Abolisher [Drothiker #2]

9.

"They talk, you know."

The Stone Chamber wasn't heaving with people today, thankfully, less ears to eavesdrop. Sounds of chatting and laughing and clinking glasses drifted across the tavern and drowned out Syrene's and Eliver's voices as they spoke at the bar. Drinking—well, Syrene was. Eliver was just fidgeting with his glass.

"What do they say?" asked Syrene, lifting the glass to her lips.

"About how you"—Syrene shot him a look—"About how Syrene Alpenstride took down those beasts and came alive after driving a sword through herself. How her power was felt across the city—a ripple so powerful that it'd thrown standing men to their asses. They say she's beautiful as a sunset over the ocean, new as a sunrise. They say she's feral as any baeselk ever encountered, and yet delicate as feather."

Syrene snorted.

But Eliver went on. "They call her Destiny Incarnate. Either a doom, or salvation—ruination or harmony—no one knows. They say she might be in hiding now, but when she emerges, it will be felt across the whole planet like an otsatya come to grounds."

Syrene had heard all those rumors—she was gossiped about around the world. Even in a town like Silvervale. Even if she focused on the voices now, around the tavern with her sharpened hearing, Syrene would catch at least one—if not two—person tattling about her. About how she was no more than a myth created by raconteurs. A few spoke vile things that had Syrene's very blood boiling, others spoke with such reverence that if she listened for more than a simple minute, even she might start to believe she was an otsatya.

Eliver's head whipped in her direction. "I've seen men tremble at the mention of her name."

Syrene grinned and angled her glass at Eliver. "Sounds like one of a kind."

The half-hemvae shook his head. "You're insane."

Syrene winked. Then, collected herself. "Why did you run away last night?"

Eliver seemed to hesitate as he ran a hand through his curly bangs. And then, with a shuddering sigh, he began a tale.

"A long time ago, in a different world—different existence—there lived three princesses."

Syrene groaned.

Eliver shot her a look, didn't wait for her approval to proceed.

"So powerful that the universe itself feared them. They were tucked away from the world, from anyone who existed, but universe was aware of their each movement, each breath. Even as no one knew they existed, their power was felt across the worlds—everyone was unconsciously aware of the unknown force that constantly gnawed at their skin. The princesses were kept hidden in a tower brighter than any moon—and yet, at the same time, darker than any night."

"Poetic," yawned Syrene.

Eliver blew out an annoyed breath. "Why are you not taking this seriously?"

"Because I don't care," she admitted. "I don't care how she came to be, or how powerful she is, or why she's so evil. Everyone has a story, and every story contains myriad reasons for why one came to be the way they are. I don't want to hear her reasons." Because it's easier that way, she didn't add. Easier to simply believe someone is corrupt, than to know they'd not always been that way.

Even then, in the end, nothing could ever justify what she'd been doing to Azryle—nothing could ever justify her legalizing slavery. So Syrene sighed and said, "But do go on."

Eliver's keen eyes were watching her, head tilted. Then, "Felset's story doesn't justify her actions, Cerys." He spoke the queen's name so softly that Syrene caught it only thanks to her hemvae hearing. "She's the way she is only for the sake of not being human. Humans are a funny thing—you could attempt understanding one your whole life, but the other would turn out to be wholly different. And yet utterly same. Felset understands neither humans, nor the concept of humanity. And that," he tilted his glass in her direction, as if to make a toast, "is her weakness."