The Warlord

Chapter 11: Evelaen

I release the breath that I did not know I was holding. The coarse anticipation and tension is replaced with relief, but also something else: intimidation. Deep inside, I know I was praying for Heaven to reject the proposal. I could stomach dying on the battlefield, going down sword in hand, leaving glory in my memory. I stomach dying for my queen. Yet it seems my end will be far from Serestine, and instead in Heaven's golden, treacherous castles. My end will be far from my queen.

"I suppose it is time then, my queen? Am I to depart tomorrow?" Though I do not mean to, I come out sounding colder than usual. For a moment, my queen drops her mask, and despair casts itself over her features. Then she pulls her walls up again, letting her face remain passive and serene.

"Yes..." She trails off, and I can tell she wishes to say something. Maybe words of comfort, maybe words of instructions, but she leaves it at that. Nothing more but a simple confirmation of sending me off to my doom. Clearing her throat, she jumps to explaining the specifics. "The servants are already preparing a portal for you to leap to the upper realm. It should be ready by midnight, and the night air will be perfect for the magic to cool off. Tomorrow morning you shall depart." There is a crack in her voice at the last word, and suddenly I do not see my queen as a queen, but as a devastated, crying young woman instead.

I swallow, trying to hide the sudden rush of emotion and crushing realization of what this departure means. Years spent by my queens side, fighting for Serestine, fighting for her. I still remember when she held out a porcelain perfect hand to me on that cold night, offering me a spot as her counsel, her companion, her friend. Now I am leaving that all behind, leaving the middle realm, leaving her.

I struggle to get the words out as I say, "How will you know if I succeed?" The gods will obviously forbid me from contacting the middle realm. I might have a slim chance of using the wind spirits, but though they claim to be neutral forces, most near Heaven only bow to Galvan's angels. Any updates on my mission will be completely lost, and Serestine may very well remain in the dark of my actions.

"Do not worry, my warlord. If they approve my proposition, then they also approve granting you contact with me. After all, how can an ambassador do their job if they do not know what state their kingdom is in?" She offers me a little smile, and though I return it, my thoughts on my mission and on my departure are still as muddled as ever. I think of the oath I took when I had proven myself to the palace's instructors, the oath of loyalty to my queen. She had given the same smile then, the smile that was somehow wistful and devastated as it was hopeful.

I can barely think straight, my head engulfed by silent sobs and salty tears, as my queen rises, her blue gown shifting with her. Slowly, tentatively, she walks down the stairs, the fabric spilling and falling behind her. She stops right in front of me, and I stare into her dark brown eyes, eyes filled with the night's secrets and the weight of the stars. She takes my hand, her skin smooth and soft against my coarse, scarred knuckles. I feel something cold press into my palm, and I look down to find myself clutching a glass vial. The liquid inside is completely transparent, and I almost do not see it at first glance.

"Tasteless, scentless, odorless, at least to us humans. The gods might suspect something is wrong, but in the end, it will do its job," she whispers in a single breath, letting it pass between us. I do not take my eyes off of hers, instead spreading my magic outwards, searching. Sure enough, a number of wind spirits are at each of the windows, and they have been listening, waiting, and watching for quite some time.

My queen embraces me in a tight hug, giving me the opportunity to pocket the vial. When she pulls away and walks back to her throne, I bow low, my hair hovering inches above the ground. There is nothing for the wind spirits to see here, just a queen sending off her warlord on a mission of peace. When I lift my head, I take a good long look at my queen. She sits on her throne, regal, poised, yet I know she is breaking inside. I take in her sculpted face, her delicate features, for this may be the last time I see her.

"Goodbye, my queen." My heart breaks at the three cursed words, but I turn and stride away, and only when the metal door closes behind me do I allow my tears to slowly crawl down my cheeks. I know my queen is doing the same as I leave behind the throne room and walk to my quarters.