“There is the greater cycle of fate, the one we are trapped within and trying to free ourselves from. But there are also smaller turns, turns within families. Cruel fathers who raise cruel men who become cruel fathers themselves. There are some things we cannot escape.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I am here to change it—to break those cycles. And I refuse to believe that a goddess who supposedly wishes to look after all her people would trap them in destructive cycles they can’t free themselves from. If anything, that is the work of Raspian, and I will give it no credence.”
“I know your pain,” Taavin said firmly and with a slightly pleading edge. “I understand your hurt. Watching the ones you care for suffer, over and over again. Being helpless to stop or change it, no matter how hard you try. Seeing someone you love more than anyone or anything else in this accursed world trapped in a loop for nearly a thousand years.
“Feeling every blow, pain, and betrayal as though it’s your own. Each one worse than the last. Yearning not to feel… but you—I can’t avoid feeling, because the moment I lay eyes on you, I feel everything.”
His hands were on her face. Vi blinked up at him, startled. She hardly remembered him crossing to her. His words were more entrancing than any of Yargen’s. The way he said them was like a prayer, or a Lightspinner’s chant.
Taavin’s thumbs smoothed over the curve of her cheeks and he held her there. In his eyes she saw all the wonder and pain the universe had ever held. It was enough to make her knees weak and heart ache.
“If you know this pain… then help me end it,” Vi whispered. “Help me break not just one cycle, but all of them. Then we’ll all be free.”
He smiled sadly and his eyes drifted from her lips to her forehead, where he placed a tender kiss. Vi pressed her eyes closed, a deep ache reverberating through her. She needed him. Her hands grabbed the back of his arms above his elbows.
“I’m trying to help you,” he murmured. “But you have to let me. You have to listen, and be careful. The best chance we have to end this is caution. But if we don’t end it, we have to see you reborn. Be careful until then.”
Taavin pulled away and when Vi opened her eyes again, he was gone. She spent a moment focusing on every long breath of air, but each one felt thinner than the last. When he left, he took all the oxygen with him.
Vi grabbed the sword as though she could somehow strike down the barriers that stood in their way. But all she did was sheathe and hide it. The currents of emotion she was wading through were her own. There was still work to be done—work that wouldn’t end just because she wanted and needed more time to sort through her own experiences.
The castle was alive now, even at night. Servants tended to duties they didn’t have a chance to get to during the day. Vi donned the skin of one random helper she’d seen most afternoons in Fiera’s chambers as she made her way to Deneya’s office.
Two raps on the door and it opened promptly. Deneya looked her up and down.
“I heard you needed help sorting your bookcases,” Vi said, keeping the masquerade even though no one was around.
“My bookcases are fine. Though I wouldn’t mind help with laundry. Folding is a pain.” Deneya gave a smirk, one Vi returned. “Come on in.” Vi entered and released her illusion. “It’s justdurroe, right?”
“Yes, though it helps if you pick a real person. It’s harder to fabricate someone who doesn’t exist with enough detail to keep the illusion stable.”
“You speak from experience?” Deneya walked over to her desk, where there were two glasses set out alongside a half-empty decanter. Deneya had started without her.
“I do.” Vi adjusted the sword at her belt to sit in one of the chairs facing Deneya’s desk. “Though, I admit, it’s been a while since I first began usingdurroethis way. Maybe I would have more luck with a fabricated person now.”
“It seems to be working well, no point in pushing to change it.” Deneya glugged a heavy pour from the decanter into each glass.
“That’s precisely the reason to change it.” Vi wore a grin as she accepted her glass. “Given the reactions I’ve received from the people of Meru, it’s been far too long since someone re-imagined how the goddess’s words can be used.”
“Some would say re-imagining the words of the goddess is blasphemy.”
“Beware of the ones who do—they’re the real enemies of Meru. And, as the Champion of Yargen, I say it’s fine.”
Deneya chuckled and held out her glass. “I like you, Yullia. Cheers to saving a royal family today.”
“Cheers.” Vi tipped the edge of her glass against Deneya’s and took a long sip of the dark amber liquid in her glass. It tasted of spiced caramel, surprisingly sweet. “And it’s Vi. My name is Vi.”
“Vi,” Deneya repeated thoughtfully. “Why Yullia, then?”
“It didn’t feel right to use my name when I came here, for a whole host of reasons.” She watched the liquid swirl in the glass as she slowly rotated it.
“Then thank you for telling me.”
“I know your true name. It’s only fair,” Vi answered offhandedly. As though she hadn’t just allowed Deneya past a barrier.
Deneya took another sip of her drink and Vi did the same. She vaguely remembered the drink Erion Le’Dan had given her all those months ago. Was this the same? Or different? Better or worse?
She fought to dredge up the memories—the only proof that that time had existed at all. Vi set her glass down on the armrest of the chair.
