Impavidus the impavidus.., p.10
Impavidus (The Impavidus Cycle Book 3), page 10
She stood from the table to pace around it, and Albtraum stood to watch her as she stepped from one end of the table to the other. The light had grown so dim in the archives that the candles were now all they had, and the rows of shelves behind her faintly illuminated figure appeared only in brief flickers when the flames danced toward them.
“Memories are in some way being altered. Chronus, too, is involved – whether as a perpetrator of the lie, or another victim of it – but in either case, we can rely on her guidance no longer.”
Albtraum leaned against the windowsill behind him. “How do you suppose we should proceed?”
Mianna looked back over her shoulder at him, her jade eyes hard to read in the flickering light that reflected across them. She slowly crossed over to where he stood, her shoulders slumping slightly. “For tonight… I want to stop. I have had enough of this.”
As she drew nearer, he gently reached out a hand to brush a stray lock of hair away from her face. “We can stop.”
She turned to him, reaching up to take her hand in his as he touched her face. “I don’t wish to think about any of this anymore. It— I have responsibilities to uphold and untold numbers who look to me for guidance. I am the shepherd of Sylva’s people, and I must protect them from this… I must protect all the world from this. But now, I…” She pressed closer, resting her head against his chest. Her voice was low and fraying. “I am so very tired, Albtraum. I wish that… just for a moment, that I could banish everything beyond these walls, that nothing in the world would remain but for the two of us.”
Perhaps it was the slight intoxication of the wine, but Albtraum felt his heartbeat quicken at her closeness. “Well, perhaps we can be a few moments late to dinner this evening…”
He’d scarcely finished speaking before Mianna gripped the collar of his doublet to pull him to her – she did not need much invitation nor convincing. Her mouth met his ravenously, her arms desperately thrown about his neck as his back pressed hard against the stone wall behind him.
Albtraum’s hands hovered timidly at her waist for a moment, but as she kissed him deeper his aching for closeness grew. His arms encircled her, and they slid down against the wall until they rested together on the stone floor. The candles on the table continued to flicker away, casting a faint, gentle light upon their surroundings.
The stone floor was cold against his back, but Mianna’s form pressed against him was warm – even through the thick fabric of her dress it felt like there was fire in her where one hand rested at the small of her back, the other running through her thick chestnut hair. Her mouth soon forgot his and her lips trailed down to his neck, her fingers digging into his shoulders for leverage. His skin prickled at the feeling of her breath just over the pulsepoint of his throat, he shifted in her grasp, but it was not an unpleasant sensation.
Here with her, Albtraum felt at once as though he had been given a moment he did not deserve, that he had no right to – and also that nothing could be more right than the two of them joined together. When at last the chasm all around him faded and he felt he was finally close to her, that he could feel and see and know her love for him, he forgot the darkness that shrouded his mind. He forgot every wish he had to surrender to it, suddenly ashamed that he had ever wished to.
After all – death was bitter, and life was sweet. Every part of him she touched turned human. She made him want to live.
As her weight shifted over him, though, he winced – a shock of stabbing pain erupted close to his hip.
He tried to suppress the pained hiss of breath through his teeth, but Mianna took notice, and quickly pulled back, still breathing hard with exertion. “Darling? Are you alright?”
Albtraum was half-breathless himself. “M-my scar,” he answered softly. “It just… It still hurts at times, it was only for a moment…”
Mianna gave a long sigh, carefully climbing off of him so he could sit up. “I am sorry,” she murmured, her hand brushing his cheek. “I forget myself. I should not have thrown myself at you so. I only…”
He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes. “No, Mianna, I… I do wish to be close to you.”
She looked down at him for a long while, and once more he found he could not read her eyes. Then, finally, “We should return home, love. Everyone will be waiting for us for the evening’s feast.”
He nodded his agreement, and she stood to neatly arrange the stacks of books on the table before they left.
Albtraum slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position, the stone tiles smooth under his palm. The ache at his hip persisted, he unconsciously reached his free hand over to press against it – and he started at the undeniable feeling of his doublet having been soaked through. His hand flew back to the light where he could see it – his fingers were stained dark with blood.
Baffled, he prodded at the spot again, in disbelief at the sight. His clothing was intact, and he could recall nothing that had happened that could have wounded him.
As he continued to try to examine himself in the dim light, Mianna called out. “Albtraum? Are you coming?”
He hurriedly wiped his hand across his doublet. It was a dark color, not terribly far from that of blood – he was grateful for that, and the low light that further concealed it. “Yes, darling, I am.”
This time, as she took his hand and they left the archives together, the dull ache did not fade.
Chapter IX
Though it was midday and the sun outside Sylva’s walls shone brightly, it was dark as night in the infirmary’s storeroom, without a single candle to illuminate the work being done there. Not that the lack of light mattered to the man currently working there, Albtraum thought to himself as he approached the darkened doorway.
Hypatios stood at one of the tables, his hands passing over and organizing supplies that had been left out by the medics who had just finished their work for the day. A single Shadran guard, who presumably stood by to escort the blind doctor when he had completed his work for the day, stood by silently, bowing deeply as Albtraum approached.
Albtraum gently knocked upon the frame of the door as he passed the threshold. Hypatios turned at the sound, his ears swiveling Albtraum’s direction.
“Yes? Is someone there?”
“Hypatios,” Albtraum called in answer, slowly approaching him, ensuring his footfalls were audible. “I have need of your expertise.”
“Most High,” Hypatios said quickly, rushing to bow. “Of course. What do you need?”
Albtraum looked back over his shoulder at the guard. “You are dismissed.”
The younger Shadran gave a single nod and immediately made for the exit of the infirmary, giving not so much as a glance back as he shut the door behind himself.
“I seem to have developed an… unusual affliction, Hypatios, and I would like your opinion on the matter.” Albtraum pulled over a chair from the desk next to where Hypatios worked and sat.
“Certainly, Most High, but… would not Sylva’s healers be of more use? The physiology of daemons is far closer to that of humans than Shadrans, and I am afraid the majority of my expertise lies with treating my own people…”
“I cannot rely on Mianna’s doctors to exercise any discretion,” Albtraum explained, unbuttoning his shirt. His own amateurish bandaging attempt had soaked through with the steady trickle of blood that flowed from the edge of his scar. Though it only bled as though it were a shallow wound, it had not stopped since the night prior.
“I see.” Hypatios, too, pulled over a chair and sat across from him. “What would you like me to examine, then?”
“I noticed an unusual wound last night,” Albtraum explained, unwinding the bandages from around his abdomen, feeling a slight relief against his prickling skin as the uncomfortable pressure of the rough linen bandages was removed. Hypatios held out a hand, and Albtraum guided him to where the injury was, above his hip. Hypatios gently prodded the area, and Albtraum held back a grunt of pain – his flesh was painfully tender there.
“I assume there is no explanation you can conjure for this wound?” Hypatios asked, his ears lowering as he seemed to mull over a possible cause.
“None,” Albtraum answered simply.
"And you are certain you sustained no injury against the daemon intruder?"
Albtraum shook his head. "No. Even… even if I had, I… took his life to heal myself." Even the admission tasted foul in his mouth.
There was almost no light at all in the room, but Albtraum saw Hypatios nod, then stand and return to the supply table. He carefully rummaged across it before returning with a spool of bandages.
“Have you noticed anything else unusual of late, Most High?” Hypatios asked as he carefully bandaged the strange injury once again.
Albtraum tried not to squirm too much at the uncomfortable sensation of touch against his bare skin. “It is… hard to be certain of what qualifies as ‘unusual’ any more, I suppose. I am exhausted no matter how much I sleep, my head aches with every change in the weather, and I…”
I can hear him again. Please please please do something, get him out of my head, I cannot do this again I cannot—
He swallowed hard past a lump that had formed in his throat. “I… suppose I have been feeling progressively more unwell recently.”
Hypatios listened attentively as he spoke, his ears quirking to the side in thought as he pinned the finished bandage in place. His sightless eyes turned up toward the ceiling, as though searching for an answer. Albtraum noted his scars – they looked like claw marks. It occurred to him that he had never learned how Hypatios was blinded.
“In all honesty, this sounds rather like what I have heard of rift sickness in humans, Most High. Some reports spoke of sickness with no answer, endless malaise, and reopening wounds… Yet, there is no rift in Sylva any longer, and even if there were, as a daemon you should not be affected.”
“True.” Albtraum sighed and stood, buttoning his shirt again. He had not expected an answer, but to find Hypatios equally as perplexed as to the cause of his maladies was discouraging.
Nothing will assuage this but death. You know this.
“In any case, please do observe your condition and alert me if it grows any worse. I take it you will not consider seeing one of Sylva’s doctor’s about this – I still believe they may be of more help to you…”
“No. Not now.” Albtraum shook his head. “Should I lead you back to the main hall, Hypatios, or have you not finished with your work for the day?”
“I will stay a while longer. My son has promised to meet me when I’ve finished for the day.”
“Very good. Then I will leave you to it.”
Albtraum left the infirmary, still in pain and having come no closer to an answer. He softly shut the door behind him.
You would not even need to kill one of your pathetic humans. This place still teems with Shadrans. Many would die gladly for you, if only you ordered it.
Albtraum gritted his teeth. You will cease goading me if you truly are so insistent on clinging to these last scraps of life.
With the strength I gave you.
You made me a hunter. Now you’re the prey.
He could not tell if the silence that followed was of mockery or intimidation, but it was silence all the same, and he gratefully accepted it. Lucifurius’ voice felt more disgusting and invasive than ever, soaking through his mind like a thick sludge, burning behind his eyes like an infection he could not rid himself of. He let out a short breath, then picked up his pace as he made for Mianna’s study.
The servants Albtraum crossed paths with greeted him enthusiastically – he’d been a scarce presence about the estate for the past few days. He wished they would ignore him, he wished they would slink past him refusing to meet his gaze.
In his most rational mind, Albtraum knew that Z’xolkuloth’s vendetta against the Order would have found a vessel without him. He knew war would have been delivered to Sylva’s gates whether he had come here or not. Yet there was a part of him that bore a heavy guilt with every kind word and loving gesture he received. Something in him wondered if all he loved that loved him in return was bound for ruin.
Nevertheless, he mustered weak smiles in return to those who cheerfully called out to him.
The hall that led to the study was quiet when he reached it – but the door was open, and he could see the silhouette of someone sitting in one of the large armchairs that faced the tall windows. Unlike Mianna’s office, the study was set up to be as much a space for entertaining as it was for getting work done, with enough space and seating to accommodate a small number of guests.
The figure in the chair turned in place – and Albtraum could now clearly see Ismaire, peering back over her shoulder at him. Her eyes widened.
“Hey, Boneh— Al, sorry.” She stood, grimacing at him, one hand propped on her hip. “Are you… alright? I mean, I haven’t really seen you since that last night we sparred, and everything since then with Joaquin…”
“He’s been recovering well,” Albtraum said. The sentence came easily, rehearsed as it was – he’d repeated it many times over when asked of Joaquin’s condition over the past week. “He’s raring to get back to his work. At this rate we may have to restrain him and force him to rest.”
Ismaire gave a soft chuckle and a nod. “Good… I’m glad to hear it. Sylva would be much worse off without him. Don’t tell him I said that, of course.”
She sat again, but Albtraum stayed standing, pacing over to the window. Vibrant greens and the first buds of wildflowers blanketed the hills, though they were wreathed in fog as a slow rainfall began to drizzle over them, slowly casting a thick shroud over the afternoon sun.
“And what about you?” Ismaire asked, leaning forward. Her gaze was piercingly inquisitive.
He sighed, hesitating before he answered. Ismaire was hardly what he would consider a close confidante – yet somehow he felt compelled to chance honesty with her.
“I am not… well,” he muttered. “I’ve begun hearing Lucifurius again, feeling the pains he once brought me.”
She suddenly straightened. “You’re hearing him again? I thought he was gone – you separated when… when he…”
“When he killed me, yes. And yet his voice has been as strong as clear as it ever was – perhaps even more so. Mianna believes I am merely hearing things.”
Ismaire frowned deeply, rising to her feet once more to join Albtraum where he stood peering out the window. “And don’t you think she’s probably right? Not to imply you’re less than sane, but the mind certainly has a tendency to play tricks. And the lot of us haven’t exactly had an easy go of it lately, you included.”
Albtraum sighed, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. “It… feels real, though.”
Ismaire did not answer, seeming perplexed. A short silence hung between them before the study door softly opened, and Almar stepped inside.
“Well, I am not the only one early to this discussion, I see,” he muttered as he carefully made his way over to one of the armchairs to sit.
He carried himself with a sort of nervous timidness around Albtraum, as though he feared some outburst of retribution at any moment. In truth, Albtraum hardly remembered Almar’s attempt to kill him – it seemed such a small thing, with all else he’d endured since.
“Mianna will be here shortly,” Albtraum assured him.
“How fares the seneschal?” Almar asked, turning his gaze toward the window where Albtraum stood.
“He’s fine, Almar,” Ismaire answered before Albtraum could, her voice laced with an impatient sigh. “If you’re trying to fill the silence, why not choose a cheerier topic?”
“You did ask the same,” Albtraum muttered to her with a shrug as he turned to face Almar.
“When have you and I ever engaged in cheerful conversation, Bonehead?” Ismaire asked with a scoff. In spite of himself, Albtraum found it amusing how quick she was to revert to her usual biting demeanor in the presence of others, even if she’d been friendly with him moments before.
“As always, your manner of making friends is baffling, Ismaire,” Almar said as he leaned against the arm of the large, pillowy chair.
“In any case...” Albtraum said, clearing his throat. “I appreciate the concern, Almar. Joaquin is doing well, all things considered – he is in good spirits, which I suspect is aiding his recovery.”
Almar nodded, then haltingly added, “I imagine the invader must have come as quite the shock to you.”
Albtraum gritted his teeth, feeling the muscles in his jaw ache slightly as they tightened. His tension of late had been nigh-constant – and immense. “Admittedly, I thought better of the soldiers who guarded the rift than I should have. The problem was dealt with – I can only hope it served enough example to the others that it will not occur again.”
Almar leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, folding his hands together. They were rough and wizened – appearing ancient though the rest of his physical appearance was not so terribly old. “I do not envy you your position.”
“I pity anyone who does,” Albtraum sighed, looking up as he heard the door softly creak open once more.
Mianna stepped inside the study, appearing in much better spirits than she had the previous day. Albtraum was glad he had been able to leave without waking her in the morning, allowing her an extra hour of rest – she’d sorely needed it, and seeing her expression brightened like this eased some of his own weariness.
“I expected I might have to wait when I arrived,” she said with a light laugh. “It seems for once I am the one causing the delay.”
“Not at all,” Almar replied. “I simply found myself intrigued as to what you might wish to discuss with us.”
“Then I will get right to the point,” Mianna said as she crossed the room to lean against the windowsill. “Almar, your doubts about the Order... do indeed seem to be well-founded. Chronus appeared before me recently, and when I confronted her about what I found in Ishtar’s records... She claimed to have no knowledge of her statements. She assured me Azoth does, in fact, exist. I was right to disband the Order; I believe its foundations are falsehoods.”
