Chapter Text
In a land of ice and snow, there lived a princess and her retainer. Hidden deeply within their chests were two tender hearts. One heart desired above all else to be loved, the other someone to love. They struggled against this pull, but it was too great to resist. Though it was forbidden, the two hearts united, melding and merging until they were without seam or joint to mark where one ended and the other began.
She didn’t see him die. She didn’t hear his last words. She didn’t get to say goodbye. By the time Ivy turned around, Zelkov had already fallen. The light had gone out of his eyes.
The battle was fierce. The Corrupted surrounded them, gnashing their grotesque jaws, mindlessly desperate to kill. As the two of them fought back to back, Ivy had looked over her shoulder — just to check, to reassure herself. But when she turned around, he was dead. All the air in her lungs was snatched away, fuel to the vortex of fire that whipped out around them, incinerating every foul, undead creature left. Within the eye of the storm, Ivy forfeit consciousness, clutching a corpse bearing the likeness of her one true love.
The soldiers of the Divine Dragon found them later in a circle of ashes. When they tried to untangle her from his stiffening body, she fought like an animal. As consciousness returned, her frenzy turned to limp numbness. She couldn’t take her eyes off his face, empty, devoid of the spirit that had ensnared her. Voices buzzed meaninglessly in her ears. Eventually, arms lifted her and carried her away. She struggled momentarily, until she saw his body picked up, suspended between two bearers. Ivy returned to numbness.
It was only when she felt the tears dripping on her that she realized who was carrying her. Kagetsu. Her bold swordsman, always the one to wear his heart on his sleeve. His innocent affection had drawn Ivy and Zelkov like feral cats, wary and reluctant, to fresh meat. So slow they were to trust while Kagetsu immediately welcomed them into his heart.
His tears now spattered against her chest and hands. It was rain on frozen soil. She looked up at him, uncomprehending.
“Kagetsu…” she murmured. “What use is crying when the world has ended?”
Hortensia was trying to talk to her, reach her through the fog. “...We’ll have him sent home to be buried, Ivy, don’t worry. But for now, we have to keep moving. We have to stop the Fell Dragon once and for all.”
Ivy snapped to attention. “No.”
“Huh? What do you…”
The idea of forsaking him to the cold earth, having his flesh desecrated by worms, was intolerable.
“No. He will be interred in the crypt.”
Her sister looked at her dismayed. “No one’s put their retainer in the crypt in hundreds of years!”
“Unlike the others, he will not… He will not be…”
“Alive when he goes in?” Hortensia said in a small voice.
Ivy nodded almost imperceptibly.
“If that’s what you think is best…”
“Yes. The crypt is where he belongs.”
Ivy sunk back into the fog as she was swept along with the Divine Dragon’s army.
Battle raged. Fire blazed from her hands, spells ground into her memory by endless repetition. There was no need to think, only do. Act and react. Ivy fought against the Fell Dragon and his army of the Corrupted as if her life didn’t matter, but she fought too fiercely and too well. She didn’t die.
The Fell Dragon was defeated. Elyos would not be destroyed. Yet, among all the members of the Divine Dragon’s army, celebration and relief were tempered by mourning. Ivy’s retainer had not been the only one to fall. When they returned to Gradlon Temple, Amber and Chloe’s bodies joined his. A legend cut short, a fairy tale without a happy ending.
The Divine Dragon wept over them along with the princes and princesses of Elyos. Words were spoken, eulogies and praise. Ivy clung to Kagetsu’s arm to stay upright. She hardly felt the sobs that shook him.
That night, Prince Diamant and Princess Celine joined Ivy in keeping vigil over their retainers. Kagetsu, Jade, and Louis stayed as well, their grief over their fallen partners no less than their lieges’.
The next day, three ships sailed out from Gradlon, each carrying a wooden box. One traveled to the rolling mountains of Brodia, one to the green meadows of Firene. The last one braved the storm-tossed sea to bring its grievous cargo to snow-bound Elusia. And on this ship, the future queen sat in the hold, staring unblinking into the darkness.
Kagetsu sat beside her most of the way. Occasionally, he would wrap her hand around a cup of water and she would mechanically sip from it. Food he could not get past her lips.
They docked in Givre and rode in coaches to the castle. It was eerily quiet there. Many of the nobles and servants who had survived the decimation of the Fell Dragon had yet to return. Still, there were some who had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do in the ravaged remains of Elusia. It was they who greeted their returning princess.
They peppered Ivy with questions regarding things she could not care about: the mundanities of living that continued despite the devastation of the country. Kagetsu saw that she was drowning.
“Please, Princess Ivy has endured much. Allow her to rest from her difficult journey.”
“No, no!” She grabbed hold of him. “I have to unseal the crypt. Only Hortensia and I can open it.”
“I’ll do it,” said Hortensia. “I’ll make sure everything is done just right.”
Ivy shook her head mutely, but Kagetsu paid it no mind. She didn’t struggle when he placed a hand on her elbow and steered her to the royal apartments. Once there, he fussed over her, pushing her into a chair and calling for a maid to bring tea. She sat as if spellbound while the body was transported to the stygian depths of the crypt.
As the darkness stole in her window, the fog retreated from Ivy’s mind. She must see him. She would go to his final resting place. With sudden urgency, she took a black veil from her wardrobe and drew it over her face.
Ivy walked silently through the deserted hallways of the castle, down little-used staircases, into the network of tunnels that hid underneath Destinea. Elusian politics being cut-throat and given to coups d'état, royals of the past had created this labyrinth as a means to escape in times of trouble. Ivy’s father had made her memorize the layout as a girl. Without hesitation, she conjured a handful of fire and made her way through the rough-hewn passage to the cathedral.
It was fortunate that she could avoid the nave of the cathedral. To see again the scene of her father’s descent into madness and death would have been too much for her overburdened soul to endure. Instead, she went down. Down the stairs whose ancient stones bore the impressions of generations of royal feet. There she was greeted by a door of oak and iron. This, however, was only a facade. The true door was made of stronger material by far: magic. She laid a hand on it, muttered the words of entering, and crossed through to the final resting place of the crowned heads of Elusia.
The crypt was in and of itself a labyrinth. As burial chambers filled, more were dug into the roots of the mountains. This meant that the ones closest to the entrance were certainly the oldest, but as they branched out, the chronology became muddled.
Ivy stood just inside the threshold. Memories flooded back of the last time she had been in the crypt. She had been just a young child, proudly telling those horrible other girls how she had learned the words of entering.
“How clever you are, Princess Ivy!” Aleaza flashed her teeth in a mocking grin. “You must show us.”
“Yes, Princess, we love to watch you show off your talents.” Calla’s voice dripped with insincerity. “Let us see you open the door.”
“But… Father told me it was a sacred place, and I shouldn’t go there without him…”
“I see.” Aleaza had turned to her friend. “That’s our dutiful princess for you. She always does what Daddy — I mean, the king — says. So obedient. And of course it’s completely understandable to be afraid. Dear Ivy is just so sensitive about these things… It’s cute isn’t it?”
“And what if she was cursed? How could we bear it?”
“I’m not afraid! They’re my ancestors. They wouldn’t curse me.”
“Of course not.” Aleaza said to Ivy, then whispered none too softly to her friend. “You know, my mother tells me the royal blood has gotten quite watered down over the years.”
Ivy held her head up proudly. “I am the Crown Princess. The heir to Elusia.”
With that, she marched to the door and said the words of entering. It swung open. The three girls stared for a moment into the yawning blackness. Ivy clenched her fists to stop her hands from shaking. She stepped forward a few paces, shivering as she passed over the threshold. Surely, that would be enough to prove that the royal blood was still strong.
Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind her. Ivy shrieked and began to claw at the rough timbers. She had not learned the words of departure. She screamed for the other girls, but even if they had been inclined to help her, they couldn’t have. She sank to the floor sobbing.
Abruptly, she stopped her crying. Had she heard a noise? Were the servants of the ancient kings and queens coming to destroy her for disturbing their rest?
Ivy sat blind and trembling in the dark. How long, she didn’t know. When her father opened the door, light pouring over his shoulders, she threw herself at him and refused to let go.
He held her tightly, whispering, “My poor little Ivy. I have you. You’re safe.”
Later, her mother had scolded her. “How could you be so stupid as to let those girls goad you? They’re only the daughters of minor lords. Their opinions are meaningless. If you want to survive at court, listen to me and only me. Remember, be good, Ivy; listen to your mother or the ghosts will drive you mad.”
So much had changed since then. Her mother was dead, her father was dead. For all she knew Aleaza and Calla were dead. And then the most devastating death of all…
The fire in her hand cast long shadows. On either side, metal grates closed off each ruler’s burial chamber. Despite their age, no rust marred their surface. Ancient magic suffused this place: spells of preservation, layered and interwoven.
The light caught on glossy blond curls. Within the left chamber, a body rested on a marble slab. Though it was nearly a thousand years old, it had not crumbled to dust. There was a second slab elevating a second body. Between these two was a sarcophagus holding the remains of one of the first kings of Elusia. Inside, there would be treasures and magical relics whose essence, it was thought, would be conveyed to the afterlife. The two retainers would have drunk poison — willingly or unwillingly — to continue guarding their liege eternally.
She took in this sight calmly, if sadly. All her life she had feared vengeful ghosts around every corner, but now Ivy would have welcomed the sight. It would prove to her that there was some sort of afterlife. Even if they haunted her, it would be some piece of them that still remained in this world.
Ivy shook herself and walked on. She had no difficulty in finding the tomb. She only had to follow the footsteps that disturbed the layers of dust. Left then right, twisting and turning, then down the most “recent” offshoot. She averted her gaze from her grandmother’s burial chamber and covered her face with her hands as she passed her father’s. And then she was there, her own tomb.
It had been hewn out of the rock at least a century ago. They hadn’t known then whose body would be laid there. Though previously it would have terrified Ivy to see her own final resting place, it now didn’t matter at all. The only thing that mattered was him.
Her limbs were leaden, but she couldn't stop. She was drawn into the black chamber. In every tomb an oil lamp was chained to the ceiling. It was there she sent the flame she carried.
And there it was, illuminated. “It.” No longer “he.” A corpse, not a man.
The air felt thick as Ivy approached, catching in her lungs, dragging at her feet. He had been arranged on the marble slab to the left of her own sarcophagus. His hands were folded over a ceremonial dagger on his chest. Two gold coins had been placed over his eyes.
Filled with sudden fury, she picked up the coins and threw them against the wall. They were an insult to the brilliance of his eyes. And what was this strange gilt dagger? Where were his knives of flashing silver? What had they done with them? She pulled the dagger out from under his hands and hurled it to the ground.
Stripped of his burial goods, one could almost pretend that he was asleep. But he wasn’t. He was dead. Dead, dead, dead!
A gaping emptiness rent Ivy’s chest. It ached worse than any wound she had ever received. She sank to the cold, stone floor. Screams of despair tore from her throat. The tears that had been frozen inside now poured down her face, hot as fire.
She dug her fingernails into her cheeks and wailed. “How could you leave me? You promised… You promised me…”
Ivy’s heart throbbed within her chest. The flame in the lamp guttered and nearly went out. Her cries lodged in her throat as she strained to hear… something, anything. But there was nothing. The flame steadied. Her heart beat on. When she would have done anything to see a ghost, there was none to be found.
She would never hear his voice, feel his touch, see the quiet devotion written in his gaze. Never again. A future bereft of him spread out before her, dark and empty. Sobs once again shuddered in her lungs and twisted her face into an unrecognizable mask of grief.
She wept until her head pounded, then wept more because the only one who could cure her headaches was gone. Hours later — she didn’t know how many — she picked herself up off the unforgiving flagstones. Though it hardly seemed to matter, she needed to be back in her chambers before dawn, or she would be missed.
She regarded him with red and swollen eyes. His eyelids were open just a sliver, and there was a glint of teeth between his lips. Slowly, tentatively, she reached out, barely brushing her fingers across the skin of his hand. How cold it felt.
“I will mourn you as any bride should.”
Vertigo overtook her, forcing Ivy to brace against the marble slab to keep herself from falling. When was the last time she had slept or ate? Wearily, she left the burial chamber, dragging her unwilling body onward.
As the last dregs of the night stretched into the light of mid-morning, Kagetsu found Ivy laying in bed, staring at the dark velvet canopy.
“I knocked on your door, Princess Ivy, but you did not answer.”
“I don’t know if I have the strength to get up.”
“I will help you.”
He pulled her upright. She looked at him with blank eyes.
“I will help you. Princess Hortensia will help you. But right now you are needed by your people.”
“I’m needed,” Ivy repeated tonelessly.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up.
“I will do my duty. It is what he would have expected.”
And so she did. Ivy became queen, hiding the empty hollow within her that contained the shattered remnants of her heart. Like a porcelain doll, her face smiled serenely as she rebuilt her kingdom piece by piece. Her subjects commented on her poise and grace, her strength and determination. She hid her despair in the dark of the tomb.
Yet, there was one who knew the truth. If anyone commented that they saw a figure in a black veil headed to the crypt late at night, Kagetsu would joke about the haunted castle. If anyone noticed Ivy’s red eyes, he would remind them how recently the queen’s father had been so tragically taken from her.
She couldn’t hide the pain from Kagetsu. When the pretty doll fell apart, he would keep her company as she fitted the jagged pieces back together.
It was one such morning that he found her collapsed on the floor of her study. Tears coursed down her face, and her breath hitched from the effort of stifling her sobs. He knelt down beside her until the tempest of grief had subsided.
“Tell me, is there anything I can do?”
“The painting.” Ivy picked herself up off the floor and walked to it, arm outstretched.
The painting had been meant as a gift to Kagetsu, but it was agreed that Ivy’s study was a better place to hang it than the retainer’s cramped quarters. She had commissioned Zelkov to make it, a portrait of the three of them. Like everything he made, it was beautiful. There was an intimacy to it. They all smiled warmly. His hand and Kagetsu’s rested on her painted shoulders. Ivy clutched at her own shoulder. The woman in the picture with her blithe smile didn’t know what she had.
Gently, her fingers traced the brushstrokes, relics of his movements captured in time. His head tilted down towards his Ivy, but his golden eyes stared obliquely out at her, calling to her.
She turned away, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t stand it anymore. One moment I want to stare at it forever, the next I want to rip it to shreds. Hide it, Kagetsu. Please.”
“I will. I will find a safe place for it.”
“Thank you. Thank you…” She exhaled slowly and squared her shoulders. “I should go… compose myself before breakfast.”
He took the painting off the wall. How different the expression on his face from the carefree grin in the picture!
Every night, Ivy visited the burial chamber. There she didn’t have to be strong or composed or beautiful. In death as in life, it was with him that she exposed the parts of herself that were weak and tumultuous and ugly.
Tears coursed freely down her face. She huddled on the floor with her head pressed against the marble slab. Pointlessly, she scratched her fingernails against the stone.
“I don’t remember our last kiss,” she whispered.
She had sifted through her memories again and again, but she couldn’t be sure if it was the last one, or the time before that, or… What should have been a moment to pin in her heart forever had been taken for granted.
“It had to have been before the battle. We always found a moment before a battle. You would say something eloquent. I would say something stupid like ‘good luck.’ But I always —” Her voice broke. “I always made sure that the last thing I said to you was ‘I love you.’”
She did clearly remember the way he had looked up at her as he helped her onto her wyvern. He always insisted on being her mounting block. It was unnecessary — Ivy had been riding wyverns since she was a girl — but it gave them a moment together, an excuse to touch.
He had knelt on the broken tiles of Gradlon Temple and laced his fingers together. She had positioned her foot in his hands and steadied herself on his shoulder. Effortlessly, he had tossed her into the saddle. She settled into place as he stood up. Their eyes locked. Within this look, a thousand things were conveyed: I love you! Be careful! I love you! Stay safe! I love you! Return to me!
All those wishes and hopes had been for nothing. Ivy’s wyvern was barraged with arrows and crashed to the ground. She had been thrown off, landing heavily. Separated from the others, surrounded by Corrupted, she had no chance of survival. But then he was there. Corrupted were cut down or dodged, whichever got him to Ivy’s side fastest. On her feet at last, they guarded each other’s backs, ready for their final stand. Fate, though, had not allowed them to fall together, so she sat every night in a desolate crypt next to all that remained of the only man she would ever love.