Public Security Document #3573, Seleucar Imperial Guard
Item 1. Guard Captain Maxim Everhardt has been relieved of his duties. I am quite aware of the rumors, and wish to make this extremely clear: Prince Mycale did NOT engage in unnatural practices. Captain Everhardt murdered the prince due to temporary insanity of unknown cause, not on the basis of some fictitious "discovery" of the Prince's fictitious habits.
Item 2. The guards who carried out the "cleansing" of Prince Mycale's chamber after his death are not to discuss the circumstances of that assignment or the condition of the chamber. All guardsmen will receive an additional bonus contingent on their obedience to this directive.
Item 3. Should Captain Everhardt be convicted, his execution and burial are to be private, by command of Princess Catarin.
Item 4. Castomira Brangwin disappeared after Catarin's retrieval of the Staff of Nicator. As she has not made a formal surrender to our victorious forces, she has been declared a city enemy. Apprehend her alive if possible.
Item 5. Princess Catarin has chosen to spend a year in mourning for her brother, before formally taking the crown. However, she is the heir, and all guardsmen are to behave as if she were already Empress, in every respect. Infractions will be punished. The succession troubles are over now, and we must put them firmly behind us.
That is all.
Eteocles Tarraquene, Captain of the Guard
From Queen Catarin I, Footnotes
(Editor's Note: Footnotes is a queer book to begin with. Catarin intended it as her last word on many issues that had arisen during her reign, ranging from controversial tax reforms, to rebel uprisings, to her behavior at the funeral of Castomira Brangwin. The book is most important to historians as the only source of information on Lucaine Pyramides' past, and the mysterious country from which he came. The following eleven paragraphs are the only reliable account of Pyramides' history; the few other accounts come from mercenary acquaintances of Lucaine's, and are widely considered to be tall tales. This text also contains the only knowledge extant of the mysterious nation of Kashar.)
Chapter XIV: The Past of Lucaine Pyramides, As He Told It to Me
Lucaine Pyramides was born in the country of Kashar, far to the southwest, across a violent and dangerous ocean. His parents were slaves, themselves descendants of humans who had been shipwrecked on that continent perhaps a hundred years ago. Although Lucaine was largely of Sapience stock, his muddy hazel eyes and bronzed skin are evidence of several foreign ancestors. Even his direct father may have been one of the Kashari taskmasters who ruled the slave pits with whip and shout; among the slaves, there was no way to be assured of paternity, and no need.
Lucaine was sold away when he was very young, and raised as a house slave for a noble master. In this he was very lucky; many slaves were ill-used, and died in their prime, but if he served well, a house slave might live into old age, and when he could work no more he might ascend to heaven as a sacrifice to the gods.
As a small child, Lucaine had some chores, but was allowed to run free for much of his day. He was taught the basics of reading, writing, and maths, as shopping and contracting were to be a part of his duties. Watching the other slaves, he learned some of the essentials of gardening, and carpentry, and other crafts. But the most important thing that ever happened to him, the one thing that set him on the path that he would follow for the rest of his life, occurred when he was seven, and just about to become a full-time slave, with a full day's schedule of duties.
Even among the house slaves, life was often harsh. The stronger or more intelligent dominated the weak, taking the easiest work, or the lion's share of the mess. And although as children the bullying had been "good-natured", as Lucaine put it, when he was seven he was deemed "worthy" of the interest of one of the older slaves, a lad of thirteen years or more. Lucaine did not remember the exact cause of the fight, but he does remember being forced into a corner of the slaves' kitchen, shouting defiance even after receiving blow after blow. One of the adult slaves, the old guard captain, watched the fight impassively, making no move to rescue young Lucaine. Only when Lucaine picked up a carving knife and slashed his oppressor to the bone did the captain step in and stop the fight. Lucaine expected to be scourged, or maybe even executed, for using deadly force against an older and more valuable slave, but instead the captain began teaching him the secret Kashar sword style, a fighting system so covered in secrecy that it has no name other than "The Two Arts."
The noble house which owned Lucaine had needed a house slave, but they needed a new warrior slave even more. They accepted the captain's suggestion that Lucaine be promoted to the house guard, and that was when Lucaine was given his sword "Three Moons"; for in Kashar every sword has a name, even those given to slaves, and each is hand-crafted differently.
The Two Arts, Lucaine tells me, are the Draw Art and the Blade Art. If both are practiced to their utmost, it is easier to kill a man by drawing the blade from its sheath than by swinging it while it is naked. I would never have believed this if I had not seen him kill dozens of people in single motions, unsheathing his sword for only a second at a time. Furthermore, the Two Arts require a deep understanding of the inner rhythms and energies of the human body. To my ears, this resembled the Kai disciplines practiced by the Sentaari, and Lucaine admitted that I am probably correct.
When he was seventeen, Lucaine did the unheard-of: he fled his master's residence, killing his teacher in the process. As he tells it, he did not wish to fight his captain and instructor, but when he was caught in the act of escape, the captain forced Lucaine to fight for his life. And Lucaine is certain that his teacher allowed him to win. By pausing each deadly gambit just short of a killing blow, Lucaine's teacher silently gave away the last secrets of the style. Every time I saw Lucaine meditating and asked what was on his mind, he said, "My teacher's last battle."
There is nowhere in Kashar that an escaped slave can flee to. The nation is limited entirely by its natural boundaries: impassable mountains, rocky shoals, bottomless chasms, everlasting storms. Navigation is unknown there, so sailors rightly fear to leave sight of land. Lucaine dared, however. Reaching a northern port, with dogs and men hot on his trail, he boarded a ship and forced the sailors to embark, killing half of them before they surrendered to him. As they set out to sea, he was forced to kill even more of them, until he was sailing with only a skeleton crew. He didn't sleep or eat for three days, fearful of mutiny or poison; fortunately, his ship was overtaken by deep-sea pirates who used a form of celestial navigation to hide outside view of shore and prey on the coastal sea-lanes. When the pirates boarded Lucaine's ship, Lucaine immediately challenged and killed their captain in single combat, and forced their ship to sail northeastward, on the promise of rich spoils should they reach Lucaine's rumored ancestral homeland.
In the end, the pirates did make land on those shores of Sapience furthest from human habitation; and as they made their final harbor, their ship, weakened by storms, struck a reef and sank. The pirates who escaped drowning turned on Lucaine, demanding that he lead them to the "rich cities and defenseless mansions" he had promised them. Upon realizing that he'd been lying to them from the start, they rushed at him, and he killed them to the man.
Thus Lucaine Pyramides was left alone and friendless in the barest wilds of Sapience. Eventually he made his way inland, and learned the language of our continent, and became a common mercenary of most uncommon ability; and there his more well-known history begins.
From Morlana ni'Choya, Convergence: Annotated Letters of Catarin I
This letter, written in the first month after Catarin's discovery of the Staff of Nicator, is the first recorded instance of her feelings for Lucaine Pyramides. Although of course Leona Fontaine's famous novel describes Catarin as being attracted to him at first sight, Catarin's own words hint at a somewhat later starting point for her emotions.
Riana Galford was the second daughter of the Earl of Jaru, one of Catarin's most dedicated supporters. However, Catarin's friendship with her dates from the three years they roomed together at the Lesser Shrine of Vastar, a nunnery that also housed an exclusive girls' academy. Although Catarin made friends easily, and tended to keep them even after years of separation, Riana Galford is one of only three with whom she shared her feelings about Lucaine.
Like all nobles of that or any other time, Catarin had an ingrained habit of circumspection. Although she speaks in detail about her feelings, she never names names, lest the letter surface and cause embarrassment. This habit was inflexible and nearly subconscious. The consequences of indiscretion are known all too well; she never thought for a moment that her obliqueness might in itself cause pain.
Dear Riana,
I'm sorry my letters have been so serious lately. Affairs of state press hard on me. Even with all of Lord Grandier's help, I don't feel truly fit to take the throne. I've been using this time as much to prepare for rulership as to grieve for my poor brother. Since Mycale was so sickly as a child, Father made sure I learned some statesmanship in case Mycale should succumb to some childhood illness . . . but he never taught me exactly how complex and brutal politics can be. The people who backed Mycale are still stubborn about me. I wish I could pass on this burden to someone else, but it is mine alone to bear. The Staff chose me.
That's something I'm worried about. I'm sworn never to relate the visions that came to me in the King's Tomb, but I can say that for the first few hours after I received the Staff, it glowed with all its storied radiance. I was told that "the true blood of Nicator, who was born on the Sangre Plains and whose parents were slain there; the child of the regal blood will unlock the power of the Staff in time of greatest need, and of greatest strength and defiance." And the Staff did shine, and all bowed before it, but soon after I'd secured the reluctant fealty of the opposing armies, the Staff flickered out and grew cold. Where Nicator used its divine glow as a constant reminder of his foreordained dominion, I can rely only on myself and my allies. I fear that perhaps I lack the strength that my ancestors had. I can only pray to the gods for guidance.
And I thank the gods that I have good friends to rely on. Lord Grandier has proven as true a friend to me as he was to my father. He's helped me negotiate the minefields of court, to such extent that I'm beginning to feel like the ruler I know I must become. Moreover, he's taken most of the responsibilities on himself, dealing with the Council of Lords and the Hall of Patricians, clearing the way for my coronation. Ashtan and Shallam have dithered over whether to acknowledge me formally. There has never been a female ruler of Seleucar. There's not even really a word for such a person; Lord Grandier has coined the word "empress," but it's much more likely that history will remember me as a queen, even though it remembers my ancestors as emperors.
Lord Grandier has been a solid stone in the past month's quicksand, but I've got another person to rely on, too. I don't want to say too much . . . there might be a man in my life before long. Remember the boys we swooned over when we were fifteen? They were nothing before this man. Every time I acknowledge his bow, I'm amazed that he's sworn service to me, when he is clearly without peer. I fear to commit too much to paper, for I know too well that these feelings can quickly prove empty, or be destroyed by some sudden revelation. Remember my brief affair with that dashing young nobleman? The one who sent me the lilies? The sting of that foolishness still resides in my heart.
Historical perspective reveals this "dashing young nobleman" to be the future Earl of Tomaque, Zoltan deChalce. His journal entries suggest that he courted Catarin for his personal advancement, but unwittingly led her to overestimate the depth of his feelings for her. Given the extremely rigid rules of social conduct that pertained at that level of society, it is unlikely that any physical impropriety took place. Nonetheless, when Zoltan broke off the affair, Catarin was heartbroken. Details such as this have been glossed over in formal histories, but the real Catarin was far more interesting and human than the storybook heroine.
I will tell you more as I become more sure of my feelings, and the worthiness of their object. Wish me luck!
Yours,
Catarin deSangre
Lucaine Pyramides, Catarin (Poem 21)
"The sword shines death . . . without mercy . . . kill!"
(warrior chant of Kashar)
My only poetry is my sword:
Strike and counter, thrust, riposte,
Direct, sinister, heavenly.
From earth to sky I draw my blade,
Watch it glitter in the light;
Beauty lives from fight to fight—
All is one; the fight is all.
Yet Catarin wakes poetry in me
That needs no streak of blood to earn its pay
And Catarin wakes poetry in me
That melds my words with yearning, learns the way
To soar up skyward, freer than my sword,
Freer than my earthbound soul:
For Catarin wakes heresy in me.
My soul was dead for years, pledged for years to a dead god,
My every deed a burnt offering to Combat, Matsuhama.
And now my faith is shaken by this girl I could not kill.
For once, for love, for a moment or two, my dancing blade is still.
From Morlana ni'Choya, Convergence: Annotated Letters of Catarin I
Dear Alkiera,
I'm becoming more and more convinced that this man is the one for me. In my position, I must give my heart only with greatest caution, so I must still hold back until I am absolutely certain; but sometimes I'm nearly overwhelmed. Even at fifteen, glancing across a ballroom floor at my momentary crush, I never felt so completely . . . idiotic? Yes, and wonderful!
When infatuation is a cart of bricks barreling downhill, reason makes a poor handbrake. When we took that walk through Kephry Park last month, I whispered in your ear who I loved. You met him at the ball, didn't you? Do you understand how I feel? Do you think he's as wonderful as I do? I hope not, for then I would have to exile you out of jealousy.
The ball Catarin mentions is the crowning event in the annual Festival of the Gates in Imperial Seleucar. The four gates of the city, each believed sacred to a different god, are blessed in rituals throughout the day, then two parades march through the city, one from east to west and one from north to south, intersecting at the Royal Square in an elaborate rehearsed interchange. That year, the parades' routes had been changed, as the traditional meeting at the Royal Square might have been considered tasteless. The ball, however, was held at the Palace as usual, and even the socially awkward Lucaine Pyramides was in attendance. Though he politely danced with the many women who sought his attention, and did so with exceptional grace (being a quick study of complex physical movements), he spoke no more than five words at a time. In her own diaries, Lady Alkiera described him as "silent, verging on sullen . . . unexceptional except perhaps in dexterity," and was astonished to learn of Catarin's attraction to him.
The rebuilding of the national polity proceeds apace. My preliminary visits to Ashtan and Shallam suggest that a great deal of bridge-building must occur before they are prepared to fully accept me as sovereign. Lord Grandier still insists that I should "expedite coronation," but I feel in my heart that if I assume the throne now, without the express support of all my countrymen, I will be little more than an usurper. To win the loyalty of the underkings under such a circumstance would be thrice as difficult. I will carry out the rest of my year of mourning for Mycale; that, at least, is an honest reason for my delay, if not the only one. Please give your father and mother my love, but save some for yourself. I miss you, and will surely arrange to visit you the next time I travel to Tasur'ke.
Yours,
Catarin deSangre
Lucaine Pyramides, Catarin (Poem 32)
Floating lilies cross the marble floor
White dress petals shine with sequin dew
Reed-strong men, broken, quick to heal
The water is brackish with plots and dreams.
Floating lilies swirl in gossip's wake
Dashing men, like reeds at water's edge
I dare the current: move me if you can.
I walk the surface of the lake of schemes.
Floating lilies look to me for love
Swaying reeds envision my defeat
Their words are fabrication, water silk
But if lies are fabric, I can see the seams.
I walk the surface of the lake, unaware
Catarin walks the bottom, as if water were air.
Once, for a moment, we dance;
We speak of knights and strangers, plots and danger...
This lake drowns romance.
From Alain, One Thousand Haiku, Five with Names
Castomira
Rain mist is brilliance
Omen bird fulfills itself
In full emptiness
From The Sealed Files of Castomira Brangwin
It's been six months since I went into hiding. Mycale is dead, killed by his most trusted servant, just as I planned. While I was in the city, I layered Everhardt in enchantments of blindness. As soon as I left, Everhardt understood what had been happening in Mycale's rooms all along, and he conveniently killed the only person who could link Mycale's evil to my own.
To the lords who supported Mycale, I'm still a hero. Mycale was a monster, Lucius was a Serpentlord, but they have no such label for sweet, brave Castomira. I'm their mascot, as Catarin was to her side. Men love to have a defenseless woman to protect. They fight harder. Most of the lords outside Seleucar are willing to fight on my side. A hundred thousand men await my call to muster. I've been reading history. The speeches of Nicator are unintentionally hilarious. He speaks of a nation without internal conflict or war, existing only to fight evil. It seems he has failed, for now the evil is within.
I expected a challenge, but Catarin has simply given me the opportunity I need. She hasn't ascended to the throne! Out of mourning for Mycale, yet! Even I could not have cut her throat as beautifully as she's done for herself. In six months, she will rise to become Empress of Seleucar. But I am already six months pregnant, and before Catarin can lay a finger on the crown, I will lodge the claim of Mycale's son. My powers have assured that the baby will be male.
Many supported Mycale, for he was a man, while Catarin most evidently was not. And Mycale was ill-formed and useless! How many more will support my darling baby Parni, whom they can mold to their own will as he grows up? And they must come to me, for it is I who will control the child. Finally, I will have what I have sought for so long: Seleucar in the palm of my hand, and Catarin's throat beneath my heel.
Deis failed at Beggar's Arch, but I have spoken to him at length since then. Our plans are well-laid. Trenton has many associates, and the right amount of gold can orchestrate any number of assassins, like a conductor's baton. Tune your ears: there will be a symphony of death.
From Morlana ni'Choya, Convergence: Annotated Letters of Catarin I
Dear Alkiera,
It is final. I have fallen firmly in love. Perhaps my emotion will prove to be the utmost foolishness, but I care not a bit: it is true, and it will last. When first he presented me his sword, I did not suspect what power he would come to have over my heart. But through the battles that followed, physical and spiritual, he remained at my side. He guarded me, took fierce wounds for me, listened to me when I thought aloud, sympathized with my causes, supported me in my angers, commiserated with me in my moments of sadness. And I must come to admit that I love him for it, more than mere infatuation can explain. It is too perfect, and too tragic . . . I the princess, he the noble knight, casting longing glances at each other across a crowded room.
How can you understand my emotion now, though? You are newly wed, married scarce a year, and you and your husband knew as children that you were made for one another. Your story is so perfectly charming that no bard could ever make more than a cinquain of it. But I am lost and burning, weighted with destiny as with heavy stones, and until my true love speaks his mind and heart aloud, I cannot be free. Perhaps I shall die of a broken heart, and when historians view these letters, perhaps my love, by then gray-haired and dour, will read these words and cry, seeing at last that it truly was him that I loved, and for his own sake I could not be the first to voice my emotions. But I can at least let you know. There is one man who has served me better than any other, and he deserves my love more than any man alive.
Your loving friend,
Catarin deSangre
P.S. Here is the locket you lent me those many months ago. I'm sorry for the delay in returning it.
This letter describes no one but Lucaine Pyramides. Although Catarin never for a moment lacked ardent suitors, she showed none of them even a fifth of the favor that she showed Lucaine, and none of the suitors, in their turn, served Catarin even a twentieth as well as he. Lucaine was named head of her personal bodyguard. Off-duty, Lucaine was invited to every function Catarin attended. Lucaine and Catarin often conversed in private, behind closed doors: a practice that might have been considered scandalous if the recent wars had not birthed an atmosphere of daring and romance.
The common folk assumed that the two were lovers already. The court was close enough to the princess to know that matters were not so clear-cut; but those who claimed to be in the know, whether they claimed the princess a virgin or a vixen, were unconvincing. In any case, this fact is indisputable: if the princess proclaimed her love for "the one man who has served me better than any other," that man could only be Lucaine. But if Catarin had only understood just how unworthy Lucaine considered himself, she might have made her phrasing even more explicit.
Dear Alkiera,
I struggle to avoid the sin of pride. My royal blood and upbringing guarantees that no matter what I do, I will always have an overtone of haughtiness. In recognizing this, I strive to minimize it. Even an empress should not be imperious, in defiance of all logic.
Catarin's best attempts at humility only made her look condescending, in truth. Fortunately, it was not long before she learned that it is possible, even preferable, for a queen to be gracious and compassionate without being polite or approachable.
But peasants and princesses alike must sometimes boast, and this time I believe I've truly trounced my troubles. Surely, my knightly beloved must express his feelings to me now!
For so long, he has been silent, yet I can see in his eyes and his stance that he loves me. I'm almost positive. But I can't quite be sure... and it would be improper for me to speak to him of love before he has broached the topic. Not only would it be unladylike, but my position as heiress would place him under pressure to submit to me even if he did not love me in his heart. I would never know for certain that he truly loved me back! And yet, surely he is silent only because he fears rejection? I try to encourage him in small ways, but men are sometimes blind and stubborn in matters of the heart.
So I have outflanked his self-imposed ignorance. My knight had business to attend to in Tasur'ke, and so I gave him a note to take to you. Surely you've already received it, for none can travel overland as swiftly as he. In that note, I declare my love for him in the most unmistakable of terms. And, as you've already noticed, the envelope was not sealed. An "oversight" on my part. You got your locket back? It was folded into the letter in such a way that the weight of the locket would pull the note out of the envelope, causing it to flutter open. A tiny enchantment purchased from a local wizard should have drawn his eye inescapably to the sentence, "I have fallen firmly in love." And, reading that, if he truly loves me, he would be unable to avoid reading the rest of the letter, regardless of my privacy. Surely he must know now that I love him . . . I can only hope I am correct, and he loves me back. I will tell you more when I hear it.
Your devoted friend,
Catarin deSangre
Lucaine Pyramides, Catarin (Poem 36)
Twenty years of darkness made my eyes sharp
I sought the single sun among myriad stars
As I killed for shining gold, I sought the true light.
True light of
Twenty years of darkness; never to love,
Never to touch solid stone; never to breathe.
The more evil I became, the greater my need
For redemption,
Twenty years of self-deceit: Catarin, the truth.
In her name I hear the words "Lucaine, your soul is clear."
And I am bound to her with golden wire, sick with desire
For her, and I know
Twenty years of darkness.
How many more in light?
The sinner Pyramides lurks in darkness
Hound of justice, strong right hand . . .
She should not stoop to pick me up.
I leave her to her "noble knight"
And dream that I am happy,
That I rest within the light.
From Morlana ni'Choya, Convergence: Annotated Letters of Catarin I
Dear Portia,
I told you before of my stratagem with the note. Alkiera had a psychometrist examine the note, when I requested it, and she reports that my guardian did read it, and reacted to it with strong emotions. And he has responded only with subtle rejections, one after another, in response to all of my subtle invitations. It is clear that although he has received my message, he does not share my feelings.
"Psychometry" was the art, now lost to all but the most learned psychics, of reading the past and future of a material object. Emotions and events connected to the object could be divined by an experienced mystic. But in the case of the strongest emotions—hatred, thwarted love, desperation—only the presence of emotion could be detected, not its exact nature.
Forgive my emotionless prose. Know that I feel loss, and anger, and desire. But should I use a more expressive style in this letter, I would blur the ink with tears. I am visiting Nicopolis soon. I can cry on your shoulder then. And perhaps in time, I'll quit loving him after all. I have many responsibilities. I can't spend too much time staring out the window like a lovesick girl . . . lovesick girl though I may be.
Yours in despair,
Catarin deSangre
Lucaine Pyramides, Catarin (Poem 37)
She looked at me today and asked to know the pain I hold inside
"I know you're strong, but not from pride—what do you hide?"
With sword in hand I never doubt, but here . . .
I cannot let my feelings out. "Nothing . . ."
. . .dear.
From Lord Damen Kephry, Collected Correspondence
My dearest Margaux,
It seems that the danger has not fully passed. Only when Catarin is crowned will I feel comfortable having you in the city. For now, please remain at our family estates in Aster Malik, and know that my thoughts are forever with you. Within Seleucar, you may yet be at risk; but in remote Aster Malik, you are out of the way of whatever battles may still await.
Why do I speak of battles, even ten months after the bloody War of Succession? I hold no bitterness as to the war's outcome. I realize now that Catarin truly was the better successor, and although I do not regret my support of Mycale, I am willing to embrace Catarin as my queen and give her my undying loyalty. Unfortunately, Catarin's period of grieving, however appropriate and fitting, has allowed for unsettling portents. The underkings of Ashtan and Shallam refuse to formally recognize Catarin's authority until she is crowned. They bow only grudgingly to the diplomatic soothing of Prime Minister Orin Grandier. Leophine Errikale, the new Duke of Seleucar, has gone to great lengths to disassociate himself from his elder brother, the late Lucius Errikale, but Leophine has not gone so far as to formally align himself with Catarin. As a former supporter of Mycale, and as a highly-respected veteran of the now-dissolved Guild of Knights, I have been privy to frequent rumors: that Castomira Brangwin, although a wanted outlaw, has been visiting the homes of various noblemen, those who were most interested in using Prince Mycale for their own ends. Although I have sometimes been accused of using my sword-arm before using my brain, even I can guess that Castomira is planning further mischief.
When he opposed me, I spoke of Lucaine Pyramides as a demon in human form. However, in these past months, I have come to respect him, if not to know him. He is a difficult man to come to know. The only person to whom he speaks on a regular basis is Catarin herself, and he receives his orders only from her. He is so well-behaved and silent, now, that it is hard to believe he was once the most amoral and mercenary brigand on Sapience. He spends all of his free time alone. He practices his sword arts in a locked cellar of the palace, where none may learn by observing him. I agree with this practice, as I would cheerfully retire from the business of combat upon learning that there were two warriors in the world like Lucaine Pyramides (farming being greatly preferable to death). When he is not training, however, he is locked in his own room, doing what, only the gods know. The word among the palace staff is that he writes; the soft sounds of a fountain pen can be heard from behind his door, day or night, and his fireplace is filled with the gray dust of burned paper. Perhaps he records the secrets of his swordsmanship, to pass on to descendants. Perhaps he writes his memoir. He might as easily be writing a cookbook, but speculation runs wild.
Lucaine Pyramides is easily the object of half the rumors in Sapience at this moment, and his very reticence makes him all the more intriguing . . . even, I admit, to me. But my attempts to engage him in conversation have all been met with intense awkwardness. He is not a social person, and although I can tell that he is quite intelligent, he has no talent for speaking the right words at the right moment. And after all, his areas of expertise are not good topics for idle chit-chat. I can't ask him about his fighting style. I don't wish to talk to him about the best ways to ambush travelers and take their valuables. And discussing the strengths and weaknesses of Catarin's personal guard, of whom Lucaine has assumed command, would likely be misinterpreted. I wonder what Lucaine himself thinks of his newfound estate. Is it strange for him, to have changed so quickly from dreaded brigand to honored champion? What could possibly have motivated him? A persistent rumor suggests that he has fallen in love with the princess, but surely a man of his bravery would have confessed his love to her by now, and been either accepted or rejected.
I have been quite busy myself, as you already know. The rebuilding of the Castle of Twelve has been progressing quite well. I hope to re-establish the Guild of Knights, although it seems that the stars are against such an endeavor. Failing that, perhaps I will join the Templars; they have already said that they would welcome me as an instructor, to further introduce the skills of the Knights into their practice. I'm not certain that a life of unending worship appeals to me, however. There is a continuous covert struggle in progress between Ashtan and Shallam. Even in this time of peace, they are constantly bickering over the boundaries formed by Shallam's shrines. Do I really want to spend every waking hour sacrificing goats over the Shallamese shrines to strengthen them against some hypothetical Ashtanian incursion?
I think I can spend my time more productively at home with you. I will try to arrange a visit to Aster Malik soon. Until then, my love, hold tight, and do not forget me. Give my love to the children.
Your loving husband,
Lord Damen Kephry
Lucaine Pyramides, Catarin (Poem 51)
I would remember the wilds by howling at the moon . . .
But it would wake her.
Lucaine Pyramides, Catarin (Poem 79)
if at this very point she were to tell me she loved me what then would i be able to say that i've always loved her back or would she be shocked scared compassionate that i'd so long been lost on her lost for her lost to her lost in her
a lost soul her dog warrior killing to help her bring life from death sending life to death in ironic alchemy a chimerical marriage of steel and heart blood
and i know i could kiss her and die the next day
but if she said that she loved me then what would i say
my blood is still red but my heart has turned gray
and although i can kill i don't know how to pray for her to stay with me and if she said she loved me i might die
because what if we love and our love dies quick abrupt like killing a man on icy plains to watch his last breath ghost away and turn to fight the next in battle last man living wins
but if this love dies under swords of fate or failure then there are no more foes to fight there's no more light
From Leona Fontaine, Sentinel: The Murder of Lucaine Pyramides
Of late, he had tried to be as quiet and undemanding as possible. Her every glance had come to be a form of torture. He could accept that she had secretly given her heart to one of her many noble suitors, but he could come to no accommodation with the gas-flame blue of her eyes. He wanted to avoid her, to be free to dream of her in peace, to be with her every moment, and the paradox slowly bore down upon his mind like a heavy weight.
"Your Highness." He knocked softly at the open door of Catarin's study, where she sat penning a letter.
"Lucaine. Thank you for coming to see me before you leave. Please, be seated." Her smile was sincere. It touched Lucaine's heart like a thorn.
"I would never leave without your blessing." Lucaine was grave.
"You've been so serious lately, Lucaine. I assumed this would be a vacation for you. You've never even been to Ashtan proper, have you? There's a lot to see."
"The Tournament of Blades sounds like fun," Lucaine said drably. "And if a show of personal power is what it'll take to make Ashtan's nobility respect you, then I'll be glad to provide one."
"Then why so sad, Lucaine? You've been unhappy for the past five months, despite my best attempts to cheer you. I know better than to throw you a ball. But it's been weeks since you rode with me, and you didn't attend the joust at all. I thought it would interest you."
"You held that joust on my account?"
"Well, I hinted that you might want to go. I kept a seat free in the royal box."
"I'm sorry. If you had asked outright, I would have attended."
"But then it would be a command, Lucaine, and I would never wish to command you."
"But Catarin . . . I am at your command." Lucaine held her gaze for a long moment, during which Catarin's heart began to pound.
She looked away, suddenly. Lucaine interpreted her motion as reticence, and stood straighter. "At any rate, I must depart soon if I am to reach Ashtan by nightfall. Will you bless my sword?"
"Yes," she said. Lucaine placed the sword upon the desk. Catarin placed her hand upon the lacquered sheath. "Lucaine?"
"Your Highness?"
Catarin was silent for long seconds. Lucaine searched her face as if memorizing it, as if he had not already done so long ago.
"Lucaine. What would you do if I told you that I loved you?"
A million daydreams froze and shattered in Lucaine's mind. He did not pause to think.
"I asked myself that, only two weeks ago."
Catarin waited for him to go on, but saw with apprehension that he was lost in thought, staring at a point somewhere beyond her.
"What . . . what did you decide?"
Lucaine focused on her, suddenly, with an intensity, a ferocity, that nearly made her flinch. "First, tell me."
"Tell you . . . oh." Suddenly, for some reason, Catarin was more afraid than she had ever been. Afraid that in reaching for him, she would lose him. Afraid that he might gain total power over her. Afraid of the sound of her own voice.
Catarin started to speak, but choked on her own words. She swallowed hard. Took a breath. "Yes," she managed at last. "I love you. I have loved you ever since King's Tomb."
Lucaine stood upright as suddenly as if gravity had been reversed, so explosively that he actually hung in the air for a second before landing on his feet. Fine dust exploded from the bookshelves as Lucaine's inner power surged as if for battle. In a blur, Lucaine moved himself to the balcony outside the study. There, he gripped the rail so hard that his fingers crushed marks in the wood.
It seemed as though he'd longed for Catarin his entire life, and now he could not conceivably express the full scope of his feelings; could not belittle her uniqueness with commonplace words of love. The realization of all his dreams left him electrified, and like a man being electrocuted, he could not move, for every nerve was on fire. Catarin stared, wide-eyed, uncertain what she'd unleashed.
Five minutes passed. Lucaine's inner turmoil paralyzed him, and Catarin was frozen, afraid to disturb his reverie. Then the study clock chimed the quarter-hour, and Lucaine was distracted from his paralysis. "Catarin," he said, as if the word were a wish.
"Lucaine?" she said, disaster and desire writ double on her face.
"I'm going to Ashtan."
Catarin blinked in anticipation of tears, stricken.
"Catarin, there's nothing I can say right now that is . . . that is worthy of you. When I get back . . ." Lucaine trailed off, completely helpless. She must read his poems. But first, he had to write the last one, the perfect one, the one that would express once and for all the depth of his love. The one that would make her love him back just as much. The one . . . "Please promise you'll wait for me. I don't want you to be hurt." And with those completely ambiguous comments, Lucaine Pyramides left Catarin, to set out on the long road to Ashtan, to compete in the Tournament of Blades.
Lucaine Pyramides, Catarin (Poem 99)
She just told me she loved me. And my words have failed me . . . utterly.
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