Page 52 of The Truth

“Do you think I am a fool?” Alvira roared, launching the bottle of wine across the room.

“Fool would be a kind word!” Eluna screamed back, the veins on her temples bulging, her skin bright and red. “You’re an idiot, and I will have nothing to do with you any longer!”

Valyna and Rankír surged in through the open door, both with their hands on the pommels of their swords.

“Archon?” Valyna drew her blade as she spoke, angling the tip of the steel at Eluna’s throat. “Draleid. You have my respect, but if you do not step back from the Archon, you will have my steel also.”

It was all Alvira could do to not break her composure. Not even a shiver ran through Valyna’s sword. She held no fear in her heart at the thought of crossing blades with a Draleid.

“There is no need.” Eluna did not turn her gaze from Alvira, those eyes Alvira had known for so many years now full of seething rage. Though this staged argument had been of her making, even Alvira felt a pang of worry at the anger before her. “I am done here.”

Eluna swept Valyna’s blade aside with her hand, not even bothering to feign fear at the sight of steel held to her. The elf strode from the room and slammed the door so hard that a painting of the temple at Dracaldryr fell from the wall, its frame shattering.

“Are you all right, Archon?” Valyna sheathed her sword while Rankír collected the painting from the floor.

“I will bring it to the Craftsmages for repair,” Rankír said, bowing as he left the room.

“I’m fine.” Alvira leaned her head back and ran her hands through her hair. This was no false weariness. She was exhausted, and watching Eluna walk away had burned the last of her resilience for the day. Everything had been put in motion now. “Please, Valyna, leave me be.”

“As you wish, Archon. I will have the mess cleaned.” She inclined her head towards the smashed wine bottle by the wall.

“No.” Alvira waved Valyna away. “I will clean it myself. I need some peace.”

Valyna tried to argue, but Alvira stood firm. All she needed in that moment was silence and another bottle of wine.

As the door closed gently, Alvira dropped to her haunches to collect the shattered glass. With the shards in her hand, she lost her gaze in the crimson stains splattered across the white stone. It looked as though someone had been butchered against the wall. She stared for a few moments before dropping the glass in a basket.

She pulled on threads of Water and Fire, readying to remove the stain from the wall, but something inside her held back. It was symbolic, in a way. As though the bloodshed to come was inevitable.

Alvira loosed the thoughts from her head and poured herself a glass of wine from a fresh bottle. There was no amount of wine in the world that would numb the ache within her, but a little bit might give her a sliver of peace.

She moved to the arched window that looked out over the city, the rain sheeting down across the night as it had done for days. She rubbed at her ring with her thumb and forefinger, twisting it about her finger as she had taken to doing when her mind drifted. Ilnaen truly was a place of pure beauty. More than a million souls. She loved staring out that window, loved the simplicity of it, loved the peace of it.

Alvira let out a sigh of exhaustion at the sound of voices outside the door. She could not deal with anything more that day.

The door swung open and she turned on her heels. “I am in no mood to… Farda?”

Before her, Farda Kyrana stood in a sopping wet tunic and trousers. Behind him, Valyna and Rankír had entered, and both held the hilts of their still-sheathed swords.

Alvira stepped closer but stopped when Farda raised a finger, his face contorting in something torn between rage and laughter.

“Farda, what is this? What is wrong? Tell me, and we can make it right.” She waved a hand at the two Highguard, telling them to keep their weapons sheathed.

“Did you know about Orinhale before it happened?” Farda stared straight into Alvira’s eyes, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

“Orinhale? What do you mean? Why would…” A moment of clarity came over Alvira, and her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach, gooseflesh spreading over her body. This was a moment she had hoped would never come. “I… I am so sorry, Farda.”

“You did know…” The rage simmering in Farda seemed to dissipate in an instant, supplanted by pure disappointment and resignation. His shoulders slumped, his jaw loosened, his fingers uncurled from the fists. “This whole time you knew… You could have stopped it… You could have…” He twisted his head to the side, shaking it in disbelief. “Hana and Valyianne died in that city. Does that mean nothing to you? Not only did you let them die, but for a year you lied to my face. All this time you knew… Would you ever have told me the truth if I’d not come here now?”

“I…” She clenched her jaw, her heart feeling as though it might simply collapse within her. “The decision had already been made… I… should have told you, I just… I didn’t want it on your soul and then… Hana and Valyianne… What could I say?”

That rage resurfaced in his eyes, and a roar fit for the gods erupted in the skies outside. Shinyara. Immediately Alvira felt Vyldrar lift himself from his perch near Tanovar’s Arena and take to wing.

“Anything!” He smiled, then laughed, then shook his head. “Eltoar sat me down and told me that he had known and that he had kept it from me. Told me he could not bear the weight of it any longer and begged my forgiveness. Is that what you will do, Alvira? Will you beg my forgiveness? At least he had the stomach to come to me.”

“Farda… I am so sorry…” Tears welled in Alvira’s eyes at the pain she had caused. “I didn’t… I didn’t know. I didn’t know Hana and Valyianne were there. I didn’t know.”

“And what if you had?” Farda roared, stepping closer to her, his fists clenched. “Would their lives have been worth more than the thousands who died? You let them die, Alvira. Forty thousand souls and you just let them die.”