Richmond was saying something, but Talia could not hear him.
There was a roaring in her ears. It surrounded her, filled her, formed her. Eventually, the sound retreated, and she heard it for what it was: the roaring of flames. Odd. It wasn’t something Talia heard often.
Something gently floated to the front of her mind, a memory of what the Snake had said.
Torch the place before we leave.
Yes. The House was burning. She saw the flames climbing to the heavens. The great hall bore down under the weight of the inferno.
Richmond’s voice came to her again, and this time, it was in words she understood.
“We must retreat, my Duke!”
Something shattered within Talia, and the world flooded in. She had something to do, somewhere her legs could carry her. That would be enough for now.
The commotion of her servants spun around her like a hurricane. She saw the young Hiram, maid in training, collapsed upon the floor directly in the path of the inferno.
The Duke moved to him, taking him in her arms. This was something she could do. The fog clouding her vision retreated, leaving a single path forward. Her feet followed the only steps they could. Opening her mouth, she spoke, each word a hundredweight dropping from her tongue.
“We have little time!” Talia moved beneath the balcony, where the hallway led into the mansion interior. “We need to stay on the ground level, and move quickly before the flames engulf the entire manor house. Right now, focus on escaping with yourself and the person next to you. Nothing in this house is more important than the lives of those who serve it.”
She saw the stricken faces of her servants—the loyal servants of a Duke—swim before her. Nods of grim acceptance formed on them all. There would be a time for tears later.
There would be time for …
Talia saw the retreating form of Lucia in her mind’s eye, and she stumbled at the image. Shaking her head, she looked in confusion left, then right, not knowing for the moment where to go.
“The kitchens, my Duke!” called Richmond, taking her by the arm.
Of course. Reality reasserted itself. She fell into the path naturally, without thought for the next moment, or the next.
The retreating throng arrived at the kitchens, where they found the cowering form of another maid. Swimming before her eyes, Talia connected her to a memory just minutes old. It was like moving through molasses, her mind plodding through the images of her and Richmond entering the manor by stealth.
No, not just her and Richmond. There was also …
Later. The maid stood and showed herself capable of following. Talia motioned for her servants to carry out the three unconscious policemen slumped across the floor.
She gave the command, but she did not feel the words leave her lips. Still, she was obeyed.
The freshness of the open air, a battering ram, slammed into Talia when she emerged into the sunlight. She staggered as she took two steps, then a third, outside the pantry door. They were out.
Were they out? She turned slowly, and saw, indeed, the servants of the House behind her.
Then, the ground rushed up to meet her, as her bad leg buckled underneath her weight. She felt the impact along her side, and then the tangle of limbs as the maid Hiram sprawled across her. Richmond was shouting something again, but as at the beginning, she could not comprehend his words.
No, all she could hear was the words of another, a lighter lilt coming from smoother lips.
I cannot see you die. Every particle of me rebels against it.
She saw the retreating form of the demon, and she knew the truth. That would be the last she saw of Lucia, the succubus who had slashed open her twice-scarred heart with gentle hands.
“No,” she said, a pathetic cry. “No, you c-can’t.”
The tears came, then, and Talia no longer knew the outside world.
***
Talia blinked away the tears. She was alone. Alone in a blank room, rough-spun curtain at the window. Not at the manor, then. A glimpse of a carriage ride was all she remembered. The world was coming at her in fragments, few enough to madden her when she tried to piece them together.
Time had passed. Somehow, it had passed. And she was alone.
Though she knew that lie for what it was.
She was never alone.
Isabel, leader of an indentured rebellion, killer of innumerable souls, pirate scourge of the Pallian isles, and the first woman Talia had ever loved, leaned against the doorframe.
“Leave me, spirit,” Talia managed weakly. “You are not of this world any longer.”
“I will always be of your world, Duke of Fallmire. You took my name, after all, named your House for me. It was your actions that bound me to you.”
Talia rested her head in her hands. Would she always be broken? She thought of Lucia, of what she should have done for the demon, what she should have said to her. Would she ever be incapable of the merest gestures of affection?
Isabel had stolen the love within her heart, leaving it a scarred and quivering thing.
“You set me on this path, this crimson road of vengeance.” Talia’s tongue tasted notes of bitterness. “Remember when you used to say that? A crimson road of vengeance paves the seas. I didn’t know what you meant, then. Now, I think I do.”
“Are you talking to me, or to yourself?” Isabel looked about the plain room. She did not seem impressed.
Talia snorted, or tried to. It came out as a long sigh through her nose. “Why else are you here?”
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“I had … forgotten you, for a season.”
“I’ll always be there, Ida. There to guide that quivering girl upon her crimson road. You will never be rid of me.”
Talia looked into the eyes of the woman she once loved. “Do I have to kill you every time?”
***
It was two days later, and Talia was still recovering. The plain room belonged to the Foxbridge Inn, she’d later learned. Richmond had taken command of the House of Fallmire while its Duke was indisposed, making this their base of operations for the time being.
Isabel had been in and out; and among the living, Richmond was her point of contact, coming twice so far and telling her it was morning.
She barely slept. The marking of the day had lost meaning for her.
But, well, today she felt a little better.
She took the soup and bread that Richmond offered her, and then saw the letter he had set beside the table.
“From Cleft,” Richmond said.
Talia opened it and read.
To the Duke. Heard about your manor and all. Nasty stuff. Wish I could have been there, I’d have given that Lindell a good knock to the head. Regardless. Me and my own have evaded detection by the mercenaries, and quite merrily at that. My latest intelligence suggests that Forteza snatched up the bait. So much the better for her; so much the worse for our friend the Marshal. You know, I’ve already forgotten his name! Standing by to help, let’s get those bastards.
S.S.
Cleft was always more loquacious in person. She found his writing style to be oddly refreshing. Closing her eyes, she took a breath, in and out, and opened them again.
She had life in her limbs, breath in her chest, passion in her heart. She had been dealt a deep wound, but all was not lost.
All was not lost.
And she almost believed that lie.