Chapter 30: - Before the March

  Ksenija’s sleeves were wet with tears. Her eyes sore from them too. Surely she’d ruined her makeup—the great efforts of Miss Dragunova. Not that it mattered now. Not that any of it mattered now.

  She’d been a fool to go to the ball, a fool to think that a pretty dress and some foundation could ever change what she was to them. What she would always be to them.

  Memories of Exia—the King—denying ever even knowing her flooded through her head. Images of pitying gazes, laughing faces, sneering Yelena. All of them burned into her mind like hot steel against flesh.

  She could not stay in Lyubov anymore. In her stupidity, her ignorance, her whatever it may be called, she had told someone her name. And Yelena had said it to the whole ball.

  By morning’s light, Ksenija Lyubushkina would go from a nameless street rat to the nameless street rat who thought an elegant gown would let her woo the King of Bessmertnyy.

  She couldn’t stay here, couldn’t bear to meet those very same faces she’d received from the nobles, now from the people of the lower districts. It would be enough gossip to feed the populace for months. And she would be a walking, talking, reminder of it till the very day she croaked.

  Ksenija made her decision, and found that there really was no other choice.

  She got to her feet, slid out of her dress and into something more practical—more peasant. She wrapped her scarf around her neck, and got to packing her things.

  It didn’t take long to get all her essentials into a bag—she didn’t have that many. She never had that many of anything.

  She was a fool to think she could ever walk side by side with those whose entire existence depended on keeping people like her on their knees. But Ksenija was no fool anymore. If she could not walk in their gardens, she would make her own—of thorns instead of roses, of snakes instead of apples, but she would make her own nonetheless.

  Ksenija took one last look at her hideout. To the place where she’d crawled and slept into for years now, to the place where she’d sang songs of joy with two servant boys. Boys that made a place where she inched out a measly existence almost feel like a home. But it was never a home. And they were never servant boys.

  Ksenija shut the door. And said goodbye to Lyubov.

  “Ah, fuck!” Exia growled as the last finger snapped into place.

  The Mage glared at him as if being in agony at agonizing magical treatment was somehow an offence to him.

  Exia wondered if the Life Mage would look so self righteous while healing his own ruined body. He wouldn’t get to test that theory out however, because General Kudrin was here, and he seemed to be the type of man who would take offence to seeing his only Life Mage be hospitalised, even for completely legitimate reasons.

  Thankfully, the cunt left soon enough, and it was only Exia and the Governor in his office.

  Exia was sitting by the window, eyes cast down on the great wall of Snegovetska. It didn’t look so great now—missing chunks of it at several points and still bellowing with smoke in various other areas. It looked like a giant toddler had taken bites out of the structure and then set it on fire.

  The fire had died now though, and so had the Voin men who caused it. Those who hadn’t, fled into the ice. Some would make it, some would not. The story of Snegovetska’s victory over Voin would spread like wildfire through the Republic, and through its telling the King’s presence would be either downplayed or removed altogether.

  It would be Kudrin who faced off against the mad Duke, and Kudrin who put him to dirt. Perhaps, and this was if they were very lucky, the great Flame Mage Sasha Osin might have her valiant efforts be remembered as that of a damsel in distress, hung upside down, skirt over her head, pink panties shown to the world, as she was fondled by the Duke, before being rescued by the Governor and his son.

  Something told Exia that the Captain would not be a fan of that particular retelling.

  ────────────────────────────

  [Discipline: Mage]

  [Sect: Abyssal]

  [Magnitude: Eighty-Three]

  [Gifts of Zcigmagus:]

  ────────────────────────────

  [Hand of Zcigmagus - Spells]

  (Entropy)

  (Barbed)

  (Shell)

  (Stun)

  (Fracture)

  ────────────────────────────

  [Breath of Zcigmagus - Spells]

  (Coat)

  (Stream)

  (Smite)

  (Chase)

  (Vortex)

  ────────────────────────────

  [Shadow of Zcigmagus - Spells]

  (Shroud)

  (Burst)

  (Drain)

  (Slow)

  (Echo)

  ────────────────────────────

  Ah, an increase in Magnitude and a new spell, neat.

  Exia sighed. That was enough sight-seeing for now; he had a world to get to. Exia hopped to his feet and walked over to the Governor—all grins and smiles. “Well, lovely working with you General!” he held a hand out for him to shake, caught himself, then pulled it back. “Oops.”

  The Governor looked down at Exia’s palm, then into his eyes, all while holding a gaze as amused as a…well a disabled man who’d just been made fun of for his disability. “You did that on purpose…”

  Exia shrugged.

  The Governor’s words were like a controlled furnace, blasting a torrent of heat, but all in one direction—Exia’s. “You do understand that every time you upset me, I get the nigh-uncontrollable urge to take the man who looks very, very, much like the bastard who made me an amputee and put him into a fucking coma.”

  “But you’re not going to!” Exia hummed, smile only growing.

  “Why? Because you saved my ci—”

  “Because I saved your city!” Exia exclaimed , raising his hands in celebration. “I killed the bad guy. You should have been there—it was really heroic—Ludwig was like ‘noooo! ‘And I was like ‘you will regret messing with the great Bessmertnyy Republic, Voin scum!’ And then I shot him in the head.”

  Kudrin raised an eyebrow. “I highly doubt that.”

  “Well that’s how I remember it and I was the only one there, so shut up.”

  The Governor's jaw tensed. It seemed the Lieutenant General was not exactly being used to being told to shut up by a man not even half his age. The man calmed himself quickly enough however, and Exia found some measure of respect growing for the General. “You seem in higher spirits than when I first met you. Am I to assume this is your default state.”

  Exia nodded eagerly.

  “Harrowing.”

  Exia laughed.

  Kudrin sighed. “Few citizens will hear of your efforts, and fewer still will be believed when they retell it. So let me be the one to say this to you for the very first and very last time. In regards to your service in the defence of the city of Snegovetska, Thank you, King Exia Vanfoster.” It was clear his pride wanted nothing more than to kick Exia out of the room in disgrace, but clearer still that letting himself succumb to such impulses would have wounded the General more than a brief acknowledgement of his nation’s puppet king. “Request a gift and I shall grant you it if it is within my power.”

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  “Your other arm,” Exia replied. The Governor's face did not move.

  “I’m being serious”, he told him flatly. “Ask.”

  Exia took in the words, shifted them around in his head and decided on his answer. “I believe there is a conspiracy in the Government. One that involves Navtej Volkov. I would like you to look into it for me covertly and send me a report.”

  “Volk—the Consul’s Putesh?” Kudrin looked stuck between dismissal and concern. “Fine…I’ll see what I can do.” Then he added, “send my regards to Miss Lyubushkina as well. I believe she was the one who discovered the tunnels the Duke was sneaking in through. Though I would prefer the both of you communicate with me about such developments in the future.”

  “Of course, Governor.” Exia nodded. “Though Ideally our paths never again cross—having me at your doorstep is usually a sign that something truly, truly terrible has occurred.”

  The Governor grit his teeth, as if chewing something bitter. “But Voin will come again. If not for Snegovetska then for somewhere else—more places now that the warlord pact has been shattered. They’ve already been gaining land—inch by inch, every year—we’re fighting a losing battle.”

  “True,” Exia agreed, and could not find the good humour in his voice. Something about the images of angry Voin men storming his manor and ripping him to shreds was not particularly humorous.

  “The Twin Consuls hold no synergy—Volkov and Dragomirov lead less like a unified front and more like a pair of squabbling Field Marshalls,” Kudrin sighed and looked at Exia with heavy eyes—tired eyes. The kind of eyes that had stayed awake for days trying to look for a way out of an impossible situation only to find none. Now he was looking at the very thing he’d quested so long for. “King Exia Vanfoster. How would you like to be King of the Bessmertnyy Kingdom once more.”

  Exia scoffed. “Now that is an interesting question.”

  ###

  Exia groaned—he was hungry. And yet no food had yet been delivered to his room. It was almost like the city staff had a major crisis to attend to or something.

  Still, that didn’t change his hunger, so he just laid there, on his ludicrously massive bed, in his ludicrously massive room, wondering why oh why he was cursed with such harrowing misfortune in life.

  “Quit your whining,” a voice called. Exia turned to see Ksenija sitting on his windowsill, soft grin along her features—healed features.

  “I wasn’t whining, I didn’t even say anything.”

  “You were screaming, ‘I wish I had died to Voin men so that I may never have been suffered to live with such a maddening hunger’.

  Ah, he hadn’t even noticed he was doing that. “Well, I’m hungry,” Exia rubbed his rumbling belly.

  “I heard. I think half the building heard too,” Ksenija rolled her eyes.

  Exia grinned. “Ksenija.”

  “Exia,” she grinned back. Hers was more beautiful however, more…her.

  “You fucking moron.”

  That dulled her grin somewhat.

  Exia rolled to his feet, pointing an accusatory finger at the woman. “You faced off against a fucking Eighty-eighth and nearly got yourself killed in order to save a person you last saw when you were like what—eleven? What if I had become a completely different person—in fact I am a completely different person—what if I ate babies, what if I was Exia Vanfoster the great eater of babies. Imagine that— Ksenija Lyubushkina died saving a baby eater.”

  Exia noticed she was still grinning now, brighter even. “You do realise, you did the exact same thing, yes?”

  “I—” Exia drew in a breath and let out a soft sigh. His next word came out as a whisper. “Well I suppose we’re both morons then.”

  Exia didn’t know when he’d covered the distance between them, all he knew was that Ksenija was now inches away from him. He saw the beautiful dull reds of her scarf, smelled the lovely scent of oak in her hair, and was lost in those burning brown eyes of hers.

  Ksenija ran her fingers along his cheeks, pulled back his hair and framed his face in her perfectly warm palms. She looked down at him as if he were the most perfect thing in the world—utterly oblivious to the fact that she owned that distinction herself.

  “We could run away together…” he told her. Not to Voin as the Sorcerer King would sooner have his head, and not to the allies of the Crown as they would not seek to invoke Voin’s wrath. But somewhere…

  Ksenija smiled with sorrow. “We wouldn’t make it very far.”

  “But we would make it.”

  “We swap identities like cards,” Ksenija hummed, engaging now.

  “Always with the Republic on our tail. Always having no one but each other.”

  “Perhaps we rent a shed up on a hill.”

  “That’s where we make our last stand.”

  “They’ll shell you first…” Ksenija chuckled. “I’m just better at keeping out of danger than you are.”

  “And as I die in your arms…” Exia began. “I gaze into your soul and say, ‘My Ksenija, my friend, my better, my love…even the stars could never match your brightness.’

  Ksenija laughed—she was holding back tears now. “I want to kiss you.”

  “Then do it,” Exia begged.

  “Kisses mean goodbye, Exia…they mean we never see each other again. And I’ve missed you…so much.” She leaned down and rested her head against his.

  “We don’t have to then. We can just be like this. Forever. Me staring into your eyes and you staring into mine.”

  Ksenija nodded, and they did. The pair just stayed there, letting the world spin around them as everything but each other melted away.

  And then they kissed.

  ###

  Sasha held the envelope in her palm, then stuffed it into her pocket.

  The reconstruction of the wall was well underway now and Sasha reckoned it would take less than a week for Snegovetska to stand tall once more.

  She watched the Mages help with the construction—picking up large boulders, crushing them with their fists, and melting steel beams. They would be instrumental in the labour efforts, and Sasha wondered if this was why the gods had given them their gifts in the first place. Not to war, not to kill, but to build.

  Maybe, maybe not. It didn’t matter what the gods wanted. This was what it should have meant to [Mage], to [Sorcerer], to [Shifter] to all Disciplines. Instead they killed one another—and Sasha was one of the best killers out there.

  In fact she’d gotten better at it. Now at the Sixty-Ninth Magnitude.

  She wanted to help—especially given that she felt like she’d taken even more resources from the city by being healed—but knew that her time here was already at an end.

  Sasha had one reason for being at the wall and one reason only: to see a friend.

  Semyonov—because he would always be Semyonov to her—was directing a group of Mages as to the proper techniques for grinding stone without wasting mana when she called out to him.

  “Sasha!” He beamed. The man strode over to her. “Off already?”

  “Always on the move,” she smiled.

  “Always on the move,” he nodded.

  Sasha hesitated. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?

  Semyonov gave a noncommittal scoff and a shadow of a confused frown. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, when the dust settles, and it's you, or I, looking at a field of dead men—maybe our allies, maybe our enemies, maybe just people caught in between—do you feel that it’s right or wrong. Do you feel like you’ve accomplished something or failed. Do you feel like it matters?”

  Sasha expected scepticism and dismissal from the soldier, but was reminded that Semyonov was one of the few men who did not let her down. “Sasha,” he smiled warmly and cast a hand out to the wall and then to the city—the still standing city. “This is all because of you. They won’t remember it—fuck I’ll probably get most of the credit for your actions whether I like it or not. But the city, the people, they still live because of you,” his eyes burned bright now. “Of course it matters.”

  And Sasha wanted it to. She truly did. But she didn’t remember doing that much saving. Just the killing. And she knew she’d do more yet again. And it would be for a Republic she held less and less faith in as the days passed. No public recognition of Navtej’s betrayal by Volkov, not even an acknowledgement of the confusion Sasha must be feeling from the General himself. The Republic was hoarding secrets that left her sleepless. She knew better than to push with Semyonov however; he wouldn’t get it and it would just trouble him more seeing her like this. Sasha nodded. “Of course, thank you Semy.”

  He smiled, nodded, turned, and headed back to rebuilding the city.

  “There you are, Captain!” A voice chirped from behind her.

  Sasha turned lightning quick to see the King Exia Vanfoster beaming with joy. It took a while for her to speak; it almost felt like she was looking at a dead person having come back to life. Relief was what she felt, relief and warmth. “Wh-what did the Governor want to see you for?”

  “Oh, nothing,” he waved a hand. Paused. Winced. “That…was a lie, sorry it’s…Still reflexive. I went looking for Ludwig and Ksenija during the siege and…Found them.” Sasha had many questions after that, and for once the King answered them. She didn’t quite know what to make of hearing the truth.

  “You didn’t abandon me,” she said, dully. By the time she’d processed her own words enough to flush with embarrassment, the King had flushed even more.

  “You have a letter sticking out of your pocket.” He pointed out, giving both of them a much-needed escape. It was not, after all, the soldiery thing to discuss such matters in earnest.

  Sasha stuffed it deeper. “Yes, sorry, just details of our next assignment.”

  “Perfect, let’s head off then. We have people and or things to kill, Captain Sasha Osin!” he declared, and began walking away while gesturing her to follow him.

  Sasha followed, smiling at his annoying grin all the while. “It’s nice to have you back.”

  The King set warm eyes on her—ones that looked through her but didn’t make her want to retreat. “Oh, but I was never gone. I was always here. And you here with me. Thank you, Captain Sasha Osin. I am forever in your debt”

  Sasha averted her eyes from his gaze and felt her cheeks burn. Apparently the King was not as soldiery as her, perfect.

  “Now, I wonder how long it’s going to take you to track me down if I intentionally try to lose you in this crowd.”

  “What?”

  And the King was gone, leaving only the top of his head visible as he disappeared into the mass of bodies.

  “Fucker!” Sasha growled, and gave chase.

  ###

  General Volkov

  Bezdna Palace

  Bolshoy Sobytiya 33

  Lyubov, Bessmertnyy Empire

  28 Morozek 2227

  Snegovetska Central Post

  Zimnyaya Street 3

  Snegovetska, Cheremshanka Governorate

  Bessmertnyy Empire

  RE: POST-SIEGE DIRECTIVES AND ANGELIC ACTIVITY IN ZIMOVSKAYA

  To Captain Sasha Osin,

  Your conduct during the siege of Snegovetska has been duly noted. I have reviewed your report in full and compared it with dispatches from independent observers. The alignment is sound. You have represented the Republic well.

  Acknowledgement, however, must be followed by continued duty.

  You are hereby ordered to proceed at once to Zimovskaya. Reports from the area indicate potential activity of an Angelic nature. You are to investigate and, if confirmed, neutralise the threat with appropriate force. Exercise discretion—local panic must be contained.

  Upon completion of the above, you are to return His Majesty to Bezdna Palace. The gloves are to be removed from his person and placed under sealed custody. He is to remain confined within the estate under watch until such time as the Republic finds further use for him. You will receive word when that moment arrives.

  Conduct yourself with the same precision you demonstrated at Snegovetska.

  For the Republic,

  General Volkov.

  ###