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Jurian swayed in the carriage, feeling every single bump and groove in the cobbled road. He gripped his knees, hoping it would steady him. It didn’t. Vassa sat across from him. Her small fists curled in her lap as she stared out the window. Her hair looked like a flame against her dark skin, and her eyes bluer against the dress she wore. A gown she had made with her own hands. The humans of Scythia were known for their weaving, even back then. He remembered. Gold threads created waves of grass and horses that darted across the hem. Elain mentioned Vassa had worked on it for weeks.

He tipped his head back against the fabric seat and closed his eyes, but the swaying seemed to get worse. He leaned forward, resting his forearms across his legs and hung his head between them. The metal wheels creaked violently as they turned another corner.

“I hate carriages.” Vassa said.

Jurian looked up, surprised she had spoken. Neither of them wanted to be here, in this carriage. They would have rather been at home, meddling and matchmaking. But they had received word that the mortal queens had conquered Scythia, sacking, and colonizing that vast empire. Beron was too quiet, and Lucien believed a coup would be imminent. Vassa’s time was running out, they had less than a year left if Elain’s estimation was correct. Vassa needed support to retake her homeland. If Beron managed to crown himself High King, the mortal lands of Prythian would be split among the remaining queens. So Vassa and Jurian now found themselves dressed like clowns to dance and galivant with nobility and beg for what they could get. The humans of Prythian had tolerated Jurian when Hybern invaded. However, the settling dust only caused more chaos. The merchants looted the vulnerable ports along the continent, while the sniveling nobles had attempted to crown Jurian as a puppet king. Jurian did not want to be a king. He had enough of fucking kings.

The carriage lurched again as the crack of the driver’s whip struck the air. Vassa turned and pounded the wall of the carriage. “ Don’t whip them like that!” she yelled. Her nostrils were flared as she hissed; “Did you see those horses, Jurian? They are malnourished. One has hoof rot in his left back foot. He’ll go lame if he’s not taken care of.” 

“I’ll speak to the driver about it.” Jurian assured her, his eyes closing again.

Vassa snorted, “No, you won’t.”

“You’re right, I won’t. But feel free to speak to the man as soon as we’re out. Write it down so he can pass along the information to the owner.” Jurian’s stomach lurched again, and he felt guilty about snapping at Vassa. Of course, she knew the horses were suffering. “I’m sorry. We’ll talk to him.”

Vassa nodded and stayed silent for a few more moments, before she spoke again, softer this time.

“How do you think they are doing right now?” Vassa asked.

“Talking it out, I hope.” Jurian replied. Elain and Lucien were back at the manor, their fae presence not welcome in the mortal lands beyond it. Jurian truly hoped they would come to some understanding. He loved them both and they were suffering over their bond. Secretly, Jurian wished they would come home tonight to a content and happy pair. Gods knows they deserved it.

Vassa nodded in reply. “I hope so too. That’s the only thing I feel good about tonight. They’ll be alone. No one will be watching them.” She slumped back. “Elain’s had too many visions about them together. It’s going to happen.” She said, more to herself than to him.

Jurian shut his eyes. “I’m not ready for this.”

Vassa reached across, grasping her small hand in his. “If Elain is right, we just need to flatter everyone and make them think helping us was their idea.” He gave Vassa a crooked smile, but that did nothing to settle his fear.

He still had nightmares about the balls. The lavish parties in rooms of deep red silk and cloying heat that Amarantha loved so much. They always ended in violence. Squelching blood punctuated the music and Amarantha’s shrieking laugh never seemed to stop. Trapped in his prison, Jurian watched every single party with no legs to run, no mouth to scream with, and no way to shut the horrors out. Five hundred years of balls.

The driver called out a command as the carriage lurched to a stop. Vassa grasped Jurian’s forearm before he fell face first onto the floor. The carriage door swung open as the footman grunted, “We’ve arrived.” Jurian made his exit fast, smoothing his jacket and sash before taking Vassa’s hand and helping her down from the carriage.

People and other carriages had gathered along the wide drive. The Evergreen Estate, seat of the Earl of Merriwinn, loomed across the horizon, a mountain of white marble. He recalled the Earl, a middle-aged man with a nasally voice, who often asked Jurian if he wanted to invest in something. Jurian never understood what it was the Earl was investing in. He and Vassa received the invitation a month ago, a thick slab of paper delivered by a poor butler in a powdered wig. Jurian’s first instinct was to toss the thing in the fire. The very idea of a party had seemed ridiculous. But Vassa, after studying the invitation for a long time, had relented that their presence was a necessity. Elain had agreed, and so did Lucien to an extent. Vassa’s army contacts had not been heard from in weeks, her support system was dwindling, and they needed a safety net.

As Jurian led Vassa away from the carriage, she turned to the coachman, blue eyes narrowed; “The stallion hitched on the left has hoof rot in his back left foot. His shoes are old and need replacing after the abscess is removed. See to it that your farrier is informed.” She tossed her flaming hair over her shoulder before she rounded on the coachman again, “And you will see to it that you loosen their bridles and replace your whip with a crop.” Taking Jurian’s arm with one hand, her train with the other, Vassa left the stunned coachmen behind them.

“You really think he’ll heed your advice, my queen?” Jurian scoffed as they dodged other couples meandering down the drive.

“No, weak men like that don’t take the authority of a woman well. So, I will inform the Earl that his horses are being neglected.” She said holding her head high. 

Jurian studied Vassa’s profile in the soft glow of lamp and moonlight. Her dark skin shone against the blue of her dress. Soft waves of deep red framed high cheekbones, and a strong profile that could be stamped onto coins and painted on murals. He wanted to trace it, run his finger down the slope of her forehead, then down the strong bridge of her nose and full lips. She was so unlike anyone he had ever seen, fae or human. The gold chains on her forehead and neck caught the light as she turned to face him.

“Brace yourself, General. We’re now in the thick of it.” She said, as the short man and hawkish woman barreled toward them as they crossed the threshold.

Vassa

The white tiled floor of the ballroom shone beneath the gas lamps that lined the deep red and gold papered walls. As she scanned the crowd, Vassa saw a sea of drab colors, navy, maroon, and black. The deep blue of her dress and the bright gold of Jurian’s sash was an explosion of color among the drab room. She didn’t even want to think about how bright her red hair looked in the light.

Jurian was her own light now. His deep brown hair curled against his shoulders, and his mouth was set into a hard line. She felt his chest inhale sharply as she gripped his arm tighter, stroking the pale skin of his hand softly. Jurian gave her a small grateful smile. His smiles were rare but when Vassa saw it creep into the corners of his mouth, she thought she could give up her throne for him. Now though, she noticed his back stiffen and his nostrils flare with a sharp breath. Softly, Vassa squeezed his hand, “Jurian, it is-“

“Ah, your Majesty! General!”

The Earl of Merriwinn resembled a rat, Elain had said. Now, looking at the weak chinned man, Vassa could see it. Thin hair sprouted from his head and chin and thin lips barely covered his large teeth. His wife, a good head taller, was apparently a crafty woman, who had managed to snag both husband and fortune by placing herself in what Elain called a “compromising position” in public.

“Welcome to my home, your majesty. You do me an honor, truly.” Merriwinn exclaimed loudly. As she studied the small man, Vassa tried to recall the week and a half of studious gossiping she had prepared for.

“He’s not a real Earl, Elain had told her, “all titles in the human lands are bought and paid for. There’s no royalty as you know it here. Just money and overseas associations. Merriwinn is in the glass trade. Trinkets and baubles mostly. He buys them quite cheap out of Tigana and marks them up. His father made the family rich from window glass, though Merriwinn stopped trading that when he took over.”

Indeed, every single table and shelf was littered with glass figurines, dainty girls in dresses and small little animals. But it was the swans that caught her eye. Glass swans swooping in flight, gliding on the waves of the tablecloths, craning their necks.

Vassa swore she could hear them screaming again. 

Vassa dipped low into a curtsy that felt strange, a far cry from the respectful bows that were given in Scythia, regardless of gender or station. As she rose, the Merriwinn grabbed her hand, kissing it with dry, cracked lips. Lady Merriwinn held her silk gloved hand to Jurian, who simply bowed to her instead. 

“Thank you for the invitation, Lord Merriwinn. It has been far too long since I have attended such a party.” Vassa said with her most diplomatic smile. “And my Lady, your estate is beautiful.”

She watched Lady Merriwinn smile, through flared nostrils. “My thanks, your majesty.” The woman said through her teeth.

Vassa almost felt pity about outranking the woman in her own home, until she remembered that Elain had stressed the woman’s hatred of people from the continent. Vassa wasn’t going to let her get away with that. 

“Why, Lady Merriwinn, your linens are from Neva are they not?” Vassa exclaimed, making sure to add an element of breathlessness to her voice. “Truly the craftsmanship is unlike anything you can find here in Prythian. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, your majesty. My dear husband acquired them on a trip for me.” She sniffed as she eyed Vassa’s gown with a raised brow. “Did you commission your gown in town, majesty? Or was this sent from your homeland?”

“Oh this?” Vassa said with a sickly-sweet smile. “I made this myself. I confess, I am something of an acolyte when it comes to textiles and linens. We Scythian’s take great care and pride in our crafting abilities. I made my own coronation gown as well. Do you sew, Lady Merriwinn?”

“No, your majesty I do not sew. That is something for common women on these shores.” The Lady said through clenched teeth and a straining neck.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Vassa said with mock innocence. “I find when one is idle, they bring nothing to greater society.” Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she turned back to the Earl, flashing him a dimpled grin. “My lord, remind me again what you have planned for this evening.”

“Well, dinner shall be served within the hour, we’re still waiting on a few other guests,” the Earl replied in his nasally voice, “Then there shall be dancing, of course!” He tittered on about the menu and the orchestra, and Vassa found herself nodding along to whatever it is the man said. Jurian remained tense at her right, only offering a few one worded replies to questions that were thrown his way. The footman announced arrivals around them, but only one made Vassa lift her head. 

“Presenting, Lord Gresyen Nolan of Ashfield and the honorable Lady Veronica Haudeupin!”

Greysen Nolan might have been considered handsome, if it weren’t for the sneer on his face, and the thin mustache that sat on his upper lip, like milk. His brown hair had been slicked back with fragranced oil, and Vassa could smell the musk as he crossed the room with the gaudily dressed woman on his arm. This was the man Elain gave herself to, Vassa thought incredulously. She had met him a few times, though he always stood at the back of the room like an aloof adolescent, making it very clear how little he thought of women in power. Jurian, unfortunately, had more dealings with him and Vassa knew he found the man insufferable. “We shall hardly have to deal with him, Jurian. Though I do hope a cat will come along and lick off that silly moustache.” She whispered as she leaned into his large frame. Jurian held in his chuckle, though she could see it in his eyes.  Before he could answer, they were being ushered into the large dining room as the Earl snuck up to them both with a dramatic whisper.

“It would be my honor to introduce you, majesty. And I do hope you’ll say a few words?” 

“Of course.” Vassa agreed, “I have much to say.”

Jurian

The slop of gravy on his steak had already turned to jelly. The first cut into the hunk of meat effectively worsened his nausea, and he had spent the past hour moving his food around the plate, watching the grease form along the gold rimmed edges. He made a show of sipping the wine, though he had drained the water glass several times. He flexed his fingers, and tapped his feet every so often, just to make sure of his body.

He was not Under the Mountain, he had to remind himself.

The deep red and gold of the wallpaper had him reeling, and he had grabbed Vassa’s hand just to keep from running. The lights created small shadows along the walls, and Jurian swore he could see the Hybernian dancers swaying again. It was only Vassa that brought him back again. Her small hands, her blue eyes, her voice. He could do this; he would do this for her. To his left, Vassa charmed her way across the long table, making sure to speak with every man and woman with such ease. She did not flinch when they mocked her accent, nor did she lose her composure when they asked about her “predicament.” Jurian, unfortunately, found himself gawked at by the party. He had only met a select few men before, but their wives ogled him like some sort of prized hog. He’s so tall. Did you know he was dead before? Are you sure he isn’t one of them?

He was not fae, but Jurian was no longer sure what he was, what the cauldron had made him. He was taller than he remembered being, more agile. But Rhysand had assured him he looked the same. Though, Jurian could not explain how his senses were stronger. He shouldn’t have been able to pick up those whispers down the table, he shouldn’t have been able to taste the rot of the meat on his plate. And he certainly should not be able to heal the way he could now.

Jurian had discovered it on accident. He had been sharpening a sword, late one morning. Elain had just arrived, and Vassa and Lucien were gone. Perhaps the whetstone slipped, but Jurian sliced his hand open from palm to wrist. Muscle and fat peeked from behind the open flesh as Elain came running from the house in a panic, having seen the whole thing. She had begun to put pressure on the cut, when the blood began to clot, and the skin stitched itself back together like thread. He and Elain vowed not to speak of it until they could figure out what the cauldron had made him. They shared that trauma at least.

The sudden clinking of glass interrupted the commotion of the party. Lord Merriwinn, rose barely clearing the feast and centerpieces. He smiled with those gnawing teeth of his and cleared his throat.

‘I thank you all for coming this evening. My wife and I have missed your familiar faces.” The crowd laughed, “Though we have a few new faces, general?” he motioned to Jurian, who slowly rose from his chair and bowed from the waist, just as Lucien had taught him. “I am so grateful, that the General, Jurian has joined us this evening. None of us would be sitting here were it not for your sacrifice. I’d like to raise a toast, to Jurian!” A mumbling chorus raised their glasses, while Jurian tried to control his breath. Sitting down with heavy legs, he felt Vassa’s hand squeeze his knee. 

“And it is my greatest honor to welcome Queen Vassa of Scythia to my table.” The Earl announced, “she too has sacrificed in ways we cannot imagine. To Vassa!” Jurian lifted his cup as he met her eyes. They were a calming sky, a reprieve from the cloistering heat and bodies that surrounded him. Giving his knee another squeeze Vassa rose.

“My thanks for your hospitality, Lord and Lady Merrwinn. Our great nations have been trade partners for centuries. But I wish to be more than just trade partners. I wish for our great nations to align themselves against tyranny. I know I am cursed, and I know that our enemy occupies my home. The very home that was the first human empire to rise after the Wall was built. Much like your homes, my capital was built from the human slave pits that the fae of Rask carved out in a wasteland. We still cultivate the land as our ancestors did, and I took pride in serving my people. It was at the service of my people that I rejected the King of Hybern’s offer of immortality and power and I was cursed.” Murmurs and gasps rang through the crowd, though Vassa still held her head high. 

“You may wonder what I have to offer you. My friends, I offer you, my loyalty. I offer to come together and make sure that the schemers across the seas do not take over these fine shores. I was sold for a promise of power, by mortal rulers. My promise to the good humans of Prythian is to be your ally and protector. You and your descendants will be welcome in our cities and our universities. We will continue our strong trade. My greatest hope is that our people can become the greatest alliance this world has ever seen.” She raised her cup to the crowd, “To Prythian!”

“To Prythian!” a chorus rang through the dinning room. Vassa stood firm and regal at the table. As the cheers continued, Jurian thought for the first time, that they had a real chance.  

Vassa

Her speech at dinner went over perfectly, she thought. She got enough cheers to calm her nerves, though now, as the dancing and socializing was under way, Vassa knew the real work was beginning. As the orchestra started up its melody, Jurian reached out his hand while he bowed with exaggeration.

“So, are you going to let me lead the dance, my queen?”

‘I suppose you can have just one.” She teased as she took his hand. Slowly, they began to dance. Jurian moved with a smooth grace that he did not have when they practiced at the manor.

“Your speech went well. And here you were worried about how they’d take you.” Jurian said with a half-smile as he turned them with a flourish.

“Speeches I can do. It’s part of the queenly training.” Vassa replied with a laugh, “Now, we truly see how many alliances we make.”

“When this is over, will you go home?” he asked softly. Vassa’s feet stumbled, as she lost her footing. In the past year, Jurian had never brought up the possibilities of after.   It was always when her curse was broken or when she reclaimed her throne. Now, remembering her steps across the ballroom, Vassa opened herself up to the fantasy she had held close for months.

“I suppose that depends.” She replied.

“Depends on what, Vassa.” Jurian raised a brow, waiting for her answer.

“On you.” She whispered. “You could come back to Scythia with me, Jurian. If you wanted.”

Jurian pulled Vassa closer, and she fell into his touch. She lost her home, her throne, her family, but she could not, would not , lose Jurian. A lifetime of skilled oppression and sacrifice had made her stoic. To love and be loved was something Vassa thought did not go along with a throne and crown. Perhaps that was why she raised her hackles towards Jurian so quickly. Why she tried to outwit him. To her surprise Jurian gave as good as he got, and he calmed her without snuffing out her own fire. Vassa loved Jurian, and she had found that she wanted to give him all of her.  

She wondered often if Jurian would have been her mate, had they been fae. Was such a thing possible? Now, as she spun across the floor, feeling his hands on her waist, catching the warm light in his brown eyes, she thought he could be. Tears began to cloud her vision. Surely, he would come with her. There was nothing for him here, was there?

“I’ll go wherever you want me, my queen.” He whispered in her ear. “Though we’d have to take Elain and Lucien with us. I don’t like the idea of them in Velaris all the time, and besides, neither of us can cook.”

Vassa laughed, quickly wiping her eyes. “Yes, though I would like some privacy for us.” She teased. The music faded as Jurian stopped. “I mean what I say, Vassa. I will go wherever you want me to go.”

Before Vassa could answer, the Earl cut in, demanding Vassa’s attention. “Go,” Jurian nodded, “I’ll wait for you.”

Jurian

As he watched Vassa dance with the other men from the sidelines, Jurian found himself wishing he had told her everything. He would follow her wherever she went. He’d go to Scythia, to Prythian, he’d go to Cretea if she wanted. Jurian would follow Vassa to hell and back. Of that he was certain. He was hers entirely. Once they broke her curse, he would bow at her feet and let her have him however she wanted.

“Would you mind if I sat down? I’m afraid I am frightfully out of shape.”

Jurian looked up at the voice. An older woman, plump, with a kind smile and two glasses of water sat down next to him. “I hope you don’t mind. I noticed you don’t drink either and it’s so dreadfully hot in here.” She laughed. “I’m too old for these silly dances anyway.”

Jurian smiled and shot his hand out introducing himself, “Forgive me, madam, I’m afraid I did not catch your name.”

“Oh, that’s because you didn’t. I am Lady Brighton. I am the Earl’s aunt.” She said, shaking Jurian’s hand.

“And is Mr. Brighton here tonight as well?” Jurian asked, Lady Brighton laughed, “No, I’ve been a widow for, oh goodness, thirty years now. Oh, come now, there’s no need for apologies. I’ve been widowed longer than I was married.” Jurian could not help but feel at ease with the lady. She reminded him of an old washerwoman that ran with the human units during the rebellion. What was her name? Martha? Morfydd? Jurian could not remember. 

“An aunt, hm?” Jurian inquired, “You’re almost as young as the Earl. I can scarcely believe it.” 

“Oh, you’re a dear, but I confess I take great care of myself. Exercise, fresh air, no scheming wives.” Lady Brighton roared with laughter and Jurian found himself laughing along. “And how is my silly nephew treating you?” she asked.

“Very well. He has been a good friend to us and sympathetic to Vassa’s situation. Lady Brighton nodded, pulling a fan from her beaded bag, and flicking it open. “That’s good to hear. A terrible situation all around. I am quite impressed with the Queen though. I should like to meet her if you do not mind.”

“I’d love to introduce you; I think you and Vassa will get along quite well.”

“Thank you. My youngest son could not be here, he is with with his ship, and my grandson is only thirteen, though they both plan to send their respects soon enough.” Lady Brighton began fanning Jurian’s face, the cool air felt heavenly against his hot and clammy skin. “Unfortunately for you dear, everyone else came out to see the spectacle. Especially that one.” She nodded towards Greysen Nolan, who had slung his arm around his companion, a woman in a yellow lace gown that didn’t match the fashion of the other ladies. Her laugh was loud, and Nolan oozed arrogance. He had not liked the boy initially, pompous, and bratty. But now, as his friendship with Elain Archeron had grown, he found himself seething with hatred for the man. Her crying pleas echoing in his head as he recalled the way Nolan threw her out after her transformation. Elain had said not to mention her and to be civil, but if Nolan brought up Elain, all bets were off.

“I figured he’d come,” Jurian admitted, “He’s been a thorn in my side since the war.” 

Lady Brighton snorted, “He’s been a thorn in my side since he was a boy. Always whining and fighting to get what he wanted. I thought the war would have humbled him a bit more, especially after what happened to the poor Archeron girls, and to the troops he lost. But he’s back with that mistress of his. He had her before he was engaged, you know.”

“Did he now?” Jurian said through gritted teeth. Little shit, he thought.

“Oh yes, she’s from Arbonne. She’s been coming to every society gathering since the war, telling us all how much better her country is, how good her queen is. Wasn’t she one of the ones who allied with Hybern?” Lady Brighton asked.

“Yes, Queen Heloise. She’s occupying the northern stretch of Scythia now.” Jurian said, his temper beginning to flare. He searched for Vassa in the crowd, spotting her across the room, talking with an older man and a very young woman.

“Oh dear, we cannot let her get near the Queen then.” She took Jurian’s hand, patting it assuredly. “I shall have to call in my reinforcements.” She pointed to a group of women seated a few tables over, “My comrades, fellow widows, and spinsters. They are warriors, I assure you.”

Jurian smiled, taking Lady Brighton’s hand as they rose, “I am your faithful servant, Lady. But first, may I have this dance?” Lady Brighton pinched his cheek as she led him to the dance floor. 

Lady Brighton claimed to be out of shape, but she managed to keep up with Jurian’s clunking around. Her laugh was infectious and warm, and Jurian found himself smiling. Brighton brought him to the table of widows and spinsters, who were happy to give him as much gossip about the men as he wanted. They said Burton, Collier-Digby, and Lininger would likely support Vassa. And they all warned him to steer clear of Nolan. He felt someone approach his back, and his new friends’ eyes began to widen. Shifting around in his chair, Greysen Nolan’s companion stood in front of him.

“The Mad General himself.” The woman said, her voice guttural in the back of her throat. Queen Heloise had the same accent, he recalled.

“Jurian,” he replied, standing up with a stiff bow. “Can I help you?”

“I thought you might like to dance with me. You’re the only man who has not asked me.” She said, pushing her cleavage forward.

“You seemed occupied, forgive me.” Jurian said simply, turning back to the table. 

“Just one, General. I’ll be quite put out if you don’t.” she said, grabbing his shoulder. Jurian froze as hair stood up on the back of his neck.

“Go on dear, one dance. We’ll be here when you need us.” Lady Brighton said, giving a quick nod. Her comforting eyes seemed to say she’d watch out for him. Jurian stood, taking the woman’s hand, leading her across the floor. “Forgive me, I do not recall your name.”

“Veronika Haudeupin. But please, call me Veronika.” She looked up at him through lashes that had been powdered, small black dust clinging to her eyelids. The thick flesh colored paint she wore on her face had settled into the lines hear her mouth, and her painted lips were dry and cracked. “I must say, my dear Greysen said you were tall, but I can hardly believe it. You are practically a giant!” she screeched with laughter, as couples around them turned their heads. Jurian said nothing.

“I’ve always found Prythian so boring. We have fashion and real music in my country.” Veronika said as Jurian dutifully spun her. “I cannot imagine anyone wanting to live here, though perhaps horse infested plains are worse.”

“I shall take a horse infested plain over the court of a tyrant.” Jurian countered.

“Is that so? How can I convince you?” The woman’s shrill voice pierced his ears with garbled words. Her flaxen hair morphed into a deeper shade of brass. Her painted mouth stretched to her ears.

Clythia.

Snapping his eyes shut, Jurian breathed through his nose. Clythia was long gone, her ashes forgotten. But he could not forget. The trickling of saliva in his mouth was a warning. He needed to leave. Now.

“Excuse me madam, I’m afraid I must- “That was enough. It had to be. He minded his manners. Elain had said-

Jurian was aware of the sweat that began to mist his body.

Body. I have a body.

He was aware of a door handle, solid and golden.

I am moving. I am moving.

His prayer took him to an empty drinking cart where he wretched up the contents of his stomach violently. Bile burned his nose as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. The muscles of his neck and chest strained with excursion. Gagging and heaving, he lost his body again for a fleeting moment. It was only the sensation prickle of carpet on his cheek that made him realize he had passed out.

He studied the dust motes in the golden lamplight.

Lamplight.

Gas and oil, Elain had said it was gas and oil. Knobs. Little knobs you could turn the lights low or bright.

Lights. Dust.

He meant to touch the dust, but his hands would not move. 

Jurian shakily breathed in and out through his wet nose, the taste of sharp acid making his eyes water. Slowly, he remembered where he was; at the estate of Lord Merriwinn, first floor. Vassa was alone in that ballroom...

Vassa

A soft knock at the door, roused him. Stumbling to his feet, he was met with the face of Lady Brighton, who had begun to wipe down his face with her handkerchief. “She’s gone. We chased her off.” She assured him as he gulped down the water she had brought him. “The other men are looking for you. They’ll invite you for drinks in the drawing room. Nolan sent that woman to rattle you. We’ll watch out for the Queen, yes?” She took his chin in her hands as she gave his nose another wipe. Jurian nodded as he slipped out of the door, slightly embarrassed to have left Lady Brighton with his vomit. As he made his way across the hall and back to the ballroom, he nearly smacked into the Earl.  “General, a few of us are going to the drawing room for drinks and cigars. Join us.” The Earl said as sweat poured down his brow. Scanning the room for Vassa, he caught her eye as she walked around the room with a young woman. She nodded to him, as he turned back to the Earl, taking a deep breath and putting on his best airs.

“I’m afraid I have no idea what a cigar is, but I will take you up on that brandy.”

Vassa

Vassa could not process her disappointment about her only dance with Jurian, and the fact thet hadn’t finished their conversation. She had been pulled from every limb by gentlemen who wanted to dance, and ladies who wanted to speak to her. Their pale faces all began to blend after a while, and their stiff accents were grating. Vassa danced with every single sweaty man, wishing she had worn gloves, while she gossiped with women who gawked at her deep bronzed skin and red hair. One woman had even made a crack about Vassa’s “surprising grasp on our language”, as if she wasn’t an educated queen. All she could do was smile until her teeth hurt and mask her comebacks with as much tact as she could. 

She had been to many balls before, but always at her own court. But she suddenly found herself thinking of her mother, Yargui. She was the daughter of the Khorilar Clan’s chief, who grew up roaming the central plains of Scythia, hunting eagles, and raising mares. She had been married off to her father King Nikolai, to unify the tribes with the royal court. Did her mother experience this same hostility dressed up with powder and giggles?  Yargui had died in childbirth along with her brother Sergei, when Vassa was just seven and her father had cursed his luck at being stuck with his daughter, too small and dark for the royal family, but too far removed from her mother’s people. Vassa could not even remember her Khorilar name, since her mother took it to her grave. When Vassa took the throne, she was only seventeen, and desperate to bridge the gap her mother had left behind. She had gone to her mother’s clan, bowing to her grandfather, and taking her cousin Batu as her general, several hundred men as her personal guard, and her Khorilar name, Galtmaa. Vassa thought she had ruled as best as she could, until the other queens showed up with their offer. Before Koschei, cracking her bones and burning her flesh.

Instinctively, she moved away from the fire, having drifted over during a conversation with two birdlike women. They were kinder than the last few she had met, though Vassa had begun to search for Jurian. A large, sweaty paw gripped her bare shoulder and spun her, and Vassa found herself face to face with a large and rather orange looking man. “I beg your pardon, sir.”

The man spoke so loudly, Vassa nearly jumped out of her skin. “Yes, your majesty. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Mr. Burton, head of the merchant’s guild here in Prythian.”

Mr. Burton’s jowls jiggled with every breath, but it was the whiskers Vassa could not take her eyes from. Sparse and wiry, they repulsed her in a way she could not quite name. Facial hair on men was rare in Scythia, and hygiene was a sign of self-respect. The merchant's body odor was masked by a cologne of oranges and patchouli. He held out his grease covered paws and rounded up the young woman beside him. “Ah, yes. And here is my dearest Katherine! Kitty, please pay your respects to the queen.” He shouted as he thrust the girl before Vassa. “I am to retreat to the drawing room, be a dear and entertain the queen, yes?” Burton stalked off, but not before Vassa turned to find Jurian standing at the threshold., the Earl accosting him about something. She gave a small smile and a nod, promising to find him later, and turned back to the young girl.

“Your majesty.” The girl dipped into a low curtsy. Her bodice cut tightly into her chest, the garish red of the silk washing her skin out. Her mousy hair hung in limp curls and the dark rings under her eyes clashed with the loud pink rogue. Vassa winced. The girl had to have been fourteen at the oldest, too young, and too tired to be here.

Vassa returned the curtsy, holding out her hand to the girl. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Burton. I must admit I am surprised your father allowed you to come to a ball this late.” Vassa stopped as she caught the girl's eyes going wide.  

“Oh, I do apologize, your majesty. There has been a misunderstanding. Mr. Burton is my husband, not my father.” Kitty dipped her head low, her neck shrinking into her chest.

A cold sweat broke over Vassa’s body. This child was not that man’s wife. Surely, the humans of Prythian were not this barbaric? Vassa took a shuddering breath, “My apologies Kitty, may I call you Kitty? I find myself famished. Would you take a turn around the room with me? Perhaps we can get some refreshments.”

Kitty seemed to brighten beneath her eyes as she nodded and took Vassa’s arm.

“How do you like Prythian? We must be very dull compared to Tendukorum. I’ve read it is the oldest human city in the world.” Her brown eyes were as wide as saucers. Vassa laughed, “It is. It’s built in a valley where the old Raskian slave pits were. After the rebellion, the humans drove the fae out and built the cities. The nomad tribes originally were patrol units who guarded the wall.” She heard Kitty gasp in delight, then began to drill Vassa with questions about her home. Vassa’s chest began to tighten with grief as she told the young woman about Scythia, describing the landscape, her court. Kitty drank it all in and Vassa felt even more guilty, since this poor girl would not be able to see Scythia, or anywhere else that wasn’t her home.

As the two stood, drinking lemonade, two things happened at once. The first, was that Mr. Burton was barreling over to his young wife, the other was a small, dark woman making her way towards Vassa. Kitty gasped as her husband approached, grabbing Vassa’s hand.

“That is Lady Llewelyn, she is a widow from Bharat, I think.” Kitty said, “She’s run her husband’s business here in Prythian since he passed away a few years ago. Their sons do the trading abroad.”

Vassa spotted the small woman, back turned, in a golden gown. Leaning to Kitty she asked, “Do you know her personally?”

“Oh no, your majesty, I’ve met her once briefly through my husband, but he stopped doing business with her for some reason I am not privy to.” Kitty gnawed on her lip nervously as she searched the room, “But I know she has relations on the continent. I think she could help you.”

The stench of Mr. Burton invaded Vassa’s nostrils, quickly, she grabbed Kitty’s hands.

“Thank you, Kitty. I owe you a debt.” Vassa spoke quickly, before the girl’s husband came back. “Should you need help, call upon me at the old Greyson estate after sundown. Not your husband Kitty, you. I will do everything I can.” She met the young woman’s tear-filled eyes as she whispered, “Thank you”, a mere second before her husband yanked her away.

Vassa watched the child bride be led away, and she prayed that the girl would be safe. She would ask Elain if she knew anything about the man who had purchased an adolescent for a wife. Turning back to the crowd, she took a breath, and made her way towards the widow.

The woman was of a height with Vassa, but she held herself as though she was the tallest in the room. Her dark hair was threaded with silver, and it seemed that wisdom lined her face instead of age. Turning, she looked surprised as Vassa dipped low into a bow, a test. If she truly was Bharatan, Vassa would know, as it was custom on the continent to bow, rather than curtsy. 

“Madam Llewelyn, I have heard a great many things about you. I am Queen Vassa of Scythia.” The crowd around them murmured, and pulsed around them, some stepping away, while others got too close. The woman bowed deeply to Vassa, a confirmation.

“Majesty,” the woman said in a deep, husky voice, “I am Lady Nadia Llewelyn. It is an honor to meet you.”

“The honor is mine, Lady Llewelyn.” Vassa replied, suddenly aware of the other women that had formed around them.

The Lady Llewelyn seemed to notice too. “Tell me majesty, have you seen the gardens? It is a cool enough night, should you wish for some air.” She extended her hand, only a simple golden band on one finger, as she led Vassa to the bay doors.

Vassa inhaled the moment she was out of the ballroom. Soft crickets sounded over the din of the party behind them. Vassa could smell the tall purple and white flowers that lined the hedges. Larkspurs, she remembered.

“Thank you for indulging me, your majesty, it was far too crowded in that room. Sit.”

Vassa turned as Lady Llewelyn sat down on the stone bench, patting for Vassa to join her. Tucking in the train of her dress beneath her, Vassa felt her shoulders begin to drop as she sat. She suddenly felt so very tired.

“I know why you’re here.” Lady Llewelyn said, looking ahead at the garden. “My sons tell me how quickly Scythia was seized. No one saw it coming. The other queens invading from Rask, how quickly the capital fell. I am sorry for your losses, after all you have done.”

Vassa could not help the tear that slid down her cheek. The foundation of her composure was cracking. “Thank you, my Lady.” She whispered.

“You brought ten thousand over to save us. Most of your army. Where are they now?” Llewelyn studied her, not with judgment, only curiosity.

Vassa took a deep breath, “After the battle, some of the troops went back to Tendukorum to try and establish some order. I know at that point, Heloise and Linnea had taken the city and the coast. They snuck in through Rask.” Her voice shook as she kept on, “The rest of my units split up. Some of them are still on the coast in Prythian, but my general, Batu, took the bulk of them to Bharat. He was acting as a runner and liaison with the nomads who are trying to hold down my authority. I lost contact with them a month ago.”

The woman simply nodded, watching the flowers sway in the warm breeze. It seemed an age before she spoke again. “There has been an outbreak of typhus in Bharat. The ports have been locked down, that explains why communication has ceased.” Vassa breathed a sigh of relief, before asking, “What news of my home have you heard, Lady Llewellyn?” The woman took a deep breath, but not before taking Vassa’s hands in hers.

“From what my sons have told me, the city remains under Queen Linnea’s control, and she has instated your heir on the throne as a puppet, though he is sickly, isn’t he? Heloise has been pushed back along the wall by rebels. But the rumor is, Arbonne is sending more troops to attack from the eastern shores to try and drive the rebels inward. I cannot tell you when that will happen, or if it will happen at all.” Lady Llewellyn stroked the back of Vassa’s hand, and it wasn’t until she wiped her face, that Vassa realized she was crying Choking back a sob, she asked, “And what of Prythian? Have they bowed to anyone? Have they sent support to the queens?” Biting her lip, Vassa braced herself for the answer.

“Prythian is divided, I think. Your curse has infuriated many and you have supporters. You may count me among them, Vassa.” Lady Llewellyn continued, “But there are others that did not agree with you aligning with the fae, even if they were on our side. My advice to you is to find the allies you have here. Do not waste your time flattering the frivolous men who want you to jump through hoops. I will send word to my sons to keep on the lookout for any of your army.”

“Thank you,” Vassa said, slightly stunned. “You cannot imagine what this means to me.” A thundering chime rang through the air four times. “I am afraid you must be going soon Vassa, what a shame.” Lady Llewellyn said with regret, “But, keep your head high. Women like us, who have chosen to walk among strangers, that’s all we can do.”

Jurian

The men had gathered into the stuffy drawing room. Smoke curled into the corners of the green wallpaper. Despite the thick, cloying smell, Jurian breathed with relief. These walls were not red, and a large bay window covered one wall.

His memories could not get him here.

“Cigar, general?” a rasped voice asked him from his left. Jurian met the eye of the haggard and drooping man. Burton, Jurian reminded himself, thinking of the child bride he had brought along with disgust. Shaking his head, Jurian declined the thick rod of tobacco. “Thank you, but the brandy has taken all of my attention.”

Merriwinn cleared his throat as he passed Jurian the glass. Taking great care to not sip, he made a show of savoring the flavor of the shit-colored liquid. He needed to be alert and present. Scanning the room, his eyes fell on the smarmy face of Greysen Nolan, who shot him a cat like grin. Fucker, Jurian thought as he raised his glass to the bland looking man. I am going to wring every bit of coin from you. He’d pay for Lucien and Elain’s mating ceremony with it, he decided. Clearing his throat, Jurian put his mask of arrogance on and set his trap.

“I say gentleman, I’d rather fight an entire unit of High Fae soldiers than waltz again. At least in a fight, I have full control of my feet.” He roared with laughter that sounded too loud in his own ears, though a small chorus joined him.

“At least you have a queen to dance with!” one man hollered, “My wife, bless her, is the most blundering cow in a dance!”

“Speaking of queens,” Merriwinn piped up, “how has Queen Vassa’s situation improved?” The grumblings and laughter stopped, as all eyes met Jurian. Setting his glass down, Jurian made sure to keep his movements slow.

“Unfortunately, the scales have not tipped in our favor. She is still stuck in her curse, and we have now received information that Queen Heloise of Arbonne and Queen Linnea of Vellammo have staged an attack. Linnea has taken control of the northern borders near Rask, and Heloise has taken control of Tendukorum, the capital.” Jurian scanned the room, meeting every pair of eyes. Four averted their gazes, while the richest two in the room looked at him in shock and fear. But Greysen fucking Nolan studied him with an arrogance that Jurian did not like.

“We lost contact with the Scythian general about a month ago. The last we heard, the nomads were fighting a rebellion, which is why the two queens haven’t taken full control of the country. All remaining equine trade has been filtered into Arbonne, that’s certain.” Jurian took a breath, ‘And that is why I come to you today, gentleman. The Queen stood against tyrants who wanted to work with Hybern for their own power, who were willing to sell off their citizens for immortality. If you recall, Scythia is your greatest trade partner. Your horses and grains come from those plains that are being sacked and burned by two Queens who refuse to acknowledge the sovereignty of our lands.”

Jurian shrugged, “The war is over, and the treaty has been drawn. The High Lords have kept their peace. We should be more focused on the remaining queens. They sold off her majesty and have colonized the oldest human city in the world. Who’s to say they will not come to our shores?”

Nolan met Jurian’s eyes with a cruel grin, sensing a trap, he chose his final words carefully. “Linnea’s forces invaded through Rask. We know she is still working with unsavory fae for her own power. We cannot become the collateral.” He sipped his brandy, as he savored the commotion of the men around him.

“My contact in Arbonne tells me a much different story though.” Greysen said over the commotion.

Jurian froze, “Contact? You mean to say you have an actual contact in Arbonne? Your friend , perhaps?”

“Yes, my contact is a man at court. The Baron of Vanserra” Greysen sneered, as Jurian’s stomach dropped.

Beron Vanserra.

“A Baron? A baron got off his ass to contact a lowly Pythian trader?” 

“Yes.” Nolan sneered, his bland face taking on an unpleasant shade as he raised his glass to his lips. “General, I think quite highly of you, but I cannot forget just how closely you work with the High Fae beyond the wall. So, I have found my own sources of information. We wouldn’t want the fae to cross our borders again, burning our villages, stealing our women.”

His mouth suddenly dry, Jurian swallowed.

“Gentlemen, I do not exaggerate when I tell you of the dangers we face. This is the calm before the storm. If we are not prepared, our land will be conquered and divided, our people sold into slavery. Your money and your guild will not help you. Vassa is the only queen who remains committed to humanity.” Murmurs and whispers shot across the room like quicksilver. Jurian’s heart thumped in anticipation as several of the men began to nod in agreement and one man raised his glass and shouted, “Hear, Hear!”

“I do not ask you to go to battle, only that Vassa has the support she needs when we retake her throne.” Jurian continued, “We can forge a new world for humanity and new peace.”

Then men around the room began to applaud, whistles and shouts filled the air as Jurian released his breath. But Greysen Nolan simply stood up and slunk towards Jurian, downing his entire cup of brandy in one swig. “What is it now Nolan?” Jurian said with false ease, “Are you going to tell me that Arbonne’s queen wasn’t out for power and immortality?” Greysen’s face turned purple under his mustache, as he stopped inches from Jurian’s face. 

“My bride decided power and immortality were more important to her too. Or did you forget that?” Nolan spat, his veins popping from his neck.

“Your bride was taken by force from her bed, imprisoned and tortured, then turned fae against her will. Painfully, I might add. And from the way you tossed her aside like a broken toy, I’m surprised you give a shit.” Jurian crossed the room, pouring himself some brandy, while Nolan breathed heavily behind him. “My new friend, Lady Brighton, mentioned that you’ve been slobbering all over Miss Haudeupin for years. Even after you were engaged.” Jurian tutted. “She really was a toy then. Wasn’t she?” Carefully setting his face to stone, Jurian felt rage begin to rise in his chest. Elain was too good for him. Nolan would have drained her before he discarded her.

Jurian allowed himself a small sip of the brandy, letting the liquor seep into his tongue. He didn’t need the courage, but he wanted to make the red-faced little boy suffer just a bit more. Smacking his lips, he leaned back in his chair, taking even more time to cross his legs.

“So, you want to play politics, Nolan? Align yourself with a nation that has no trade or major presence here? Your plaything might be from Arbonne, but that’s quite a stretch to impress a working girl, I must say.” Greyson slammed his fist on the table, though Jurian’s glass hardly rattled.

“You don’t know what we’ve lost here! You claim to be some great human warrior, but you came from them. You came over the wall and demanded everyone lay down at your feet. What have you done for us? Don’t forget, I was on that battlefield-“

“Oh, spare me your little tantrum.” Jurian interrupted, “if you wanted to feel important so badly you could have taken in more refugees, not just the ones that had money. You could have had a little more honor towards the fae that helped. You could have brought those fucking soldiers home, instead of letting them be slaughtered while you hid in a tent.” Jurian snarled, “You’re nothing more than a parasite, Nolan. The human lands of Prythian will become a great nation and an ally of Scythia. We will build cities and universities, and raise up our people, and you will rot away on dwindling piles of silver while you prance around like you’re important and beg for scraps. You’re a worm, Nolan. A little worm with a moustache and you will be forgotten.”

Nolan spat at Jurian’s feet but said nothing as he fled from the room.

The silence that followed was thick and heavy, and Jurian could not tell if he had gone and fucked it all up. He had support, if only Nolan had kept his mouth shut, if only he had kept his mouth shut. Someone cleared their throat, the Earl, who spoke with a shaky voice. “General, when should we be expecting a call to action? I’m afraid we cannot provide much in the way of fighters, but we can provide ships.” Another murmur of agreement swept through the room as Jurian smiled.

“I shall keep in touch with all of you and we will meet soon to plan, that I can promise. Gentlemen, I cannot thank you enough. We have humanity a duty to humanity now.” Jurian raised his glass for another cheer when the clock on the mantle rang out four times.

Vassa

They had made it back to the manor grounds in half an hour, the poor horses exerting themselves as the drive made as much haste as he possibly could. Burning an entire carriage form the inside would be quite mortifying, Vassa thought numbly as Jurian lifted her out of the cab. Grasping his hand, they quickened their pace into the clearing, where Vassa could take flight without burning the groves of trees. With nothing left to lose, she threw her arms around Jurian, holding him as tight as she dared. He grasped her tightly, one arm tight around her waist, and the other hand stroking her hair. Tears sprang from her eyes as she heard the morning birds begin their call. The ball had been a success, she had gained the allies she needed. But now, Vassa stood shaking, waiting for the flames to tear the skin from her back, the bones crack and bend as her body changed under the rays of the sun.

“Don’t leave me Jurian. Please stay.” She whispered as the first flame licked the back of her neck.

“I will never leave you, Vassa. Do you hear me? I’m not going anywhere.”

Jurian

He was not aware of the stench of burned clothes and hair as he stood in the clearing, watching the morning fog rise off the grass. He had a vague awareness of the blisters healing on his face and chest, popping with pus, and slowly closing. He did not register his clothing was now charred. He only was aware of Elain and Lucien taking him by each arm and leading him back to the house, as his queen screamed in the skies above.