"I have not come to argue logistics with you, brother Sigmund, nor will I debate you,"
Nirvana said in a deceptively calm voice.
For the past hour, she had been sitting here, but it seemed that decent conversation brought her to no avail. She threw her hair back, exposing the graceful curve of her neck and draped sleeves.
The Votary froze. His eyes —which had been roving around her body,
shot to her naked shoulder, but Nirvana would bet both her kidneys that it was not her unclothed skin that compelled him to look. She reached up and unstrapped her dagger from her shoulder, placing it on the table with an audible clink. The Votary's bony shoulders sagged in relief when the weapon was removed from her being, but the dagger was still well within reach of her restless, spidery fingers—a silent warning that Nirvana was getting impatient. Brother Sigmund —a man so old he rotted in his seat— swallowed audibly and parted his thin, trembling lips, but Nirvana raised her hand, and any protest he might have had died on his tongue. She did not come for excuses. Her brows furrowed in contemplation as she regarded the man before her. He was small and frail, with wrinkly, sagging skin and a weak face, and was surprisingly stubborn. Nirvana's jaw hurt from all her talking, and they had yet to reach an agreement. The topic of discourse? A goddamn fucking wedding.
For months now Everiel had been corresponding with the temple about the upcoming royal wedding, but the Votaries had made it their life mission to make theirs as troublesome as can be. It was no secret that the temple opposed the union between the Xainyrian Prince and the Astrean Princess. They found faults in whatever they could, whenever they could, and however they could, the most recent issue being the location of the wedding. Nirvana sighed deeply and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She has no patience for the holy men when of sound mind, and now that she was threatening to spiral into insanity from the absolute lack of intelligence in the room, she was about two seconds away from reaching over the table and strangling the man with his overgrown greying beard. She saw her reflection in his dewy black eyes, a bloodless, gaunt face with dark, soulless eyes.
"I understand Korvath is a sacred place, brother, I really do, but-"
The Votary coughed loudly and cleared his throat. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. She was not used to being interrupted.
"I fear we have nothing more to discuss girl," he croaked, and Nirvana's eyebrows creased dangerously.
"Girl?"
Her voice was but a whisper, a soft caress that sang with rage.
Sigmund ignored her, plowing forward with great difficulty. His voice was frail, yet he still had it in him to sound dismissive.
"When Isolde condemned Korvath to ruin, the faithful too left the place. We shall not set foot upon those cursed lands, and the temple shall recognize no marriage performed there. I cannot argue with you, the messenger. Send me your brother next time. With him, I shall talk."
His chair shrieked as it scraped over the floor, and with great effort, he lifted his bones from its seat. Nirvana stayed frozen, her fists clenched on her lap. Anger so hot coursed through her veins that it threatened to burn out of her body and set the room ablaze. She bit her lip, willing the words to stay down. To take deep breaths. It would do her no good to let her emotions get the best of her. The temple has been rising above its station for longer. It is time she reminded them of their place.
As the Votary turned to leave, Nirvana wanted to reach out to grab him, to break his brittle body but swallowed the urge at the last second. No, she could not afford to let her mask slip. Feminine hysteria would garner her nothing but scorn. Nirvana needed to be smart. The persona of the girl, as adored and lusted after as she would be, would never garner respect. Neither would the woman inspire fear in a man who looked only for a cock between her legs. She had to be more, more than Xainyr's Princess, the Queen to be. He must fear her, if not as a woman, then as a God. Only then will she be heard.
Nirvana closed her eyes and envisioned a door being opened. Liquid light flowed through the doorway, mixing in her bloodstream, traveling to the tips of her fingers and the souls of her feet.
The human body consists of five elements: pritvi, jala, tejas, vayu, and akasha, corresponding to earth, water, fire, wind, and space. Control over the elements is the basis of magic. On a fundamental level, it is a power everyone has in them, but only a few know how to access it. Nirvana felt each element keenly; she could feel the candles crackling and the holy water rippling across her skin. The air filled not only her lungs but her veins too. She felt light, as tho she could fly away at any second, but the earth seeped into her bones, tethering her to the stones below her feet. With a twirl of her wrist the fire melted from the candles and holy water leapt from the bassinets, engulfing the room in shadows. Nirvana felt the power hum delightedly beneath her skin as the tiles below her feet shifted, the ground rising to barricade the door. The Votary turned around with a shaking finger pointed at her.
"You-what is the meaning of this," he croaked.
"It is forbidde-"
Nirvana reached over the table and grabbed him by the collar, yanking him towards her. She could hear his bones rattle around in its half-decayed corpse of a body. She could let him leave. She could let him spout his pathetic dogma and walk out of this room, his fragile dignity intact. But no. That would be too easy for him. Too kind. And Nirvana was not kind. The flames reflected off the water, creating a halo of fury behind her.
"Sit back down, you son of a bitch."
She abruptly let go of the old man who sagged back into his seat like a sack of potatoes. Frustration still roared through her taut body, but her face stayed blank, a slate upon which the flames danced. She felt the urge to lash out, to burn the room to ashes. But she knew better than to let her anger take control. Nirvana inhaled deeply, letting the air fill her lungs, steadying her heartbeat. Slowly, she counted—one, two, three—until the white-hot fury cooled, hardening into something more useful. Nirvana slid back in her seat and released her grip on her surroundings. The water fell, extinguishing the fire, and the tiles rearranged to their original place. Another swoop of her hand re-lit the candles, and light returned to the room. The air felt heavy with moisture, the scent of extinguished flames lingering like smoke after a storm. The tiles beneath her feet were cool, slick with the remnants of water, while the candles flickered uncertainly, their light casting long, trembling shadows across the walls.
"You wish for the King to come down to meet you? You think to order him around like a dog," Nirvana hissed, her eyes narrowed to angry slits, though she could not stop the incredulity from coloring her voice.
"And when I, the Princess of Xainyr herself has lowered herself to speak with you, you dare turn me away? You forget yourself, Sigmund."
She did not entertain the notion that the brother who Sigmund spoke of was Kirran. Nirvana, for all her womanhood, would be welcomed with more warmth than her Loony brother, whose madness was well famed among any hall where tongues wagged. Let them talk. Let them feed on Kirran's madness like vultures to a carcass. As long as their eyes weren't on her, she could work in peace, because being a woman was but one thing. Being a Yarrow, with madness running like poison through their veins, was another. She could charm, manipulate, and scheme her way into power, but the shadow of her brother's madness would always chain him down and hang over him like a sword, waiting to fall.
Sigmund swallowed harshly, his throat constricting as he stared up at Nirvana, fear etched into every line of his wrinkled face. He opened his mouth to protest but could only stammer incoherently, words failing him like a ship lost at sea.
"Tell me, what right do you have to deny me access to my own lands? Korvath is part of Xainyr and no one, be it God nor man shall dictate where I go and stand within the confines of my kingdom."
Nirvana's long fingers coiled around the dagger and she lifted it until it was pressed against the hanging flesh at the junction of Sigmund's neck and jaw. She held it there in an almost tender fashion, her fingers loose around the hilt. They tightened ever so slightly, testing the edge of control. She could end him here, now, and rid herself of the temple's interference once and for all. But no. Power came not from blood, but from the slow, simmering dread that followed her every step. Let him live. Let him fear.
"You have two weeks," she said, her voice low and steely, "to find an officiator for the wedding and get him to Korvath. The Lotus ponds will be prepared for Princess Rhaellya to seek her blessings, and the Korvath temple will be renovated and cleared. Are we clear?"
Sigmund whimpered and tried to squirm away from the knife, but Nirvana did not budge. She grabbed the chair's armrests and pinned it to the ground, effectively trapping Sigmund between his chair and desk. He let out a loud wail and raised his hands as though he were deflecting blows. A dark thrill coursed through her veins—this was the power she had sought, the fear she had learned to wield like a master.
"I cannot- It is not done," he muttered in a teary voice.
"You must understand, Princess. The temple will not bend to mere mortal whims—"
He was cut off when Nirvana slammed the hilt into his throat. The breath was knocked out of his lungs and he gasped and doubled over, grasping at his bruising neck.
"And yet, here you are, choking on your words in front of me."
Nirvana stared down at him coldly, not a hint of remorse in her deep purple eyes.
"Korvath is the burial sight of my brothers and sisters. If my sweet Kirran wishes to be wed in their presence, he will be. If Princess Rhaellya wishes to bathe in the Lotus Ponds, I will ensure she does. Do you know why?"
She leaned in, stopping just before their noses bumped. She could smell his rotten teeth, his breath sickly sweet. As it took everything in her not to gag, her voice dropped to a whisper and she widened her eyes.
"Because while the Gods may hold sway in the realms above and below, here, my word is law."
With a final, dismissive motion, she slipped the dagger back into its holster on her shoulder and rose, sweeping her cloak off the back of the chair.
"I do not care how you get one of your acolytes to Korvath. Drag him for all I care."
"But if you try to disobey me," she warned, her eyes darkening until her iris became indistinguishable from her pupils, "I will have you chopped up and your limbs fed to the dogs. Are we clear?"
Sigmund, still trying to catch his breath, could only nod frantically. Nirvana smiled, bearing all her sharp teeth. She swung her cloak around her shoulders and fastened the flower-shaped buckle.
"Good. Have a good morrow, brother."
Then she left.
It did not take Nirvana long to escape the labyrinth of passageways and tunnels that the temple consisted of, an hour at most. Her feet hurt, and she frequently had to stop and lean on the wall, the stitches in her sides making it hard to catch her breath. While she had become proficient at manipulating the elements around her, never before had she used it on such a grand scale, so her display from before had cost her a great deal of energy. Her legs trembled with exhaustion, and she slid down the wall to the ground with no bench in sight. Halfway she stopped. What if someone passed by and saw her? It would do her no good to show weakness, especially not in such a hostile environment like this. Her body groaned in protest as she clenched her teeth and pushed herself off to resume her quest to the outside world. Each step felt like dragging her body through quicksand. The temple's cold stone walls pressed in on her, and with every breath, her chest tightened painfully. Was it worth it, this show of strength? Yes, it had to be. Weakness was the only luxury gold could not afford.
The first rays of the sun greeted her like an old friend—uninvited, yet inevitable. Nirvana inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh air that washed over her, a welcome respite after the suffocating dust and gloom of the temple's labyrinthine corridors. Her lungs expanded, grateful for the air, but she could not linger long. The sun, though just birthed on the horizon, already began to sear her skin. She quickened her pace as the sun beat down on her bare neck and shoulders. Curse her parents for passing on their pale skin, fragile and prone to burn rather than bronze under the sun's glare. The sight of the stables in the distance brought her great relief. Panting, she paused, just for a moment, and bent down to adjust her shoe, when a shadow suddenly appeared above her. Surprised, she looked up to see Nearys beside her, holding a purple oil-paper umbrella.
"The sun had not yet come out when we left, so I had completely forgotten to bring it," she explained sheepishly when Nearys glared at her, a mock stern expression on his face.
He snorted, his eyes —a shade of violet so much lighter than hers— dancing with glee.
"Yeah, I figured."
"How long have you been waiting?" she asked, brushing a lock of her hair from her sweat-dampened forehead and accepting his outstretched hand.
"Long enough to see you struggle through the last corridor," he answered, the slightest grin touching his lips.
He effortlessly hoisted her up, brushing sand and twigs off her light purple gown. Nirvana glared at him, but unlike when they were children, Nearys did not cower away from her. If anything, his grin only widened.
"And you could not have bothered helping me?"
"Nope!"
"Just go get us our horses," Nirvana snapped without any heat, and Nearys beamed before bouncing into the stables. Inside she heard him whistling for the horses, and the trotting of hooves accompanied his light step as he skipped out. An eyebrow crept up to Nirvana's hairline. What got him all smiley?
Nirvana's horse was a handsome black steed. Well, it wasn't really hers, she had been prohibited from owning animals ever since the incident.
She had been four, and having just read about the inner workings of living creatures, was filled with boundless curiosity. A small, beautiful sparrow with very unfortunate timing happened to flutter its way onto her windowsill. It looked different from the insects Nirvana was used to dissect. More… alive. As though it would scream in pain if Nirvana were to rip its wings. That day Nirvana learned a lot about muscles and bone structure, but also about how a hands-on approach was not always the best option. It is wasteful, Everiel had told her back then. Wasting life was a sin worse than the act of taking it. Nirvana sat on his lap, her hands still red. She understood. The bird's flesh could not be consumed, its bones not repurposed. Laying still in a puddle of its own blood, it did not even possess the beauty that drew Nirvana to it. It no longer held the allure of the alive. It died a useless death. The small skull hung heavy on her neck, a forever atonement. To this day, Nirvana still regrets the mindless violence she inflicted upon the innocent bird, whose only crime was landing within reach of her cruel, chubby hands. She had thought guilt would eat her up, and consume her like it did to the characters from her books. It didn't. All she felt was the thrill of power as the bones crushed beneath her fingers. How easy it is, to play God. Nirvana loved it.
Did that make her a monster?
She had gotten her answer when Kirran refused to touch her ever since that day.
Nirvana watched in slight jealousy as Barrel, Nearys' chestnut mare, trotted up to him and stuck her wet nose in his side.
"I gave you everything I had, you glutton," he complained, stumbling as he tried batting her away.
Barrel, living up to her name, rammed her round body into him in retribution, and the two once again devolved into their endless bickering. Nirvana turned away from the cacophony of screams and neighs, and back to her own, stoic steed.
"Come on boy," she muttered under her breath.
The steed seemed to dislike her almost as much as she did it. He tossed his large head and skipped away from her. Nirvana let out an annoyed huff. It was degrading, dancing after her unruly horse. A glance around showed no one but a snickering Nearys in sight. Of course, Nearys had no such trouble. People and animals alike flocked to him like moths to candlelight.
Though the votary flooded the place whenever their presence was unwanted, they were now nowhere to be found. Nirvana gritted her teeth. After multiple failed attempts, she finally managed to grab the reigns and get a foot into the stirrups.
"This will all be over sooner if you just cooperate, you stupid cow," she hissed into a pricked-up ear.
As though he understood what she had said, the horse snorted in offense, turning his large head to glare at her balefully through light brown eyes. Nirvana flicked him on his head where a white star burst through his black fur. The steed's muscles coiled and vibrated beneath her thighs. Before she could react, the steed bucked and Nirvana tumbled off. As Nearys attempted to deafen her with his yell of panic and the wind rushed past her face on her descent downwards, she wondered if this would be the final nail in her coffin. Everiel would never let her leave her chambers again if she were to sustain any visible injuries—or invisible ones. Nirvana held no doubt that in Everiel's fantastical mind, he could conjure up the most gruesome of wounds should the tale of the bucking horse reach back to his ears. A raven flew overhead, a fitting symbolic last sight before her demise. She caught the flutter of a Votary's silver robe out of the corner of her eye—forever watching, forever lurking, their presence as stifling as the heat in the air. They had a knack for appearing when least desired, like gnats in a sunbeam.
Cunts the lot of them.
As Nirvana was getting ready to acquaint herself with the cobbled path below, a pair of brown arms seized her by the waist, and she was stopped mid-fall. The sensation of unfamiliar hands sent a surge of panic through her. Almost on instinct Nirvana elbowed her saviour in the chest and whirled around. Her fingers flexed, and her bracelet liquefied with a metallic hiss, cold iron flowing down her hand. Upon reaching her fingertips, they sharpened to claws, sharp enough to tear an elephant's skin with a single blow. Then, she paused. Her savior — a girl, she realized— sat doubled over on the path, both her hands pressing against her chest in pain. She wasn't one of the Votary. That much was clear from her clothes. So what was a girl like this doing near the royal stables? Seeing Nirvana's attention turn to her, the girl quickly held up her shaky arms, palms spread and open, the universal sign of submission.
"I don't mean no harm. I only wanted to help."
The words rushed out of her mouth, tumbling over each other. Her eyes were blown wide, and fear danced in their bright green dept.
"I don't mean no harm, I swear it on my life."
Nirvana did not find it difficult to believe her. The girl looked so scared and non-threatening that it was nearly pathetic. For a long moment, she simply stared, her claws still glinting in the sunlight. The girl's breath hitched, her eyes flickering from the claws to Nirvana's face, waiting, bracing for the strike that would never come. She flexed her fingers, and her claws disappeared. Though the girl had flinched at the motion, she relaxed once they were away. Nearys— she had forgotten he was still here— rushed forward and held out his free hand, her steed's reigns clenched tightly in the other. Barrel grazed a few feet away from them, seeming completely unimpressed by the happening events.
"Are you alright," he asked her in concern.
Nirvana felt disgust trickle down her throat with a consistency that was as thick and sticky as honey. Of course, Nearys, with his bleeding heart, couldn't just stand by and watch. He was always so eager to prove he was different from the rest of them—so eager to help, even when no one asked for it. She half expected the girl to draw a dagger and thrust it into her nephew's stupid bones. After all, kindness was a fool's game, a weakness that could be exploited by the cunning. And here was Nearys, offering it up on a silver platter, his open palm practically begging to be slapped.
The girl drew no dagger. She slipped a slim copper hand into Nearys larger one all while shooting angsty looks at him. Nirvana barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes at the show. Instead of trembling from the fear that apparently gripped her so, why not get up by yourself? The girl bowed her head, and the unruly ginger strands that escaped her braid stuck to her flushed face.
"Thank you, my Lord."
Nearys shot Nirvana with a confused look at the incorrect title, but Nirvana paid him no mind. She was busy scrutinizing the girl. Everything about her appearance, from her copper skin and ginger hair to her weird, lilting voice—which would be far better suited for a doll— was unfamiliar to Nirvana. Around her waist hung an ocarina on a cord and chains of bells nervously chimed around her middle. A light lit up in Nirvana's eyes.
"You are a part of the circus."
It was an observation, not a question, but the girl still nodded in confirmation.
"Aye."
By now a substantial crowd had gathered, consisting not only of the silver-cloaked nuisances but also milkmaid, wood choppers, farmers, and the like. Nirvana eyed them warily before sauntering over to the girl, who froze like a bunny faced by a fox, not daring to move. When Nirvana grabbed her hand, she could feel her heart straining against the tender skin of her wrist. She brought her hand up, feeling a shiver run over the girl's skin when Nirvana brushed her knuckles with her lips
"Then I must thank you for saving me from my fall. I am afraid I have behaved in a way that is wholly unbecoming of me, and I humbly ask your forgiveness."
She wasn't asking, not really, and the girl knew by the way she paled. She jerked a nod, fingers twitching as though she itched to pull them away. Nirvana released her, and the girl stumbled in her haste to retreat. Nearys rushed forward to help her, but she nimbly sidestepped him, before darting into the crowd.
Nirvana followed the girl with her eyes until the last wisps of her ruffled skirt disappeared into the stinking streets of Quagos. Only then did she turn to her horse, her mood souring when she laid eyes upon her smug-looking mount.
"You seem awfully pleased with yourself," she commented as she grabbed his reigns from Nearys.
The steed— which she, quite eloquently, had taken to calling Steed— neighed triumphantly, and if horses could grin, he would most definitely be doing so. Nirvana rolled her eyes.
"Nearys," she called out sharply.
"Be a dear and help me climb this cow. I don't trust him to not throw me off again."
Steed snorted in a way that only confirmed her suspicions. Nirvana was quite astonished at how expressive the mutt was. She really must ask Everiel where he bought him and then ensure they never buy from there again. Nearys smiled goodnaturedly at her and knitted his hands together, forming a small step for her to put her foot in. Nirvana had just hitched up her gown and raised her leg when she froze, eyes zeroing in on his finger.
"Where is your ring?"
He blinked, looking down at his fingers in confusion. Nirvana's sharp gaze lingered on Nearys as he stared down at his bare hand, his expression slowly collapsing from confusion into something pitifully close to despair. He rubbed at the place where the ring used to sit, as though he could coax it back through sheer will. The subtle tremor in his fingers was all too familiar—he was on the brink of one of those quiet breakdowns she knew he tried so hard to hide.
"It was from Father," Nearys muttered under his breath, almost to himself.
"He… Everiel gave it to me."
His voice faltered, like a bridge with a cracked foundation. Nirvana sighed impatiently. Of course. Everiel. The crux of every problem.
Everiel didn't give out gifts often—he wasn't the sentimental type. He was distant, mercurial, more prone to vanishing acts and fits of indulgent melancholy than anything resembling affection, and like the whims of a child throwing toys aside, people did not hold his attention for long. Not even his son.
"You'll get over it, Nearys," she said coolly, tugging her gloves tighter around her fingers.
"He probably gave it to you on a whim. Honestly, I doubt he even remembers."
Her nephew's face tightened, a flicker of pain crossing his features so quickly that anyone less observant would have missed it. But Nirvana saw—and dismissed it just as fast. What did Nearys expect? That one gift could undo a lifetime of neglect? Everiel was Everiel—trying to hold onto his attention was like catching smoke in a net.
Nearys lowered his gaze, his shoulders sagging. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it just as quickly, swallowing down whatever words had bubbled to the surface. Nirvana rolled her eyes. Her annoyance thickened, pressing behind her temples. She tugged at the reigns, guiding her reluctant mount a step forward. That was when she saw it—the raven. It was the same one she had seen while falling, both had a small band around their neck. Nirvana had assumed it was domesticated and had not given it much thought. The sleek bird soared lazily overhead, catching the sun on its feathers like ripples of black oil. A glint of silver flickered from its talons, and Nirvana squinted against the light. Something small dangled from its claws, reflecting the sun in quick flashes.
Her pulse quickened.
Her hand flew instinctively to her neck. Her fingers met bare skin. The necklace was gone. Her mind flicked back to the girl with the copper hands and ginger braid, to the bells that sang whenever she moved. And the ocarina on her belt. A pretty little trinket that could summon birds. Ravens, no less. A slow, simmering fury crept up Nirvana's spine, hot and steady. Not because she'd lost jewelry—gods knew she had enough of that to drown in—but because that little circus brat had outplayed her. She, Nirvana, had been fooled by a scrawny slip of a girl. Her lips curled into something between a sneer and a smile, her grip on the reins tightening until her knuckles ached. Well played, you clever bitch.
Behind her, Nearys was still fretting.
"It was the only thing he ever gave me," he whispered, thick with tears.
She snapped her head around, the movement quick and sharp.
"Oh, for Skies' sake, Nearys! He probably only gave it to you out of pity. If you stopped whining like a kicked dog for five minutes, maybe you wouldn't lose every scrap of attention he throws your way."
The moment the words left her mouth, she felt him withdraw, like a flower closing against the night. His eyes flickered with something raw—something that might have been hurt if she cared to look closely enough. But she didn't. She never did. Everiel was her sun, and everyone else cast shadows she had no interest in stepping into.
Nearys turned his gaze to the ground, his fingers curling tighter into his palm, but he said nothing. He never fought back. He never pushed. It was, in its own way, pathetic. A smarter woman might have stopped herself there, realizing she'd crossed a line. But Nirvana had never been one to pull her punches, especially not for something as tedious as hurt feelings.
The stinging silence stretched between them, heavy as wet wool.
Nearys swallowed hard, looking away, as though if he turned his head far enough, he could hide the look on his face. The one that said he'd hoped—just for a moment—that Nirvana might understand. That she might offer comfort, instead of cruelty.
But Nirvana didn't care. She was too busy calculating her next move, mind already whirring through the possibilities. The girl had used an ocarina to call the raven, meaning she likely had the necklace—and the ring—on her. Good. That meant she could still catch her, if she acted quickly. Her pride demanded retribution, not apologies. She yanked Steed's reigns with a sudden force that made the horse sidestep awkwardly, earning a snort of protest.
"Come along, Nearys," she said, her tone brisk, dismissing the tension between them as easily as brushing dust off her gown.
"We're going to find that little street rat and get our things back."