“Put yer fuckin’ hands up!” One of them shouted.
I lifted my arms overhead, and the ship lurched to a sudden stop. Men flew across the deck, crashing into each other, making piles against the railings and ballista. Their moans of pain sounded from everywhere, cries of ‘we’ve run aground!’ and ‘Captain!’ being shouted from the rafters above. For a moment, it was like they’d forgotten about me. Then a deep groan emanated from the bowels of the ship, and there was silence. All eyes looked to me. I could feel every board and nail that held the craft together, ever rope and knot that tethered it. I could feel the keel of the ship. I grabbed it with my mind, and pulled upward. The ship shook violently, vibrating as though grinding against a reef. Men cried out and charged me, then stopped. The ship lifted from the water. I strained under its weight, feeling the burden tax me of my energy, but the vessel ascended nonetheless. Seaweed and port streams flowed from the hull to splash the water’s surface below, the dribbled to silence. The men gawked at me, horror and awe writ across their faces. They dropped their weapons and fell to their knees, begging for mercy. There would be no mercy. I planted my feet firmly onto the deck, and rotated the ship. The slavers clung to every mast and handle they could grab onto. They dangled as the ship turned completely upside down in the air. They begged me to stop, they pleaded with eyes full of panic. I just smiled back, and watched them fall. One by one, the men dropped, screaming into the crashing waves a hundred feet beneath me. Once the deck was empty, I turned the ship upright. I kept the vessel suspended in the air as I descended the steps of the hatch.
The hold was filled with women, all of whom were secured to the floor with shackles. They looked at me with glassy eyes, not sure what they were seeing. Prestira was not among them. I walked up the stairs and to the cabin. I opened the door to find Prestira strangling the captain with her shackles. She looked like an animal. Her racoon-eyes were wild and bulging, her split lip bared in a snarl, her desecrated body rigid with tension. I let her have her kill. Blood began to gurgle from the man’s mouth and flow from his nose. The vessels in his eyes burst. He choked out his last gasp, then died staring at nothing. Prestira collapsed onto the deck, sobbing into her folded arms. I ripped the shackles from her with my mind and pulled her into an embrace. She vented into my arms as I gently stroked her back, my fingertips running over welts, burns and lacerations. She was covered in filth, her wrists and ankles were raw, her knees and elbows were scraped and bruised. I held her firmly against me, murmuring soft love into her ear as tears ran down my cheeks. I touched the gems on her temples, and paused, afraid of what I would find in her mind. Then the shame of such cowardice compelled me, and I pulled the gems from her temple and was flooded with her thoughts. Whips, chains, wax. The rough wood of the deck, the snarl of a human man. Pain. Needles, horrific desire, unspeakable debasement. An elf woman’s face. Leveria had been here. She had coerced information from Prestira. She did something horrible to her. Prestira cried her regret. She said she was weak. She was sorry. No. I was weak. I am sorry. “I am so sorry, Prestira.” I hissed.
She cast a healing spell over body, and her flawless beauty shined from her. But I could see the scars plainly behind her eyes when she tried to put on a brave face. I let her have her pride. She told me she had to free the slaves from the hold. I told her to send them to Ardeni Dreus; this was their ship now. They could sell it and rebuild their lives with earnings. “Tell the high-elves that the Dark Queen freed them. Tell the dawn-elves they’ll always have a place in Alkandra.” Prestira left me, needing to find her strength in solitude. When the door closed behind her, I looked at the mirror. I looked at it for a long time. I knew I shouldn’t, I knew it played right into her hand, but I couldn’t stop myself. I pressed my hand against the glass. An extravagant empty room shown on the other side. I recognized it with a violent pang of nostalgia; it was my father’s office. No, not Father’s office. Not anymore.
“Leveria?” I called softly.
Nothing.
“Leveria,” I called, “it’s your sister.”
The door at the far end of the room creaked opened. Leveria’s profile stood in the threshold, a plush pink bathrobe adorning her body, a towel wrapping her hair. She stared at me with mouth agape, then quickly found control of her face. Removing the towel from her platinum mane, she cautiously stepped to the mirror, and sat in the chair. Her delicate regel features were washed of makeup, and her signature hooped earrings were removed, but her eyes were as sharp as ever, studying me intently. I smiled, and she smiled back.
“Yavara,” she poured herself a glass of wine, “you look different.”
“Do you like it?” I spun around, showing her the body she’s been jealous of for so many years, “I think it suits me.”
“It has an exotic appeal.” Leveria conceded, “Where is Prestira? Or should I call her Fifty-One?”
“She’s freeing the slaves in the hold.” I kept my smile fixed, “I wonder how your people will take it when I show them Captain Two-Shot’s manifest. A slave ship bound for Bentius with high-elves in cargo? That should go over well.”
“Oh, you know how this works.” Leveria chuckled into her wine glass, “Deny, redirect, attack the source, discredit the speaker. I’ve made a career off ruining the reputations of those in my way. You were easy; you’d already done most of the work for me.” Leveria paused, cocking her head slightly, her smile broadening. “Mother was a little harder.”
“The moment I heard of her death,” I said, my smile fading, “I knew it was you. I don’t know why you always hated her. She was a good mother. She loved you in her own way.”
“She might have loved me when I was a child, but I aged like vinegar in her eyes. She told Father I was too ambitious, that I wanted too much too soon. She thought I was a threat.” Leveria sipped her wine, “She was right.”
“How?” I said, my voice shaking slightly, “How did you twist Father against her? What lies did you tell him?”
“Oh, I didn’t have to tell him too many lies.” Leveria said, stirring her drink, “The fatal shot was really just the truth: Mother fucked a monster.” Leveria looked up at me, “Did you know that?”
I nodded.
“Well I just sprinkled a conspiracy theory on top, and Father had her executed.” Leveria smiled sweetly, “Simple.”
“Then Father just gave you the throne on a silver platter, huh?” I said, trying to remain calm, “You did something to him; Father would never trust you with so much.”
Leveria giggled, a sound that was girlish and menacing. “You always assumed Father loved you the most, Yavara. You were always the apple of his eye, the son he never had. You thought that just because he doted on you, he loved you more than I?”
“I know he did,” I sneered, “and so do you.”
“Oh Yavara!” Leveria laughed shaking her head, “Oh, my sweet little sister. Mother was blind to what was going on, but I thought you must have known.”
“Known what?!” I growled. Leveria’s eyes twinkled, knowing in that instant that she’d won. I should never have done this. I was out of my depth. I contemplated ending the conversation right there, but I couldn’t. My own nature betrayed me, and Leveria used it so easily as her ally.
“You never once noticed the way Father looked at me?” Leveria asked, provocatively crossing her legs, “You never once wondered why we’d disappear for hours, or why my bedroom was moved to the high tower just a few steps from his office? Are you connecting the dots?”
“There was no way. Father would never…”
“You know Clartias Tiadoa as the warm benevolent patriarch who gave you everything you wanted.” Leveria looked pitiably at me, “I know him as the sick twisted man he really is. I love him for who he is, and that’s why he loves me. That’s why his child grows in my belly.” Leveria rested her hand on her stomach.
I couldn’t call her a liar. For as I sifted my memories of my father, I saw the leer in his doting gaze, the coldness in his compassionate eyes. Eyes just like Leveria’s, beautiful and merciless. I saw the mask he wore for me, and witnessed in dry dismay as each memory of him became corrupted with the truth. A knot formed in my throat, and I tasted the reflux from my belly, the nausea threatening to try to expel the horrible realization from my mind.
“So you see Yavara,” Leveria continued, smiling at my shocked face, “I didn’t need to convince Father to abdicate, he did it through his volition, because he loves and trusts me. And now he hates you more than anything in this world.”
“You two are perfect for each other.” I said through gritted teeth, “You sick fucking cunt.”
“I know what I am.” Leveria said, still smiling sweetly, “I made sure Mother knew too. The night before she hung, I went to our precious mother’s cell. I tortured her like I tortured Prestira. I had no reason to do it other than to watch her suffer, and she suffered, Yavara; oh, she did. I wish you could’ve seen her break. It was like… like watching a rose succumb to rot. I took everything from her, and when she was at her lowest, I promised her mercy. Then I killed her.”
I held back my tears, biting my cheeks hard to keep my face straight. I knew Leveria was telling me the truth. I had no retort for it, no ground to claim. It was a mistake talking with her. I could take over people’s minds with magic, but Leveria could break their will with just words. I stood stupidly, looking at my sister’s implacable smile, those hate-filled sapphires above it.
“Do you have nothing to say, Yavara?” Leveria asked, “You were the one that called me, and I’ve been doing most of the talking. You’re usually such a great conversationalist, and I was hoping to catch up with my beloved sister. Tell me, how is Elena doing?”
I didn’t answer. There was no point in playing this game anymore; I’d already lost. I raised my hand to the mirror, but Leveria’s voice stopped me.
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