Royce had never felt despair like this before. It was worse than the moment when he’d seen his village burned, worse than the moment he’d seen Genevieve turning away from him before the battle. Lethe not being there felt like a hole in the world that couldn’t be filled.
“She left because of you,” Bolis said, pointing at him. “It was your armor that she went to look at.”
“You’re just jealous that you don’t love her as much as I do,” Royce shot back. He knew it was true, because how could anyone love Lethe as much as he did? His love for her might have filled an ocean, spread itself across a continent.
Except…
Except that, now that she wasn’t here, Royce felt as though that love wasn’t quite as all-consuming as it had been. Oh, he still loved her more than anyone else, but with her gone, there wasn’t the same pulsing, constant need for her that there had been. Other things were starting to seep in around the edges of that need, and the more he concentrated, the more Royce could see other faces when he thought of love. He saw Olivia, and, even more than her, he saw Genevieve.
“I’ll still kill them,” Royce whispered to himself. “I’ll still prove that I’m worthy of her.”
He watched the others with all the suspicion of a man who knew that they would be plotting his murder even as he planned theirs. The four of them were at separate corners of Lethe’s home, each as far from the others as they could get, each working on something that was probably their big plan to kill the others.
Royce looked around, taking in those plans. Matilde was over by the fire, adding something to a pot there. Royce had no doubt that it would be poisonous, whatever it was. Neave was glaring at everyone, working at a splinter of bone in the hopes of forming a sharp edge. Mark was looking around the others as if contemplating which of them he might be able to form a temporary alliance with, while Bolis…
“You’re not worthy of her!” the knight shouted, before lunging at Mark. The two went down in a heap, punching and grappling. Bolis had all the training of a knight behind him, but Mark had everything they’d drilled into him on the Red Isle, and the two were evenly matched.
Royce was happy about that. Maybe they’d kill one another. At the very least, they would weaken one another and he could finish whoever survived.
Just the fact that he was thinking like this horrified a part of him, but the rest of him insisted that it was all right. It was simply what was required to win Lethe’s love, and in the name of that, wouldn’t he topple whole kingdoms? Hadn’t he come all the way across the water just to find this love?
No, it hadn’t been that he’d been looking for, had it? It had been… something else. Someone else.
Royce still sat there, watching his friends trying to beat one another to death. Neither seemed to have the advantage over the other just then, but Royce could see Mark slowly working his way up on top as the two rolled on the floor. Bolis was too used to fighting armed and armored, and had too little experience of fighting without either.
Vaguely, he was aware that he should have been horrified by the sight of Mark’s hands going to Bolis’s throat, but he couldn’t remember why. It was just one less rival for Lethe’s love, one less person to compete with for the greatest of all prizes. In any case, Bolis had broken the grip now, striking up at Mark even while his friend struck downward, again and again.
Royce was still watching the fight when he saw the wolf-thing enter Lethe’s home, walking on tiptoes as if every step there were painful for it. Royce realized with a start that he knew this creature, that it had a name and a kind. This was Gwylim, and he was a bhargir. The creature made his way across to where Royce was sitting, and Royce could bear that, because at least this was not a rival for Lethe’s love. In fact, hadn’t she sent the creature away? Maybe Royce could win her favor if he slew the beast for her, since she obviously hated it so much.
He was still thinking that when Gwylim darted forward and bit him, hard, on the leg.
The pain was shocking and instant, cutting through the fog around Royce’s brain. In that instant, he had a moment to think, and a moment was all he needed. Images of Genevieve came to him, so strong and clear that she might have been in the room with him, rather than many miles away across the sea.
Those images pushed thoughts of Lethe aside, washing her away from his brain like pebbles carried away from the shore by the tide. Royce could feel the spell that had been on him leaving him, and he knew then that it had been a spell. He fought to be free of it, and stood up, wanting to be outside, wanting to confront Lethe and put an end to this.
He made it outside before Gwylim was there, in front of him, holding Royce back with his bulk. In the distance, Royce could see Lethe standing over his armor and blade, and there was something wrong about the shape of her there. She wasn’t as beautiful like this, wasn’t as human. There was something twisted and wrong about her, hag-like and clawed, poring over Royce’s abandoned armaments as if searching for answers. Royce started toward her, and again, Gwylim pushed him back.
Royce realized what the bhargir was doing as he smelled the unmistakable scent that came with Lethe, felt the beginnings of love rising in him. He grabbed for thoughts of Genevieve, and those thoughts were enough to push back the rising spell, barely. He understood then: he couldn’t be anywhere near to this creature, or he would be overwhelmed. He could try to attack her, but unarmed as he was, and needing to breathe, what could he hope to do?
“I can save my friends,” Royce said to himself. He looked down at Gwylim. “I’ll need your help.”
The bhargir chuffed an answer, and the two of them headed back toward the house. Royce reached out for Ember’s eyes, glancing through them to check that Lethe was still where he had left her, still scratching at his armor and trying to understand it.
When Royce went inside, Mark and Bolis were still fighting, but now Neave and Matilde were too, fighting over a sharpened fragment of bone, hissing and spitting at one another as they fought.
“I love her!” Matilde snapped.
“No, I love her!” Neave shouted back.
They rolled on the floor, and the fragment flashed down, coming up bloody. The wound didn’t slow Neave, though.
Royce rushed forward to them. “Stop this,” he said. “Stop it! You’re fighting for no reason.”
He did his best to pull the two apart, and managed, only for Matilde to swing the makeshift blade at him, her eyes wild.
“You can’t have her either! She’s mine!”
Royce felt the pain as the weapon scraped across his ribs. If he’d had his armor, the blow wouldn’t have made a difference, but as it was, he felt the sharpness of it cutting into him, even as he spun away from it. He managed to get both hands on Matilde’s arm, and wrenched it, keeping it away from her while he forced the bone shard from her grasp.
Across from him, Gwylim had leapt at Neave, pinning the Picti girl through sheer weight and muscle. She fought to get up, but the bhargir held her in place. Royce did the same with Matilde, holding her tightly so she wouldn’t be able to lunge for her weapon.
“Matilde, it’s a spell; it isn’t real,” Royce said.
“This is a trick! You’re trying to trick me so you can have Lethe to yourself!”
“I don’t care about Lethe,” Royce said. “I’m not in love with Lethe.”
Some remnant of the spell insisted that he ought to be, but Royce fought it. He latched onto thoughts of Genevieve, using them as a shield to keep the spell at bay.
“I’m in love with someone else,” Royce said. A thought came to him as he looked over to Neave. “And I think you are too.”
“I’m not,” Matilde insisted. “I love Lethe. I love her, more than any of you, more than anything.”
“No you don’t,” Royce said, “and if you reach deep, you’ll be able to feel it now that she isn’t here. You love Neave, and she feels the same way. You’ve hardly spent a moment apart since she showed up at the camp.”
“I don’t,” Matilde said, but she sounded uncertain. “I…”
“Yes?” Royce asked.
Matilde let out a scream, her hands clutching her head. “I don’t know what’s happening. It hurts!”
She sagged, and Royce let her go. She fell to her knees and stayed there for several seconds, taking panting breaths.
“She was in my head,” Matilde said. “She was in my head.”
Royce knew how she felt, but right then, there was no time. He went over to Neave, still pinned beneath Gwylim’s bulk.
“Neave, I need you to focus,” he said. “What you’re feeling isn’t natural, is it? It’s not the same as what you feel for Matilde. You’re Picti; you know what the power of the old places feels like.”
“Fight it, Neave,” Matilde said, holding out a hand to her. “Please, you can do it.”
“I love… aargh!” Neave shook her head, and Royce recognized the shift in her that had happened the same way for Matilde. She was back, and she was herself.
“Are you all right?” Matilde asked, helping her up and holding her close.
Royce wished he could give them more time, but he was only too aware of how little time there was. Another glance through Ember’s eyes told him that Lethe was still preoccupied with the crystal sword, staring at the runes on it as if trying to decipher them and probably giving the five of them enough time to kill one another, but that wouldn’t last.
“We have to help the others,” Royce said.
“That’s going to be harder,” Matilde said. “They don’t love anyone.” She glanced over to Neave. “Not that I’m admitting anything at all.”
The worrying part was that she had a point. Mark and Bolis were still fighting, still raining down blows on one another whenever they happened to be on top of the melee, and Royce couldn’t think of anything that would convince them the way he had managed to convince Matilde and Neave.
Still, he had to try.
“Mark,” he called out to his friend. “Mark, stop this!”
“You’re next,” Mark said. He kicked Bolis away from him, and the knight came up with blood on his face.
“But I’m your friend,” Royce said.
“A friend wouldn’t try to come between me and Lethe,” Mark said. “A friend wouldn’t be there, better than me, so that she looks at him and not me.”
“Mark,” Royce said. “This is a spell. She’s cast a spell on you. She’s forcing you to love her, Mark!”
“You’re lying,” Mark snapped back. “You’re lying to try to have her to yourself.”
“Mark, we need to go,” Royce said. “We need to get out of here before she comes back.”
“I want her to come back,” Mark said. “Every moment without her is agony. If you want to go, you go. Leave me here, with her.”
Royce knew that there would be no persuading his friend. It seemed to him then that there was only one thing to do.
“I’m sorry,” he said, in the instant before he lashed out, catching his friend cleanly on the jaw. Mark tumbled to the ground, unconscious before he hit it, sprawled in place. Royce looked over to Bolis, but Neave and Matilde already had him between them, managing to lift him bodily. He was unconscious, and Neave’s smile as she nursed bruised knuckles suggested the reason for it.
“I swear it would be easier to leave him behind,” Matilde said, as they headed for the exit to the shelter.
In answer, Royce just lifted Mark, slinging his friend over one shoulder and carrying him. “We need to get out of here.”
He led the way outside, sending Ember out across the island, looking at the beaches. Gwylim led the way, the bhargir sniffing the air as he did so. At a growl from him, Royce hurried forward into the trees.
The path was anything but obvious. Royce couldn’t see it from above using Ember’s eyes, even though they told him the general direction in which to head. He didn’t even know if they were actually heading in that direction, because he couldn’t see them from above.
“Gwylim,” Royce said, hoping the bhargir would understand. “Do you know where Ember is?”
The wolf-thing inclined his head.
“Follow her,” Royce said, and he reached up with his thoughts to send Ember out in the direction of one of the beaches, and what lay there.
Gwylim set off through the trees, with the rest of them hurrying to keep up. Royce held Mark tightly in place over his shoulder, trying to find a route through the trees that would give enough space for both of them. Gwylim seemed to understand the need for it, though, picking out a path that was clear enough for them to squeeze through, with Neave and Matilde moving along behind, carrying Bolis.
Faintly, on the wind, Royce smelled a sickly sweet scent that he recognized, then heard a scream of rage in an all too melodious voice.
“She’s coming for us!” he called to the others. “Run, and focus on what’s important!”
He kept an image of Genevieve locked in his mind, even as he ran in Gwylim’s wake, the others bringing up the rear. The trees whipped by, and now Royce was certain that something else was running along, all too close behind them, the crack of breaking branches tracing her progress in a way that promised worse to come.
Briefly, Gwylim darted from the path, and there was a shriek followed by a curse in Lethe’s far too beautiful voice. Royce didn’t slow down, not even when Gwylim came back onto the path, blood around his mouth.
They came out from the trees to a beach where Ember circled overhead, directly over the thing that had made Royce head for this beach, and that had led them all here. A boat sat on the edge of the water, clearly abandoned by one of Lethe’s more recent victims. It was large enough for all of them, barely, and they ran toward it.
“In!” Royce yelled to Matilde and Neave, as he threw Mark into the boat with such speed that he thudded when he hit it. Matilde and Neave threw Bolis in as if he were a sack of vegetables, then joined Royce to start to push the boat into the water.
Glancing back, he saw the thing that was Lethe limping out onto the beach, blood pouring from one leg where Gwylim had bitten her. The bhargir leapt into the boat, staring back and growling.
Royce could smell the scent of her now, and a part of his brain wanted to insist that Lethe didn’t look like a monster, that she was as beautiful as she had ever been. With a roar, he pushed the boat into the water, pushing Matilde and Neave afterward to make sure they didn’t head back.
He pulled himself aboard the boat, grabbing for the oars. He pulled at them, hauling as hard as he could, determined to put distance between himself and the shore. He could see Lethe was still there, but the creature didn’t so much as put a foot into the water. Despite that, Royce kept rowing, trying to put as much distance between her and all of them as he could.