Chapter Twenty-Nine

 

 

Aren shuddered at the burning sensation, at the way her stomach wanted to heave up what little was in it. The drink tasted horrible, but it was the only thing she could think of.

Ever since moving to the vineyard, she had gone walking after her parents passed out or went to bed. Wandered the vineyard singing nonsense to herself. Being able to wander, being able to go wherever she felt. She almost felt free those times.

Now she was locked underground, maybe to never see the sky again. That morning she had felt the pressure begin to build, the need to get out of the chamber where she had been kept for months.

Danya had come down with a light, with a bit of pine, and a bottle of drink. The healer sat and watched Aren make a face at the first sip. A frown creased her brow when Aren immediately picked up the bottle and gulped as much as she could before the burn turned into too much of a sensation to handle.

“Do you want to talk about winter solstice at your home?” Danya asked.

Aren wiped her lips with the back of her hand. Her stomach turned, but the warmth was already spreading. Or was that the warmth that always seemed to appear as she watched her parents stumble off, drunk? The same warmth that kept her from needing a cloak when she walked the vineyard in the darkness?

“I just have this tradition,” Aren said.

She wanted to cry suddenly, so she picked up the bottle and swallowed again. Coughing at how the burn seemed to get worse, Aren handed Danya the bottle.

“It's not socially acceptable to drink alone,” Aren managed between coughs.

Danya grudgingly took a sip from the bottle. “I'm not going to try to drink as much as you.”

“Just drink some,” Aren said with a shake of her head. “That is awful stuff. I’ve had sips of wine before. Not that I'd get drunk on wine.”

“And why are you trying to get drunk, Aren?”

“I've been running since I was eleven,” Aren said to Danya.

The healer sucked a breath in through her teeth and handed Aren the bottle. “Queens tend not to show their rank until they become women. I mean, there are signs, and the magic is there, but to others? Or the more complicated processes? Not until they're women. And when I say women, I don't mean they start their womanly motions once a month, I mean when they're grown and are ready to take a man to their bed.”

“They knew Em was a queen when she was like twelve,” Aren said. “Em knew Mar, her daughter, was a queen the moment Mar stirred in her belly. Telm knew her daughter was a queen, both times, before the children were born.”

“Queens sometimes know about their children,” Danya said.

“How did I know that?” Aren asked the bottle. Not Danya, but the bottle.

“Know what?” Danya asked Aren, pulling the bottle from her grasp carefully.

“Telm doesn't have children,” Aren said. “What am I saying? Of course she has children. She has two beautiful, powerful daughters.”

“Are you arguing with yourself?” Danya asked.

“Alcohol.” Aren snatched the bottle from Danya and downed as much as she could before she started coughing again. “It's the alcohol. Throne.”

“Throne? The throne is speaking through you—of course, you're linked to it.” Danya clapped her hands once. “Fabulous. Maybe it can help.”

“I just wanted to be drunk so I wouldn't tear Rewel's throat out with my teeth for locking me in this dungeon without even a window to see the sun by,” Aren snarled at Danya.

The healer offered up a branch of pine, which Aren snatched from her and cradled to herself.

“Was there anything you ever wanted to ask the throne?” Danya asked. “Because I'm thinking now's the time. Might be a pleasant distraction from everything else.”

“I miss the moon the most,” Aren said with a sniffle. “You know they say a queen is good for the land, but me? I walked that vineyard every day. Worked its fields and still the wine turned sour. What use am I?”

“Why did the wine turn sour, Aren?” Danya asked.

“Because they deserve to die slowly,” Aren hissed out. Her tone surprised even her. Aren lifted the bottle, looked at it, then wavered and looked at Danya past the bottle. “At least that's what I think.”

“Tell me how you really feel about your parents?” Danya asked.

“I decided to go to the palace when my father walked into my room without knocking, when he knew I was changing,” Aren said to Danya. “I took a strip off him like a proper queen should and he thought I was just being bold. Comes to my court with his tail between his legs, afraid to piss least I tell Av what he's done.”

“He walked in on you, Aren, you dealt with it. Why would Av kill him when punishment was already doled out?”

Aren swore at Danya. The healer stared back at her, then sighed.

“That's a very good reason for your father to fear Av. Good that he's on his best behaviour, because if you recall that while sober? Aren, if he's done that to you, what's he done to your sister?”

“Nothing!” Aren shouted at Danya. “He never touched her, I made certain of that, I kept him from doing anything to her. Anue is protected.”

“By what? You can barely make a flash of light, let alone write a long-term spell or use your magic for anything besides momentary effects.”

“If he touched her, I'll boil him in his damned skin,” Aren said with a growl.

The healer was quiet for a moment, then she asked, “Do you remember this when sober?”

“What? No, of course not. I don't think about it,” Aren said.

“How large are the gaps in your memories?” Danya asked. “Tell me about a birthing day. All families celebrate that, right?”

Aren frowned, unable to recall such a celebration but aware it had happened. “I don't remember.”

“How about harvest dinner?” Danya asked.

“I don't remember.”

“Visitors?” Danya asked.

“I know the baron of the south visited, but he said as much to me when he came to court and I recognized him, but I don't remember his visit,” Aren grumbled.

“You have large black spaces in your memories, Aren. That's not a good thing. As mortal beings, we block out what we can't handle. The idea is to black out that period of our lives until we're capable of dealing with it, but few are ever able to handle what they locked away.”

“How do you know that?” Aren asked.

“Because I have the same problem, but I also have a great deal of time by myself. I've been able to recover some things. It's something that I believe is very difficult to do until you're aware there are gaps in your memories.”

“Which is why the throne sent me here?” Aren asked with a small laugh.

Danya took the bottle from Aren and a swig from the bottle. “I'm guessing that's one of the reasons. The throne doesn't appear to be a thing that does anything for only one reason.”

“So what if there were more reasons?” Aren asked, pulling the bottle gently away from Danya to take another drink. The world was all fuzzy and delightful.

“Why not share those reasons?” Danya asked.

“While it is the belief of the males serving the throne that everyone should know everything, us women know that sometimes things work in mysterious ways,” Aren said. “Because if we knew exactly what was going on, we might do something stupid like kill someone before someone else arrives to do the killing, which would result in everyone dying a terrible and horrible death, including me, but not including the someone who arrived to kill the first someone.”

“Rewel is going to die,” Danya said quietly.

“Him, or everyone,” Aren said. “That's not going to free me, though, because this is a magic far beyond him. What's locking the body here is not linked to anyone. It's an inversion of the self-image created by the wearer by the one who locks the manacle.”

“Wait. Self-image is how we view ourselves. Inversion is a turning in. Meaning you're stuck here because of your own fears.”

Aren laughed. “When you put it that way, I sound so pathetic.”

“Which means that killing Rewel won't free you,” Danya said pointedly.

“Which means the throne linked me here knowing I couldn't leave while I still had self-doubt,” Aren snarled. “What a selfish...”

Danya stared as Aren launched into a tirade of every curse word she could think of.

“If I ever want to see the moon again, I need to come up with at least one reason why I love myself,” Aren snapped finally, directing her irritation towards Danya, then the bottle still clutched in her hand.

The bottle was cold to the touch, colder than the air. Ice crept up the glass base, towards Aren's hand. She breathed out slowly, watching the creep of frost slow, but not reverse. She took a swig from the bottle. The alcohol was chilled, thicker somehow and almost delightful as it slid down her throat.

“Then we have a great deal of work ahead of us,” Danya said, reaching out to take the bottle from Aren. “Peace, darling. If you believe that you will be free when Av comes, why ever would there be a reason that you wouldn't be free?”

“Because the throne won't let me leave when I'm on the verge of breaking. If I leave here before I finish, I'll go mad. The land will be dragged into darkness because my magic reaches far and wide. I can't let that happen, Danya.”

“Then how do we stop it?” Danya asked. “I'm not asking Aren—I know she doesn't know how to help herself in this matter—I'm asking the throne. How do we stop her from going mad?”

“By reminding her that in every other aspect of her life, Aren is perfectly capable of protecting herself and anyone who needs her help.”