?

"I only met him once. Thought he was harboring your mother. Turns out I was right." Scowling, Remiel hucked a wad of spit to the stone floor. "Lying piece of shit doesn't know how much trouble he caused me."

Lying piece of shit. Hello kettle, meet the pot. "My father is a hundred times the man you ever were."

"Your father is a disgusting sinner. You know your mother was working as a whore when she met him, don't you? You never would've been born if he hadn't had his purse on him." A dry, hollow cackle rasped from within the cell. "Ah, but I can't imagine they told you that. Same reason your mother never told you about her heritage, no doubt. You're already a bastard; you know what it is to be unwanted and abhorred."

Severin's lip curled and his toe twitched in agitation. This was hardly what he'd come for. "I just wanted to tell you that we found your stash. Lucien may be up again in a few days."

"And why do you think I care?"

"I don't." For the first time that day, Severin smiled. "I just wanted to thank you for your oversight."

Remiel's mouth fell agape. Satisfied, Severin turned on his heel and started to leave.

"Severin."

He wasn't immediately allowed to finish. "That would be Lord Severin to you."

Another chuckle. Another scowl. "Call yourself what you like, boy. But I'm curious; before all of this, did you ever do something unnatural? Something you couldn't explain but you knew deep down was always your fault? Perhaps something that made you happy--even if it shouldn't have?"

No--he had not come down here for this.

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Severin Ponders Price and Purchase

February 8, 1178

"I didn't lay a hand on your precious daughter, if that's what you want to know." Remiel stood, a smirk twisting his thin lips to a sinister curve. So smug a smile had no place in the land of the living. "But I don't doubt that the boy did. Perhaps you ought to thank me for dealing with him."

For the sake of moving this along, Severin brushed aside the surface comment and went for the root of the matter. "He has a name--Lucien. I doubt you ever knew that. You never knew his name and now you've probably killed him."

And to that, all Remiel could offer was a shrug. It was nothing to him. Lucien's life--a child's life--was nothing, if even that. If he hadn't needed answers, Severin would have unleashed the flames without a thought. "Things like that aren't long for this world. He would have outgrown his usefulness soon, anyway; they're only good while they're still fresh."

Fresh. As if Lucien was a vegetable. Severin scowled. "You can't even hear yourself, can you?" Perhaps you did pay for all that stolen youth. Perhaps it came at the cost of your mind.

The monk dismissed him with a sniff. "The boy wouldn't have lived long anyway. His virgin mother was branded a whore for birthing him, and that's not the sort of thing that goes away. She was half mad by the time I found them--and he was sickly, starving, struck dumb by her neglect. You can't say I robbed him of much." Remiel gave a hollow sort of laugh; behind him, a lone stray spark flashed in and out of existence. "Your mother was a similar story. They all were. At least I gave them a purpose to fulfill."

"Keeping you young is hardly a purpose."

"Keeping me young?" Another laugh. Another spark. "That's hardly what this is. I have conquered death. I've been doing this since your father's father was just a twinkle in his father's eye and I have no plans to stop. You're an intellectual; surely you understand the appeal of an infinite lifespan? I shall do everything. I shall learn everything. And then I shall invent new things to learn."

"And how many children will have to whither away in order for you to do so?" Severin's fist was clenched and shaking, ice cold and flame hot. A third spark flashed dangerously close to the fabric of Remiel's robe. "How many dead children will it take for the price to outweigh your purchase?"

He could feel himself fuming. And Remiel barely even blinked. "Children. It seems you and I are quite different. They are not 'children'. They are abominations, hardly better than the demons who spawn them. By taking their essence, I am giving them mercy. The world is crueler in comparison."

The world is crueler. It stung to think that there might be one thing they agreed on, even if their logic varied. But there was no sense dwelling on that now, not while an innocent youth lay dying. "Is there any of Lucien's essence stashed in your old rooms?"

Those eerie orange-gold eyes shifted. "Possibly. Why? You would go out of your way to save a nameless hell creature who shares a bed with one of your slut daughters?"

"My daughters are not sluts." A sharp pain seared throughout his head and a small fire caught on the hem of Remiel's robe; a burst of water put it out before the monk could even notice. "If he was in her bed, then it's a family matter. And it's all the more reason to save him."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Vera Is Pursued by the Sickly Thing

February 7, 1178

Vera had been drifting off and was nearly gone, but Lucien had been holding her tightly enough that she noticed when his embrace eased. No, 'eased' wasn't the right word. Eased was... well, easy. 'Loosened' perhaps. Or not. That didn't sound right either. 'Fallen limp'?

That had to be it.

His hand lay just beneath her breast, listless and dangling like some dead thing in the kitchens. She reached for it and squeezed. He didn't respond and his hand was all ice. And his breath was shallow on the back of her neck.

This wasn't right. He'd been fine just a minute ago. He'd been asleep for a while now, but it had been a dynamic sleep, a healthy sleep--shifting, muttering nonsense under his breath, nuzzling his nose against her shoulder. He was all stone now. Dead sleep. Fairytale sleep.

Almost like a coma.

A floorboard creaked.

Vera's first thought was to scream. She would scream louder than she'd ever screamed before, so loudly she'd wake the whole castle, the whole village, the whole damn shire--never mind the time. The king would even hear her from here, hear and have to heed her. That was how loud she would scream.

But when she opened her mouth, not a sound could be heard.

Another creak and all she could do was shiver, not sure if her eyes were wide open or snapped shut, not sure if it even mattered. A footstep. Another.

Step... step...

Stop.

An ill energy hovered about, leering over her as she tried not to tremble beneath. She didn't dare look for the source but she could feel it reaching, straining--unrelenting in its pursuit of her, its aim within its grasp and no intention of letting it slip away...

"Not so fast."

The sickly thing reared and recoiled. It had been caught.

Caught. Not killed.

"You have some nerve..."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Remiel Gives the Order

May 7, 1177

It was only the wind and Remiel's brain knew it, but his head jerked around to check anyway. You're being paranoid, he scolded himself as he took a moment to recompose. And he was. Sure enough, this wasn't the deepest thicket in the kingdom, but if anyone wanted to reach it they would first have to wade through a not-insignificant stretch of swamp; even out of necessity Remiel himself had barely brought himself to bother. No one had followed him, not this far at any rate. No one would look for him here even if occurred to them. He could leave his work here and it would remain as it was, safe and untouched until his return.

Still. This was the result of uncountable years of research, decades of trial-and-error and countless revisions and numerous dead-ends that had him running back to the start. After all that time, all that effort, all those cambions he'd drained to keep himself alive long enough to finish...

It would have been foolish, not worrying. Foolish indeed.

A frog croaked and an owl shrieked. A breeze whipped through the trees, the unsettled leaves moaning in distress. Remiel shivered. This clearing had eyes; was that how God claimed omniscience?

"Stay." He wasn't sure there was much use in giving orders, but he was anxious enough to try it on the off-chance it might work. "Don't leave this clearing. I'll be back." Eventually... whenever things quiet down around here.

"Just... stay."

NEXT CHAPTER: