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(she ends like this; “how could you? you... you used them, and all the others! and someday you’ll cast me aside, just as you did him!”
the dagger is still in delita’s stomach. his blood is oozing over ovelia’s hands – she’s pushing it in with all her strength. even so, it’s easy to push her away and to pull the knife out. his anger comes, as it always does when people speak of ramza, and then it is done
the queen is dead. long live the queen)
Ramza sends Delita a letter.
Dearest Delita, it reads,
We were deceived. Alma was not at Limberry. I follow her trail still; I cannot be far from her now.
But I have darker news for you, my friend. I know not how, but Argath Thadalfus walked again amongst the living at Limberry. I would not wish his tongue upon you again, but know this – I have silenced it forever. We took his corpse and burnt it. His ashes are scattered to the winds. However he was resurrected before, they shall not do again. I hope this brings you a little comfort.
Our paths take us ever further apart.
Ramza
It is the last contact Delita ever receives from him.
He takes the letter out sometimes, and reads it over again, though he comes to know the words by heart.
Their marriage vows make promises of love. Ovelia’s eyes are downcast as she says them, and Delita is thinking of someone else. Her mouth is soft and small when he kisses her, and her eyes are shut; the next morning, he says, “They are still looking for her.”
Ovelia stills behind him. She does not say a word.
“We have not found her yet,” Delita continues, “but given her last words to me, I doubt the Lady Agrias would stay parted from you for longer than she had to.” Delita moves to get dressed.
Ovelia stays still and quiet in bed. He does not turn to look at the expression on her face.
They had kissed first in winter. Tietra had pushed Delita, and there was snow still dusting Ramza’s hair from their impromptu fight outside. They’d stumbled together against the doorframe, laughing. Just outside, Alma was packing more snow together into a ball, fully ready to continue the fight.
Delita had looked just slightly down – he’d grown these past few months, and had a few inches of height on Ramza now. It gave him an advantage in sparring and climbing trees, although in snowball fights it proved to make him the easier target.
Ramza had been staring up, breathlessly delighted, and Delita had been delighted also.
“Delita-” Ramza started, but whatever else he might have said was lost; Delita covered Ramza’s mouth with his own, and knew, for a moment, that Ramza’s lips were chapped and rough beneath his.
And then it was over; a snowball hit Delita in the back of the head, and when he turned Alma was smiling, and had seen nothing.
Ovelia uses the knife Agrias gave her as a letter opener. It is ill suited to the task, but Delita likes the way it flashes in her hands when she uses it. She cuts herself sometimes, still unused to holding a weapon. The first time, she had stared at the welling blood for a good minute before anyone else noticed.
She could have healed such a minor cut herself, but it wasn’t proper now. A Queen must be attended to; it is not for her to heal her own injuries. Ovelia chafes at it. She says nothing, but Delita is not blind.
He told her the throne would bring her freedom, but instead it is just another cage.
Word comes swiftly of Lord Dycedarg’s death and his brother’s disappearance. On its heels follows the rumour that Ramza was involved – the youngest son, they say, was seen in the village before Dycedarg was murdered. But this is muddied with other rumours.
A soldier swears on his mother’s grave that the Lord Zalbaag drew his sword first. That he and others hurried to Lord Dycedarg’s defence, and were cut down – he knows not who by, but others came to Lord Zalbaag’s aid. And then, the soldier says, white faced, when Lord Dycedarg was slain there was-
Here the soldier’s story becomes muddled further still. Dycedarg is lost, and a monster raised in his place; it spoke with his voice. Lord Zalbaag was destroyed, before he could utter even a word. By this point, the soldier was only half conscious, but he will swear before any and all witnesses that the long dead Lord Barbaneth rose from the dead to kill the creature that spoke with Lord Dycedarg’s voice.
The truth, Delita suspects, is known only to Ramza, and Ramza will never tell of it.
Ovelia’s hands tremble as she reads the letter. Delita cannot see her face from here, but he knows the contents of the letter. He places his hand on her shoulder. She does not push him away.
“I had been planning a trip for your birthday,” Delita says. “Perhaps we should make it early.”
The paper crumples slightly in her hands, but Ovelia’s voice hardly shakes at all. “Where?” she asks.
“Zeltennia,” Delita replies, brushing the hair back from Ovelia’s neck. He runs a thumb over her cheek, gently. “The flowers will be blooming.”
Ovelia turns her head slightly, away from him. “Yes,” she says, “I should like that very much.”
Though they were far too old for it, Tietra still slipped into Delita’s room sometimes. It was late, and Delita had been with Ramza. He was not expecting his sister to be curled on his bed, nearly asleep. She stirred when he entered, blinking up at him. After a moment, the sleep cleared from her eyes and she looked at him accusingly.
“Where were you?” Tietra asked.
Delita ignored the question. “Go back to your room, Tietra, before someone misses you.”
“You were with Ramza, weren’t you?” Tietra had asked, kneeling up on Delita’s bed. Her voice had still been quiet, but there had been no hiding the urgency in it. “Do not lie to me, Delita!”
And Delita hadn’t, then. He’d paused, a beat too long, as good as an admission of guilt. “Tietra-”
“You were then,” she’d said. “How many nights now, Delita?”
And for the first time, the anger had risen; “Do not censure me, Tietra,” he’d snapped. “We are careful, Ramza and I. We are mindful. I am no fool, sister.”
She’d flinched at his voice, as if he’d struck her, though Delita had never raised his hand to her in anger. “If- if Lord Dycedarg should know-” Tietra had said, her voice shaking.
It had been hard to rein in his anger, to be calm again. But Delita had fought for it. “I know,” he’d murmured, and gone to hug her. “Ramza and I will be more careful still. I promise you this. Nothing will happen to you, or to us. Now get along; you are too old to seek comfort in your brother’s bed.”
Tietra had stood, wiping her eyes. She’d kissed Delita’s cheek, and murmured, “I hope....” She’d shaken her head. “Good night, Delita.”
“Sleep well, Tietra,” he’d bid her, and listened as she’d run quietly back down the corridors towards her room.
It would be unkind to compare Ovelia to Ramza. They are different people. Even so, Delita cannot help himself sometimes. Her hair in the setting sun looks the same colour as Ramza’s. When she stands, a blade of grass to her lips and a high whistle piercing the air, Delita can almost believe it is Ramza he is standing beside. They are only small things, but he tries not to think them anyway – Ovelia deserves better.
She deserves better than him, in truth, but he will not hand her over to another. He has come too far for that.
Ramza is calling for him. Delita can hardly hear it over the explosions – they have stolen his hearing from him as Argath had stolen his sister. What use is there in rising? Tietra is dead. They are betrayed by those they called kin. They would not even have reclaimed her body for burial, Delita thinks- there is a ringing in his head as the building explodes, and then there is nothing but white.
He wakes up. Later, Delita will be surprised that he did. But right now, he is hurt and alone – there is fire and searing pain along Delita’s right side, and Tietra’s body lying twisted and broken in the snow.
Ramza does not come back.
Ovelia prays. The first night they are together, Delita cannot help but to hear them, but the nights after he makes his excuses and absents himself. It does not do to intrude, and the relief is plain on Ovelia’s face.
She had prayed for Agrias, the first night, as quietly as she dared. Delita wonders if she does still... if he would pray for Ramza, were he in Ovelia’s place.
Delita’s men still search for Agrias. Sometimes, they cross paths with Orran Durai. Orran makes his own enquiries, though into the truth surrounding Ramza rather than the whereabouts of Agrias Oaks. He had been willing enough to share what little he knew with the people Delita sent; Agrias was not what Orran sought, after all.
But the trail is turned cold; Ramza made for Orbonne, with Agrias beside him, and after that there is nothing. Only Orran’s word that Ramza survived, and Alma with him, and of late Delita finds himself doubting.
Of Agrias Oaks, there is no sign at all.
Their last kiss had been framed by the setting sun. Delita had not known then, that it would be the last time he would touch Ramza with familiarity, that it would be the last time he would feel Ramza’s lips beneath his. It had only been a little comfort at the time; Tietra newly stolen, and Argath’s words still burning between them.
Ramza had been careful, guarded and half afraid – he would grow out of that in time – and Delita had not cared, in that moment, that they could be seen. They were not so very far from Eagrose, after all, and it would not have been unreasonable for someone to follow the youngest Beoulve. But Delita had been thoroughly incautious at the time, pulling Ramza into kisses that could be mistaken for nothing else. Ramza’s wariness had faded quickly; he had been unsure of his welcome, given their earlier argument.
There had only been time for kisses then, indelicate as they may have been. Delita had not promised more, and Ramza had not asked; they had stood for a time, hands together, and watched the moon rise.
Delita asks Ovelia. There is no-one else to ask. She hesitates at this last, but Ovelia is at least no fool.
She hesitates, but accepts.
Warmth curls in Delita’s breast. He takes Ovelia’s hand, gently, raises it to his lips – a smile spreads across his face, and even he is somewhat surprised to find that it is no falsehood.
(he staggers back from ovelia’s corpse; the life fades from her eyes. they stare up at him, and there is something of relief in them – this is what she had wished for
the knife falls from delita’s suddenly nerveless fingers, and he turns away. a few steps further and he falls to his knees
unbidden, ramza comes to mind. “did you get your end in all this, ramza?” delita asks, uselessly. if he closes his eyes, he can almost feel ramza’s hand against his again. “i... i got this.”)