XV. All of Thee

Seva didn't say a word for more than a month, and it made Holland's heart ache. The pain radiated off the blonde in an almost palpable aura, silent but still as sharp as daggers. She didn't resist when Holland wrapped her arms around her, but she didn't answer the embrace either. It was like the former queen had left herself back in Tamaris with her son, leaving her body to operate on its own. Holland did her best not to press, to give Seva space. It stung, but Seva needed time. When she wanted more than a passing touch, she would show it. At least, that was the theory.

Sometimes, in the night when everyone else was sleeping, Holland would see tears shine on her cheeks. That was when she couldn't stop herself from wiping them away. Seva stayed quiet and her eyes remained distant, but she didn't push the penitent away.

They caught up to the army as it was passing through the Idoas Pass, and Cadeyrn's second eagerly relinquished command to the Lord Protector and the woman they still thought was Queen of Yssa. Seva acknowledged the transition with a wordless nod.

Narene was a short distance within the border from Leus, a large town dwarfed by the armies that surrounded it. The Yssans pitched camp at the eastern edge of the valley, the men nervous to be so close to their ancestral enemies. Whispers of unease about blood magic were already spreading like wildfire through the camp, though they hushed around the knights, who were taking it more in stride. It was an uncomfortable understanding, but one made easier by the short distance. They didn't pitch camp until late, so the High King had sent a messenger saying he would disturb them at noon the following day and no sooner.

Holland lay in her bedroll looking up at the stars, used to the hard ground after so long sleeping out on the road during her travels. Seva was quiet and still next to her, as she had been for weeks' worth of nights. This wasn't what the penitent had imagined their trip to the west being like, but she wasn't going to say anything. She had waited years for Seva. She could wait longer.

She heard Seva shift beside her, but thought nothing of it until a soft hand settled over her heart. "I'm sorry," the blonde said thickly, her voice rough from lack of use.

Holland covered the hand with her own, holding it to her chest. She wasn't certain she was relieved yet. I'm sorry could have a lot of different meanings, including the last apology before Seva completely pulled away. "Why?"

"I broke my word," Seva said softly. "I left thee."

Holland turned her head to look into those tired, hurting blue eyes. "Your heart is broken. You were just tending to it."

"Dost thou still...?"

"I love you, Seva." Holland's voice was gentle. She rolled onto her side to face the former queen. "You being a little quiet isn't going to change that."

Seva smiled faintly. Her sorrow was still lingering, but there was gratitude plainly visible in her face. "Th'art too good to me," she whispered, resting her forehead against Holland's. "I love thee too. I should have let thee tend my heart instead of letting it bleed alone."

"I'm here to try if you'll let me." Holland gave Seva's hand a gentle squeeze and then shifted closer, pressing a soft kiss to the blonde's lips. She felt her spirits lift significantly when Seva returned it. The penitent pulled back slightly. "I will always be here for you, one way or another."

The former queen closed the rest of the distance between them, settling into Holland's arms fully. There was a definite comfort in having the warmth of Holland's body against her own. The closeness would be hard to explain to the world beyond Ardashir, Khagra, and Vladan, but Seva didn't care about that now. She needed this and she knew that Holland probably did too after weeks of neglect. "I ken," Seva said softly. "'Tis why I adore thee."

Holland smiled. "You're sweet when you're tired."

"And thou art always." Seva sighed heavily, letting her eyes flutter closed. "I feel like I could sleep a thousand, thousand years. I am not ready for Kajetán."

"Leyan nobles are an experience," Holland agreed in a murmur. "But I hear he's a reasonably honorable one."

"Aye," Seva acknowledged. "'Tis a factor of his age, methinks. Being so close to the grave puts mortal power in perspective. He was nigh sixty when I was in Leus, and in ill health. From what Dušan says, he has not much improved since. His eyes are fading and his lungs are failing."

Holland stroked her lover's hair, smiling when she felt Seva relax into the touch. "Well, if he decides to do something we don't like, we can just push him over and wait for gravity to run its course on his frail bird-bones."

Seva actually laughed at that. "Thy heart is particularly coal-like this night."

"Black as can be. Close your eyes, columba," Holland said. "You need the sleep."

"Thou hast never called me that before," Seva said curiously.

"Not out loud. I've thought it for years. You are very dove-like—peaceful as they come. I'm sorry I dragged you into all this war."

Seva shook her head slightly. "Nay, 'tis no fault of thine. A bit more than a month to Ethilir's border, a few more to the sea. Then...well, we will have an end to it, whether victory or death. Whatever happens, we will see it through together."

Holland nodded. She waited until Seva was drifting off to sleep to close her own eyes. She succumbed almost in a moment, her worry finally subsiding in the wake of Seva's return from silence.

The next morning came altogether too quickly. There was never a shortage of things to do with an army. Seva speaking again seemed to come as a massive relief to everyone, particularly since they were expecting a visit from the High King. She had a history with the man and a positive one at that, from what Holland understood. Seva certainly hadn't said a bad word about him. It wasn't until they saw the banners with that golden glyph on a field of white that Holland felt the reality of what they were doing suddenly sink in. Two of the most bitter enemies in the world were on the same side. She was dragging the whole of the kingdoms of men into this. Suddenly, Holland felt the nerves hit her like a ton of bricks. She was so glad that Seva was probably going to be doing most of the talking.

Holland followed Seva, wearing her surcoat over her subarmalis. She hadn't stopped long enough to put on her full suit of armor. The stylized weeping eye was immediately recognizable to everyone in the east as the mark of a penitent, so there was no doubt as to who she was. She watched Kajetán I cross the field. He moved with a limp, no doubt an old battle wound that had been exacerbated by time. The High King was a tall, cadaverous man with tan, leather-like skin stretched tight over the pronounced bones of his face. Smiling had carved crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, but care was evident too in the wrinkles in his forehead. His hair was thin and dull grey. Sunken, barely functional eyes looked ahead, glassy from illness. He did not have much life left in him and it was apparent. He grinned when he approached, showing teeth yellowed from age. "Seva Essen!" he said with sudden animation, his weak voice alive for the first time in a long time. Even the men with him looked surprised by it. He opened up his stick-like arms. "Get thyself here. I would have mine hug."

Seva smiled and hugged the old man. "Thy Majesty," she greeted.

"Thine accent is half gone. Thou art liable to start sounding like thine kinsmen. 'Twould be a terrible shame," he said. Their hug was brief, but he held her at arm's length instead of releasing her completely. "Thou art of a greater height than last I saw thee, but there is no mistaking thine brilliance. No doubt thou art a fine queen."

"Queen no longer," Seva said softly.

"Magus Cipris informed me of what transpired in Tamaris. 'Twas a wretched act of villainy. Were Fionn a son of mine, he would never be sitting down again," Kajetán said grimly. He sighed and his expression lightened slightly. "Mind, thou hast escaped a lifetime of court functions. I envy thee that. Death takes his sweet time in relieving me of the same. Thou art still child of Essen and thou art ever welcome in Zaeylael."

"How is Nikola?" the blonde asked. She had fond memories of the High King's son, though they hadn't been terribly close.

The spark in those weak eyes flickered out for a moment. "Thou didst not hear? I had thought the House of Mór might have danced in delight. My son is buried," he said softly. "Murdered. The identity of the culprit...'tis within mine ken, but not mine reach. 'Tis two years gone now."

Seva felt her heart ache. "I am sorry," she said softly.

"'Tis no fault of thine," Kajetán said. He sounded as at peace with it as was possible considering how recent the loss was. "No father should have to bury his son, but many do. 'Tis the brutal truth of life. I will see him again soon. That is enough comfort for me. My grandson is well, though. Zdenĕk will be High King when I perish. I have left Zaeylael in his care. He sends his good wishes. Thou hast brought me a fine battle to die in, I must say."

"I live to serve, but in truth, 'tis the Lady Penitent thou hast to thank for this war."

"And this must be the woman of the hour." Kajetán turned to face Holland, his smile returning slightly. "Thou hast excellent taste in foes, Lady Penitent."

Holland felt her nerves melt away. The man was friendly and that was more than she could have hoped for. "You know what they say, Your Majesty: there are no odds like overwhelming odds."

The High King laughed, though it turned into a horrible, hacking cough. He spat bloody sputum into the dirt. Holland recognized the sign immediately. He was a consumptive, afflicted with tuberculosis. It was no doubt one of the more difficult to cure strains if he still had it. She was impressed he'd made it so long. "Confidence is an endearing quality. 'Tis good to see it in thee, Lady Penitent," he said. "We will make those fiends rue the day they set foot on eastern soil. Now, tell me, where are Yssa's nobles? I count not a one familiar banner in thine ranks, Seva. Didst the beast of Mór truly corral them all?"

"Aye," Seva admitted. "'Tis only the landless knights, plus a few of the orders."

"Not even Gray or Astor? When we've finished with the Princes of Iron, rest assured that mine ghost will haunt them most severely," Kajetán said. "'Tis shameful to see proud Yssa sitting on its ass whilst Leyan cowards reap all the glory."

"Thou couldst speak kindlier of thine lords," Seva said with amusement.

"I could," the High King said agreeably. "But 'twould be far less than truthful of me. A worse lot of squabbling, backstabbing cravens the sun has never shone upon. The Králové have all been sent to separate corners of the camp to keep them from each other's throats. But such hath been the nature of the high nobles nigh on three centuries now, I fear, and no doubt naught will change in the next few centuries either however much I crack their skulls one against the others."

Holland really was beginning to like the old ruler.

"Has any word at all come from Ethilir?" Seva asked, concern seeping into her tone.

The High King sobered again, a darkness creeping into his expression. "Aye, and methinks I might have preferred the silence continue. Ethilir is lost."

"Already?" Holland said. It wasn't a surprise that the Imperial legions had rolled over the first of the eastern defenses, but somehow she was still off-guard. It was as though a black hole had opened up beneath her stomach and it had plummeted in.

"Aye. Sarom has burned out. Ekundayo the Elder is naught but carrion food, and his eldest boy with him. His youngest is almost to Losena, but the Imperium will certes catch up. Lord Nkiru has been marshalling a fine resistance in occupied territory, striking at supply lines, but 'tis bound to be a short-lived fight. The Princes of Iron are not merciful creatures. 'Tis not as though purging a whole city to destroy one man has troubled them any," Kajetán said grimly.

"Hitting their supply lines will slow them down, at least," the penitent said. She sighed. "How many Eth units are left? Have they salvaged any forces other than what Nkiru has?"

"Aye. 'Tis a pitiful few, but they are gathering at Losena. They mean to hold the city against the Imperium to buy us time to travel to them. 'Tis a fortress easily equal to that at Laweden, so perhaps it will stick in the demons' craw. Methinks even the Princes of Iron will be vexed at it a time. But there is another thing thou shouldst ken—Ekundayo the Younger does not travel alone, if Nkiru is to be believed. He carries a shard of the Deceiver long ago captured with him."

"That cannot be allowed to fall into Imperial hands," Holland said immediately. "Saraqael will want it. Badly."

"'Tis much suspected as I suspected, then," Kajetán said with a firm nod. "The scrying of the magi couldst not measure the exact number of Imperial forces, but 'tis well over a hundred thousand if they are to be believed. All of the Princes have been seen at the heels of the army, too."

Seva and Cadeyrn both inhaled in a hiss. That was well larger than what Yssa could bring to bear even with every single levy raised. "How can it sustain itself?" the blonde blurted out. "'Tis larger than aught I've ever even read of. Larger than us, with all the forces of the east."

"Supply chains stretching back into the Imperium," Holland explained. "And they'll be scavenging every bit of resources they come across. Food, water, grazing land, timber, ore...they know what they're doing. The Imperium has been preparing for this a thousand years. They've mastered the fine art of maximizing their ability to sustain long campaigns. It will be a reach and they'll have to slow down in the north if they make it that far, but as long as they hug the coastline, they can move with impunity. No doubt they'll spread out if they're victorious at Losena."

"Holland, I hope you have a plan," Cadeyrn said tersely. "I don't think we could best that many warriors of good caliber even if Sol himself took the field."

"I have one," Holland said. "I don't know if it's a good one, but it's a plan. Granted, at this point the bar for good is fairly low."

"Aye?" Kajetán said thoughtfully. "Victory is a tall order. I am most curious to hear how thou dost mean to claim it."

"The Desolate Throne." Holland straightened slightly under the gaze of her three fellow leaders. She hadn't mentioned it to anyone before now, Seva included. The only ones who knew were those who had been with her in the Vale and, of course, Orobas. "Orobas—a demon of considerable power and friendly intent—assures me that there is a way to call it across into this plane. We need a shard of Deus, which we have, His assistance, and to pay the price for using it."

The High King exhaled audibly. "Thou art a madwoman," he said, sounding a bit awed by the sheer audacity of the plan. "'Tis not enough for thee to take on the Princes of Iron. Thou wouldst dance with the Deceiver too."

"'Tis part of her charm," Seva said automatically. She looked at Holland, dread slowly creeping into her expression. "What price is this that must be paid?"

Holland thought of her conversation back in the Vale. "A heavy one," she said. "The Desolate Throne exacts a toll from those who would use it. However, it possesses power enough to destroy the Princes. That's why Saraqael wants it so badly. If he can get his hands on it, he can remove all of his rivals at once."

"Can a mortal even use it?" Kajetán's question was sharp, but only from an undercurrent of worry. He was a man used to magic. Sorcery was an alien and dangerous form of power to him, diametrically opposed to its First World twin.

"One imbued with sorcery can," Holland confirmed. "If I can reach it, I can use it."

"Thou didst not answer my question," Seva said softly.

The penitent took a deep breath. "The same one the gods and Deus paid. Being...shattered."

She saw anger flare to life in Seva's eyes, probably at her or maybe at the universe in general, but the blonde bit her tongue. Kajetán must have caught it, because he looked knowingly at the pair of them for a moment. "Very well," the High King said. "Make thine arrangements, Lady Penitent. I will bend the Lord Protector's ear a while with strategy. Methinks our plan should hinge upon flanking the Imperium at Losena and breaking their siege...provided the city still stands when we arrive. There are rooms for thee at the inn in Narene proper, shouldst thou wish to wash off the dust of the road and sleep in a proper bed ere we march."

Cadeyrn nodded. He bowed to Seva and Holland before following the High King away. The area they were standing in was sheltered from view of the camps by a copse of trees, offering them some degree of privacy. The moment the two men were out of earshot, Seva rounded on her lover. Hot tears were already starting to roll down her face. "Thou promised me that I would always have thee!"

"Seva, you will," Holland said softly. She caught Seva's hand and used it to pull her in close. "No matter what happens, I'll find my way back to you. Even if you can't see me, I'll be there, in every breeze, in every sunbeam." She slipped her arms around Seva, who didn't resist. For a moment the blonde was stiff, but then her arms wrapped around Holland so tightly that it almost hurt her, her fingers digging into the penitent's back.

"I would not lose thee too." Seva's voice cracked on the last word. "I want thy whole body, thy whole heart, thy whole soul. I want all of thee."

Holland held her close. "You will always have me. I promise. But we have to do this. You know as well as I do that we couldn't turn back an army of that size even if it were made up of half-trained boys, let alone professional soldiers. We can't match them, not hit for hit."

"I will burn them with their own hellfire," the blonde said thickly. "Nothing will keep me from thee."

"I love you," Holland said softly. "I'm sorry. We have to do this, Seva, for everyone else."

Seva shook her head against Holland's shoulder. "I am a selfish woman. I would have thee. I do not care of the world. Let it burn, so long as I have thee all the days of my life."

"You're a terrible liar. I know you care, columba. You care as much as I do, if not more. You have a son you're doing this for. I will find my way back to you. Trust me in this, as I trust you in everything." Holland's voice was gentle, but firm. There was no way around this. They needed the Throne, and that meant paying the price. "It has to be someone touched by sorcery the way I am."

"What of Orobas?" Seva whispered. "Demons are made of sorcery."

Holland shook her head. "He can't. Immortals were created to do something demons other than the Princes couldn't, and even then it has to be an Immortal with will. As far as Orobas knows, there's exactly one of those: me. I'm sorry, Seva. I can't get around this."

"This was what Lieren meant when she told me thou art fated." Blue eyes flickered closed. "I could curse thee for this."

"And I wouldn't blame you a bit," Holland said softly.

Seva pulled back enough to look into the hazel eyes she loved so much. "If thou art sundered, and thy pieces scattered, I will find them and I will mend them as thou wouldst mend my heart," she said softly, cupping Holland's cheek with her hand. "If it takes all the magic in the world, I will return what sorcery would take. Until Losena, I would make our time count. I want thee to lie to me every night, and say that all will be well. I will smile and kiss thee and tell my foolish heart that we will never be parted. Now take me to bed."

"Seva, it's midday," Holland reminded her reluctantly. "Someone will come looking for us."

"I don't care," Seva said fiercely. "The world can wait. It may have its pound of flesh in time, but thou art mine now and I would remind myself that. And when thou dost make thy deal with Deus, I will be at thy side."

The penitent nodded. She was grateful beyond words that Seva wasn't pushing her away. She laced her fingers with Seva's and lead the way towards the town of Narene, where a bed and a bath waited. They both needed to be close now.

The others would understand.