IX. Fumbling Towards Perfect

Not for the first time, Holland reflected on how much could change in seven days as she scrubbed the oil from tending to her armor off her hands. The Baroness of Essen had vanished like a fever dream since the night she'd come to Holland's room. There was only the Queen of Yssa visible now. She wore armor thicker than the penitent's own, flames of winter fire wreathing her soul. Holland hated it because she knew that meant Seva was hurting and wouldn't let anyone close enough to do anything about it. They'd barely talked since it happened.

There were so many preparations to make to get the army equipped and moving. Daag and the dwarves were working as quickly as they could, but Yssa had a lot of soldiers to arm. Most of them weren't well trained despite the paces Cadeyrn had been putting them through. A farmer was a farmer at heart. It was the problem with levies. Holland understood, but she was accustomed to the discipline and rigor of professional soldiers, people who did nothing but fight and train all year, every year. At least they would have that with Murdak's orcs. They weren't as disciplined as the Imperial legions—no other force was—but their morale was incredibly hard to break and they were powerful, skilled fighters. There were also a lot of them. She had high hopes for them as shock troops. The Imperium had never encountered the orcish hordes before, as Murdak's people were too far north. It might be unexpected enough to force them to reconsider.

But it wasn't a real answer. They weren't going to be able to beat the Imperium with armies alone. They needed more. They needed the Desolate Throne.

Her last meeting with Orobas had been promising. He'd informed her that the answer would be clear to him shortly, though with demons it was always difficult to tell what shortly meant. It could be a few seconds or a few hundred years. Holland could only hope that in this case they were closer to seconds. She didn't have a long time to wait. Not when word was that the fires in the Wild Reach had gone out. That meant only one thing: the Imperial armies had reached the sea.

For some reason, however, knowing that they would have a key to understanding the Desolate Throne was not as reassuring as it should have been. She still remembered the Life-Giver's words about the power that they would likely have to resort to.

...It possesses the power to lay them to true ruin. The evil would consume you, shatter you, but you would preserve everything you claim to love. You have always been a creature of emptiness and shadow, a simulacrum of life. You are a pale imitation of the living, little different from the demons that ushered you into this world. The only echo of a soul you have is your will. It is a small price to pay for the survival of the world...

Holland shook the water off her hands and dried them on the small towel sitting beside the basin. At the moment, that didn't matter. She had something else to do, something that made the idea of facing Saraqael in single combat feel possible in comparison. She had to talk to Seva.

Whatever armor the queen wore, Holland would love her. Maybe this wasn't a good time to tell her, but there would likely never be a good time. And if they failed, there would never even be a time at all, good or bad. It was time to do as Orobas and Ardashir had suggested and take the plunge. It was killing her inside, standing so close but being so far away. She knew Seva would be in the library. It would be private enough and as safe as they could get in Tamaris. Holland started the fateful walk in that direction, her hands starting to lose their steadiness and her muscles tensing as if expecting a fight. If they were lucky, the armies would be on the path to Ethilir in a matter of weeks. Fionn would find out in the next few days if he didn't know already.

Seva was standing with her hands resting on the rail of the library's balcony as she took a rare break from the endless nightmare of preparations. It overlooked the blooming garden, a patch of life and serenity in the midst of the chaos. It was the last quiet they would likely see for a long time, perhaps forever, as the intensity of planning grew to a fever pitch and the war took on a life of its own. The circlet she wore seemed particularly heavy at the moment, judging from the thin line of those rosebud lips.  Holland stopped for a moment at the door, just looking at her friend. Even so serious and guarded, Seva still stole her breath away. The sun falling on her golden hair seemed to bestow a halo on her. The blue eyes that studied the distance were as crystalline as she remembered. It was hard to believe there had been a time before Seva was in her life. She remembered those days well, but they seemed so cold and empty by comparison that they might as well have been only nights.

The one thought she couldn't stand was the idea of losing Seva completely because of this. Even the barest suggestion of it and her breath stopped coming—not in a good way, either. She pushed the thought out of her head as quickly as possible. It was a stupid, irrational fear.

"My lady," Holland greeted, approaching the thoughtful figure of the queen.

Seva glanced back at her before leaning forward slightly, resting more of her weight on the rail. "Good day, Holland," she said softly. There was tension in her words. It was almost like she didn't want to look at the penitent, which Holland couldn't blame her for. They still hadn't talked about what had happened, both too busy to stop and think for a moment. Holland was a reminder of the vulnerability of that night. She knew Seva was grateful, but the queen was also in a lot of pain and likely wanted to think about nothing even tangentially related to Fionn.

It's not a good time, Holland told herself. But when would it be a good time? She knew she was just trying to find some excuse that would allow her to avoid this another day. The only way out at this point was through. She had to talk. She couldn't stand not talking.

"I need to talk to you," Holland said. When Seva nodded slightly to show she was listening, words came out. Not the right ones, but words. "What would you do if someone came to you, someone who wanted to be with you, and told you that they loved you?" Holland marshalled the real words on her tongue, ready to give them breath. This was what true fear felt like, she was certain. Her hands were shaking like she was a raw recruit facing decimation.

Holland saw the hardness suddenly crystallize in Seva's expression, the anger and pain surfacing sharply. "I would call them fool and send them far from me." All she could think of was the hurt and humiliation that Fionn had caused her. It wasn't enough for him to break her heart. He had trampled the pieces underfoot long ago, leaving her to try to collect the splinters. She had loved him, but that love might as well have been smoke for how well it held them. "Why should I ever give my heart again?" She didn't look back, oblivious to the fact that those words—the ones Holland had been most afraid of—cut deeper than any sword could ever go.

Everything you touch turns to flames. Even her. Holland felt something break at the center of her chest. The words died a sudden, violent death. All she could taste was the ashes of their sudden funeral pyre. Such a cold flame. When the words returned, they were mechanical, automatic. It was a voice worthy of a demon, flat and toneless. "I understand." It was true, but the realization that what she'd meant to say was unwelcome only made her choke on it.

There was something that the queen had never heard before from Holland in those words. Seva hesitated for a moment, then turned to look behind her. The penitent was gone, but the library door was standing open. The queen knew something was wrong. She hurried out the door after her friend, but she was stopped before she could make it any real distance down the hall when someone grabbed her by the arm with an iron grip. She looked over into Ardashir's dark eyes. He must have come in through the other door, blocked from view by shelves, and then followed her. "Don't," he said, voice harsh. It was not the respect he'd always given her. But even as he spoke, there was a conflict between loyalties and promises raging in his expression. "There's something you need to understand."

Outside, Holland was on horseback before she knew what she was doing. She hadn't even stopped to saddle Maël. The ride was a blur. She found herself at the clearing she had always run to before, with its standing stones and pools of glass. Orobas was there more often than not, contemplating the remnants of the First World and the puzzle that was Deus's shard. She wasn't certain where his thoughts went, nor did she care right now. She slid off her horse and ran for the hulking figure lingering near the largest of the monoliths.

The demon turned and caught her as she collided with him. "ARE YOU WOUNDED?" His voice was still calm and pensive, though questioning. He couldn't express concern. She didn't know if he even felt it, nor did she care.

Her eyes burned and the world blurred. Something wet was dripping down her cheeks. She could taste salt. She didn't know what it was. All she knew was that it hurt, so badly that no amount of sorcery could ease it. She wanted the cold. She wanted the void. The numbing black ice in her veins that robbed her of her doubt would have been a merciful relief. Suddenly, there were raw, harsh sounds in the quiet air. Not loud, but anguished. It took her a moment to realize they were coming from her. A hard, clawed hand stroked her hair while the other held her to his mossy chest. The smell of decaying wood and death had never been more wanted.

Seva could never know, and she would have to live with that.

Orobas didn't ask for an explanation. As an outside observer, he had watched the mortal races for many centuries. While he could not feel pain the way she did, he knew what it looked like. He just let the silence fall as she held onto him like he was the wreckage of a ship in a maelstrom. Those clawed hands held her tightly, rocking her ever so slightly. She could feel the life-spark of sorcery humming through his body. It was a cold comfort, but it was still something.

"I AM SORRY." It was not hard for the demon to fathom the root of the pain. It was the oldest and deepest of wounds that could be inflicted, one that he could not protect her from any more than she could protect herself. When she didn't answer, he held her a little tighter, but still gingerly to avoid hurting her with his unnatural strength. "I AM SORRY."

Later, the solitude and silence was better. Holland sat on one of the fallen stones, looking at her reflection in a pool of glass. It was ever so subtly distorted, but that seemed fitting enough that it didn't bother her. The redness to her eyes was fading. The rawness in her throat had eased. Orobas had left her some time ago, knowing that what she needed now was space. He had been her comfort when she needed it. That was enough. She wished she could say that she felt hollow, but everything was still there in a dense knot that ached with every heartbeat. Mostly, she felt exhausted, but she knew she could sleep for days and never touch it. It was like she'd just walked off the battlefield, but with only one wound for once.

The sound of approaching hooves caught her ears for a second, but she didn't really pay it much mind. It was probably Ardashir, as Khagra would have been leathery wing-beats and Vladan was no rider. Orobas must have passed a message to the knight somehow, unless he'd just noticed her missing and assumed she was here to think. It didn't come as much of a surprise, though she would have preferred it remain between her and the demon. The last thing she needed was Ardashir worrying himself into an early grave.

She needed to find that stone face again, but she was so tired that she wasn't certain she had it in her. Her mind absently registered the approaching tread, but she didn't look up. Lighter than usual, as she barely heard the footfalls on the earth. He must have forgotten his armor. In days like these, that was a foolish risk. The Argent Forest was hardly safe with Laenus and Naris around. Either would have gladly plunged a dagger into the hooded knight's back under cover of trees and dark. Granted, the same was true of her. She wasn't sure where her own armor was, but it certainly wasn't on her body.

"Holland."

She felt the wound tear open a little bit as she looked up. "My lady," she greeted automatically. It came out muted. Less flat and demonic, though, which was a sign that she still had a little of that self-control that Lieren constantly bemoaned. Holland was certain that the others would have wanted her to be angry, to dig into the wound and pull out the venom. She just...couldn't. Those beautiful blue eyes looked heartbroken, glossy with tears. Seva did not look like the Queen of Yssa at the moment. Gone was the circlet and the royal bearing that accompanied it. For a moment, Holland almost thought she was looking at the young woman she'd met at the tower in Laweden. A little older, maybe, but there was only softness.

Somehow, that made it worse. Maybe it was the reminder of what she couldn't have.

"May I?" Seva asked hesitantly. She was not going to approach without permission, not when Holland looked so fragile that a raindrop might shatter her.

Holland nodded slightly in that mechanical way. She felt unfocused, drifting in the grey that normally overtook her after a battle.

"I did not ken," the queen said softly. "Holland, I...I would have never—"

"It's fine," Holland murmured automatically. It took her a second to register those first four words. When she did, her head snapped around to actually look at Seva. I did not ken. God's breath. Someone had said something. It was only going to get worse now, something she hadn't thought possible. I would call them fool and send them far from me. Holland knew where she would go the moment Seva said the word. Saraqael still had to die and she still had a sword. The price paid would be worth it if she could drive a blade into the void at the center of his chest.

"It will never be fine," the queen said with an emphatic shake of her head. "I am a bitter fool. If I could undo anything in my life, those words would be among my first choice to take back." She reached out tentatively, letting her fingertips brush across the back of Holland's hand. "Were it within my ken, I would have chosen thee a thousand times over."

Holland felt her heart stutter painfully. She didn't know what to say to that. Seva was saying things and the penitent wasn't certain she knew what they meant. She wasn't certain that the queen knew what they meant either. Words came out of the penitent's mouth without her consent. "You didn't."

"Aye," Seva acknowledged, watching those hazel eyes. "'Tis why I am a bitter fool. I did not mean what I said, Holland. Wrongful words spoken in anger take wicked life of their own. I never meant to do thee harm." Before the penitent could reply or brush it off, Seva shook her head again. It was enough to stop Holland in her tracks. "Nay, I have words for thee yet. I broke thy heart a thousand times over, Holland. Let me mend it and it will never come to harm from me again." She hesitated. "Thou hast every right to spurn me, but I hope—"

"I love you." Holland heard her own voice crack halfway through the words. Three little ones, and she couldn't even quite manage them.

Seva kissed her instead of answering at that moment, lips soft against Holland's own. Her hand covered the penitent's. The pain that had felt like it was ripping Holland in two started to ease, but that unnerving expectation remained. It was as though she'd jumped off a cliff and was just waiting to strike the ground. Holland closed her eyes when Seva pulled back, afraid of what she might see.

A warm hand cupped her cheek and she felt a thumb trace along her cheekbone. "Open thy eyes, Holland. I would that my intent is seen," Seva said softly, watching as those hazel eyes opened obediently. "Thou art my heart. 'Twas winter in thy absence. I was weak. I froze, and the shards of ice cut thee. I loved thee then, far from me as thou hadst gone, but 'twas veiled to my eyes by frost. And as I loved thee then, I love thee now."

"This isn't real." Holland wanted to pull away, but she couldn't bring herself to. "I'm going to wake up and this will be gone..."

Seva lifted Holland's hand and held it over her own heart. "'Tis as real as this beat. Touch me and see."

Holland kissed her until neither of them could breathe, framing the queen's face with her hands. There was an almost alien warmth forming in the center of the penitent's chest. The wound was there, but the pain was ebbing away. Seva's fingers were in her hair now, holding her close even as their lips parted. The queen rested her forehead against Holland's, blue eyes crystal clear now as relief started to form in her expression, tentative and trusting. This was the Seva that the penitent remembered, those familiar crystalline eyes looking at her with adoration as much as apology.

The world was right.

"Never leave me again," Holland whispered.

"Never," Seva promised softly. She was smiling now. It was the most beautiful thing Holland had ever seen, and it was just for her. "I love thee. Say my name, Holland."

"Seva," the penitent said, her own smile forming. It was almost like her lips were finally remembering how to make the genuine expression after a lifetime of forgetful oblivion. "I love you too." She took a deep breath as reality started to trickle back into her mind. They might not have long, but... "Will you stay with me a little while?"

"Forever, if thou art willing," Seva murmured before kissing the tip of her nose. Her next kiss was to Holland's lips and it was far less chaste.

The penitent felt her whole body ignite. No one had ever made her feel this way. She was struggling to keep herself in check as one kiss turned into two and two turned into many. Seva's eyes were dark enough to pass for sapphires when she saw them flutter open again. "Ardashir could turn up at any minute, Seva." She was reminding herself more than the queen.

Seva shook her head. "He was the one who told me of thee and thy refuge. He is well aware I am here."

Holland knew she had a great deal to thank her friend for. He might have broken her confidence, but if this was the result, she could forgive him in less than a heartbeat. And if Ardashir knew, he would have warned Khagra and Vladan off as well. "Are you—?" She needed to know if Seva really meant what she'd said, if she was genuinely willing to stay. She knew herself well enough to know that she wouldn't be able to handle reproach or regret.

"I have never been more certain of anything," Seva said with firmness. She knew Holland would be slow to believe it. "Thou art everything I could ever wish for. I lost years I might have shared with thee. No longer. Now kiss me before the world ends."

No other request in the world could have made Holland happier.