Come Out, Ilesin

Ilesin had no such thing, either.

His father by blood had been a wanderer, scarcely different from some outsider, and his mother by blood he had never known. The aunt who was also his adoptive mother had chosen her own daughter and her husband, and sent him away. He obeyed that command for one reason only: he no longer wished to remain at Findrak. Wandering suited him better. Enduring solitude was his innate gift.

He stayed a while in one place and a while in another, meeting people he would never meet again, taking bounties for great monsters, winning battles and collecting their prizes, and in time becoming a knight of the Empire. Yet nothing among all of that was anything he grew attached to. He had done those things because they came his way, not because he had achieved them in pursuit of some purpose.

"Lord Ilesin, please forgive Fillion's rudeness. He must feel as if he has lost everything."

"It was never his to begin with. Nor was there anyone who decided that it was."

"Yes. And today, that man cast me aside."

Ilesin held out the box he had brought.

"What is this?"

"Something my mage made off with. Chocolate, he tells me."

The woman, about to open the box, went still.

"It's expensive, isn't it? Even Her Grace Nivella only ever looked at such things at banquets."

The Emperor had prepared it, true enough, but he had drunk himself past remembering before the thought could return to him, and so no one had so much as laid eyes on it. Two days would pass before anyone grew curious about where this chocolate had gone.

"I brought what had been hidden away. I am Hisnil's lord, so you may count this much as a tax."

The woman put a piece in her mouth. Ilesin ate one with her. Bitter, sweet, and fragrant.

"You're pitying me."

"You said you don't dislike pity."

"That's true. The pity you offer is quite decent. And I am a woman who was cast off today, so a little sympathy is exactly what I deserve."

Ilesin looked at her. The words were bright, but the sorrow pooled in her eyes was desolate. Even a wretch like that would take time before every trace of him was gone.

"A better chance will come."

"It would be hard to find a worse match than the one I had. Thanks to him, my eye for men is rolling around on the floor. I'd probably say any man at all would do."

"See that stretch of time through, and a little while after, try choosing a better man. Keep choosing, and a decent fellow will come along someday."

"Do you really think I can meet someone decent?"

"You will. You are a tender person, and a beautiful one."

The woman let out a soft breath of laughter. It was a clean, lovely sound. Sure enough, Fillion was a bastard. To treat a woman like this in such a way.

"Rather lavish praise for someone you've barely just met."

"It has been time enough to know that you are that sort of person. No. Anyone at all would know it the moment they saw you."

Smiling, she looked into Ilesin's eyes, and he looked into hers. Yes. The color of dried petals heaped in a basket. He was thinking precisely that when she kissed his brow. Startled, he flinched back before he knew it.

"Be happy. Wherever you are, I'll wish you happiness and success. I mean it."

"Thank you."

"Be well."

Ilesin caught hold of her dress.

"Ilesin?"

"There's something I want to ask."

"Then ask."

"Have we met before?"

A smile spread slowly over her face, and then all at once it turned radiant. Her eyes shone. In those eyes there was no one but Ilesin.

"We have."

"When?"

"Not long ago. If we meet again, I'll tell you then. Just now you already know too much about me. I can't tell you any more."

She turned away, covering her mouth with her hand.

Where in the world did we meet?

Ilesin turned it over and over, but nothing came back to him.

I can ask the next time we meet.

He thought it as he watched the morning sun pouring deep into the room.

Time to return to Pobern.

It was the only place he could even call a home. His right of succession had been recognized at last, so he could inherit it in proper form.

Wandering had always been familiar to him. He had never strained to be loved, nor to be acknowledged. He had neither attachment nor obsession, and so neither wish nor hope had ever pressed urgently upon him. People, for their part, saw in Ilesin only what they wanted to see. They were fond of him while they believed he possessed whatever they desired, and when he did not, they hated him for the lack. And so he had never once placed expectation, or faith, in anyone else. Standing thus with people, he had never even considered settling, or growing attached.

But now he wanted to go back to Pobern and make a room. A proper room. He would cut a window where Pobern showed its fairest face, so that it would be there each morning when he opened his eyes.

And if the chance ever came, he meant to ask.

What would you think of trying that room?

A year had passed in that fashion, and Ilesin had succeeded at nothing at all. He was here, at Findrak Castle, to protect a Pobern that might crumble to dust at any moment.

"Have you finished your talk?" Artila asked.

"Nothing important was going to be said today anyway. And I came over now for a reason."

Ilesin offered his hand.

Artila took it with easy familiarity and turned.

"You're asking me to dance?"

"Do you know how?"

"I watched very carefully. My eyes are reliable enough, but I haven't tried it with my body yet, so I can't be sure. I'm hoping I learned to dance at some point in the past."

She matched both her hands to his and stepped farther in.

"First, they start like this."

Artila lifted her skirt in her left hand, brought her right hand to her breast, and bowed. It was convincing. To judge by her expression, she might have been someone who had danced a hundred times, so assured did she look.

"And next."

She took Ilesin's hand, set her own upon his shoulder, and moved her feet. Awkward at the start, she grew adept almost at once, the way a fish succeeds at swimming through unfamiliar water.

"Quite good, aren't I?"

"It's your first time."

"Yes, the first, but I'll do better the next."

"No. I mean that because it's your first time, you don't seem to notice how wretched I am at this."

Artila bit down on her lip, fighting a laugh.

"After the second dance, or the third, your eyes will start wandering toward other men. You'll be thinking you want to escape this embarrassing partner."

"And will you let me go?"

"I could hardly leave it at that. I'll make an effort. If effort isn't enough, I'll appeal to loyalty."

"Loyalty?"

"The loyalty of a man who staked his life, cut through a crisis, and came back. Take a good look. Dancing like this, I haven't a chance of finding anyone else."

"And still you wanted to dance?"

"With you."

"Is it fun, dancing with me?"

"It's special."

Artila asked, her eyes bright with expectation.

"Special to what degree?"

"Your gaze is like warm rain soaking a field in spring, and your breath is the spring wind out of the south. Wherever you linger, there will be the fragrant scent of green."

Artila laughed.

"Am I really so extraordinary?"

"Yes."

Her eyes sparkled.

"Artila, I want you to find your place."

"I want to."

"I hope that place is beside me."

"If you offer me a good place, I'll sit."

Ilesin drew his arm in. Artila's brow came to rest against his shoulder.

"What sort of place do you like?"

"I don't have a past. I can't even begin to think of what it is I want."

"You already have three months of a past. Don't you?"

"A little longer, and it will be a hundred days."

"When next year comes, it will be a year. Once you finally know what would suit you, tell me. Any time."

"All right."

No one can choose what part they will play, or when they will step onto the stage, or when they must leave it. Tragedy becomes comedy, and comedy becomes tragedy, and sometimes the thing collapses into pure disaster and ends without warning. A radiant lead vanishes and a clammy villain succeeds; a hero thought gone comes back again. However many players come and go, the stage never truly ends. Someone ascends, someone descends, someone is dragged down, someone is flung on from nowhere, and the stage of the world goes on.

"Ilesin."

"Yes."

"I'm always grateful to you."

"Don't be grateful."

"...Why?"

"I don't want to be thanked and settled with, one thing at a time. I hate the thought that everything you do for me is payment for something else."

"That sort of thing is dangerous."

"Why must everything always be so dangerous?"

"I'm saying you and I are not people who need to keep a tally."

"And so?"

"That is something special. To give while you trust, and to receive while you trust. That is special."

"Then... so long as it's special, that's enough?"

For an instant Artila seemed to have lost the power of speech altogether.

"In any case, the most foolish and fragile I have ever been in all my life, I have already shown you. It could hardly be more special than that."

"That was months ago."

"It's because of you that I'm still alive months later. I mean to be grateful my whole life. All the life I have left will be thanks to you."

"Then... forget it."

"Forget a kindness?"

"Yes. Just... just forget it."

"Well now. That won't do. You saved a man who means to cling to you for the rest of his life, paying out the worth of the life you gave him."

Not that the moment had left him any choice.

That was when it happened.

Artila flung her head up. It was a look Ilesin had seen more than once. He knew very well what followed when it came over her.

"Danger...," she said, the word rushed.

"Danger has come."

"Where?"

Artila pointed toward the entrance.

"There."

A man was staggering up from the far end of the corridor. He barely reached the entrance before he stopped, shaking from head to foot. Screams and groans began to rise. Blood was pooling beneath his legs.

"A demon," he said, in a voice cracked open.

"A demon has appeared!"

Terror froze the people in the banquet hall, and then a fearful stir ran through them.

A demon?

Why a demon, of all things?

And how was the man even standing? Both legs were bent the wrong way, and his waist was arched backward. He stood like a doll badly jointed together, then lurched once more and came on toward the Duke of Findrak.

"A d-demon has appeared! The p-patrol—the patrol has been taken prisoner, taken prisoner! Lady Benislava has been seized as well. She's a captive!"

Turvena stepped forward.

"You're telling me my daughter has been taken prisoner."

"Yes! I s-saw her being dragged away!"

The man twisted his body and looked about. His head whipped this way and that. At that ghastly sight people groaned, or flinched and drew back. His rolling eyes stopped dead on Ilesin. In them Ilesin saw hatred and fury burning like flame.

Magic.

A powerful magic of the mind lay upon the man. His soul was bound to another's, and he was being driven. He flung up a hand. One fingertip leveled at Ilesin.

"Ilesin!"

Every face in the hall turned toward him.

The voice was hideous, like iron dragged across iron.