Page 49 of Angel in Absentia (Light Locked #2)

She looked up at him, questioning Prince’s story and her own suspicions.

Prince had also claimed that Ryson was ensnared by his own vice much like Prince could not resist the bodies he controlled, or how Alina was an addict of the fear she created.

Ryson truly had believed the Lord of Belgear would be a great man, just as Lord Belgear believed himself to be great.

She tried to unwind the complexity of it in her mind and apply it to her own situation.

If that logic applied again, then Ryson may not believe that he had set a trap for her because he, too, was a part of it.

Carefully, she said, “So, you don’t set traps.

Not really. You help people succumb to those wrong things they already believe about themselves.

Illusions,” she whispered. He fell for the trap too.

No wonder the power was so potent, the vice so destructive.

She wondered then if she could even ask Ryson for a list of things he believed about her, suss out what could be true and what not, but she knew then this battle would need to happen within herself.

Whatever destructive tool could destroy her was not an external enemy but an internal one.

It was a false belief she had that he would only ever bring to fruition.

“There is something you believe about me that I also believe about myself. Something that’s wrong,” she whispered.

“Clea,” he said, “there is no guarantee you’re a victim of this at all, and even then, destruction doesn’t always mean death. It doesn’t have to be bad.”

“It’s orchestrated by cien. It’s a vice,” she pushed. “It has to be bad.”

“Okay, fine,” he consented. “Bad, but not horrible. It doesn’t mean your entire city will collapse, the world will catch fire, and everything you love will crumble into dust. Look,” he said, “once, there was a leader among the Insednians. She was a powerful Venennin, determined to become the best swordsman in the tribe. I saw her sword work and I was absolutely convinced. I wanted to give her every opportunity to prove herself, so I arranged a tournament. She fought and fought, and I brimmed with pride at her victories, and then both of her arms were lopped off. As soon as that happened, it was like I woke up from a dream,” he said, lifting a hand instructively as if reliving the moment.

“I realized, looking back on her demonstrations, that she clearly wasn’t the best!

As soon as she lost her arms, the illusion lifted, and I realized it was my vice at work all along. See?”

Clea stared at him in horror.

“Clea, her arms grew back,” he said. “That’s all she lost.”

“Mine don’t!” she shouted back at him. “And Prince claimed that no one has ever beaten this?”

“Of course, they have. There have been plenty of times I thought people would be great at something, I fed into it, and they eventually proved me wrong on their own without terrible things happening. I’ve also seen plenty of people pursue dreams that came to fruition and I helped them.”

Clea nodded, calming down significantly. “Okay,” she whispered.

“And if they fail, the destruction is only as bad as the dream was big. You’re a rather content person in general, aren’t you? What massive ambitions keep you up at night that the destruction could be so severe?”

“Well,” she started, irritated again, “perhaps the happiness of my city and its survival?”

“Ah.” He grimaced. “Yes, okay, that, but that’s been secured, and look around. Nothing is on fire.”

“Yet! ” she cried. “And considering you believe the lie too, I clearly can’t trust your judgment on this. By cien, it’s your vice.” She shook her head in frustration.

“Yes, I know, I’m constantly disappointed by it,” Ryson replied. “Do you know how many times I hoped for something and it ended up—” He stopped short.

“What?” she urged, stepping closer to him, “Destroyed? Dead? Decimated?”

He grimaced as if he couldn’t deny any of the options. This seemed to be a rather painful conversation for him to have.

She rubbed her face. “Prince was right. We’re ensnared in it. Your attentions are a death sentence, and they’re focused on me and my entire city.”

“Look, I’ve done my best to be a constructive force, but I’ve never hidden that it wasn’t exactly my strong suit. I’ve warned you since the beginning.”

She sighed. He wasn’t wrong. “When I saved your life, I knew perhaps it would be a challenge, that we came from different worlds, but I thought of difficult personalities and occasional spats, not the collapse of kingdoms and the wellness of myself and everyone I love.”

“I think you’re overthinking it.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Clearly, someone needs to, because apparently, you’re an explosive with no sense of its own combustion.

I have to overthink it because you are a Venennin completely subject to his vices, and the chance of you lifting a finger”—she mirrored the movement—“and saying, ‘You know, Princess, the only reason I think you could be a good ruler is because secretly, you ruling means your city blows up, so look out for that’ is very slim, if not impossible.”

“You’ve never believed yourself fit to rule anyway. There is no way you’d delude yourself into thinking that. I think you’re a perfectly adequate ruler, good when you want to be,” he argued back. “That example is a bit dramatic.”

“The fall of the Belgears was dramatic!”

“Because the Lord of the Belgear was a dramatic man. Not to mention, I was also doing you a favor, which by the way, I still have yet to receive any kind of thanks,” he replied. “Look at it this way. This ultimately means the power is all in your hands.”

“Yes, you’ll just be quietly, and completely well-meaningly, nudging me toward the most destructive options,” she mumbled and then something dawned on her.

She looked up at him, inspecting him fully now.

“So, am I to understand that this means that the Warlord of Shambelin is actually, in a lot of ways, very well-meaning?”

He shrugged. “I suppose.”

“History has you very wrong,” she replied flatly. “You’ve been destroying the world with the best of intentions?”

“And damned to do that as long as I breathe air. Quite typical for most people though, actually. Trust me,” Ryson replied.

“Your attentions are a death sentence, and they’re focused on me and my entire city,” she repeated. “By cien, you love me.”

They both stood there obstinately until time softened the space between them. For the first time, she truly believed it. Their connection was real, and just as real were the probable consequences.

“I do suppose,” she started reluctantly, “that perhaps a small thank you is in order.” He tilted his head with a light and pleased curiosity. “Alkerrai,” she added, and he sighed.

It was almost humorous. He was almost humorous, and she realized for the first time that this being before her did seem so much like Ryson, only a version of him no longer burdened by the world. If that was a bad or a good thing, she didn’t know yet.

She did, however, have a lot to think over.

“Goodnight,” she said, leaving him at the end of the road.

“Goodnight,” he replied calmly.

She refused to glance back at him as she headed to Iris’s cottage, but felt the stretch of the distance between them, and wanted nothing more than to go back.

???

Iris’s cottage was warm with candlelight when Clea entered. The windows were fogged. The kettle was already whistling.

Iris was slicing bread on a wooden table in the far corner, dressed in a long, brown dress. Trinkets from Virday and Ruedom, along with several wares purchased from Kalex settlements, hung around the cottage.

Clea didn’t say anything for a while, watching the fire in its hearth as Iris prepared tea with soft clinks of sound in the kitchen. Soon she approached the fire, setting a tray down with mismatched teacups.

“I walk the city,” Clea said, her thoughts and emotions stewing. Her abrupt and firm declaration caused Iris to look up before sliding into a soft chair next to the fire.

“It’s better. It’s—gods, it’s better than before,” Clea whispered. “The wall has been rebuilt at twice the speed, and there hasn’t been a single attack from a beast, none spotted near the walls. Soldiers are with their families. Streets are crowded. I dare say the city has never seemed so lively.”

“But?” Iris prompted.

“The council members heed to him,” Clea said, gesturing to Iris, her worries escalating.

“You should see how some of them hang on his words, and he still gives us all the freedom to exist here. He dictates little but our military efforts, and in that, he is successful. I see my healers healing them freely. I saw an Insednian and a Veilin healer laughing yesterday. Laughing!”

Iris didn’t blink.

“You always sympathized with them. Why hold back now? You aren’t happy? Isn’t this a kind of peace?” Iris asked. “As bizarre as it is, it does seem to work. Ryson seems capable of keeping their natures in check, and they benefit from our healing.”

“His name is Alkerrai, and no!” Clea exclaimed. “Because beneath it all, there is something horrible inside him.”

“And how do you know for sure?”

“Because it is also inside me!” she said, surprising herself.

Silence settled for a long time. The fire crackled.

“My fate, the city’s—both wound tight around each other, tangled in this maze.

If I choose wrong, if I fall for the…illusion—what then?

The problem is, I don’t know what the illusion is .

I don’t know how I’m being deceived, and the worst part is, it is a way in which I am deceiving myself!

” She stared into the flames. “What is my vice?”

The question hung between them, thick and dangerous.

Iris poured a cup of tea. “Well,” she said with a sigh, “let’s figure it out.”

They spent hours pacing and drinking bitter tea, naming vices.

Iris spoke of pride, of love twisted into obsession.

Clea named fear. The fear of loneliness, of being wrong, of failing.

They spoke of subtle strategy, unfettered by judgment, and what the vulnerabilities in the city were, who might be fooled, and even that maybe the illusion was that she would be the one to fall when right next to her might be someone just as fallible whom she’d never noticed in her distracted state.

“Maybe we’re approaching this all wrong,” Iris said at last, rubbing her forehead and yawning.

It was deep into the night by now. Clea had changed clothes and they both lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Maybe this has nothing to do with your weaknesses at all, or doesn’t have to be.

Why play on the defensive? He has weaknesses too, doesn’t he? ”

Clea sat up suddenly and then looked over at Iris. “Iris, you’re brilliant.”

“What?” Iris said groggily, and Clea shook her. “My weakness is his. His weakness mine,” she said, gesturing to her chest before shoving Iris so hard she nearly fell off the bed. “The Solar Solstice Celebration!”

Iris struggled fruitlessly, nearly falling off the bed before sitting up. “What? You’re speaking nonsense. Slow down.”

“I care for him,” Clea said. “I care for him, but I care for plenty of people. He doesn’t.

I am his weakness. He relies too heavily on me as a source of light for him.

He is stronger on the battlefield, but I am stronger here.

When it comes to matters of the heart, this is my world! ” she said passionately.

“Clea,” Iris warned, “I’ve played those games before, and I would not recommend them. Neither party wins at the end of it all.”

Clea’s mind was already filing through plans. Iris watched Clea pace as she rolled out of bed. “The Solar Solstice. Typically, the queen and king sit in audience. Ryson and I will host it.”

“Clea,” Iris warned, “that would solidify him as a ruler here. You would be publicly recognizing his lordship over the people, and even the contract of your own bond. You would essentially be making him king in the eyes of the people.”

“Yes,” Clea said emphatically. “Don’t you see?

He’d never expect it, and it’s clearly not a delusion of mine.

He craves the bond we have. I am water, and all along I thought myself so malleable and capable of being contaminated, but he thirsts with such dread that if I were to invite him into such a role, he would never anticipate any betrayal. I would have the upper hand.”

Iris watched in silence.

“The city is already his anyway, Iris. What does formalizing it really do?” she pushed.

Iris didn’t respond.

“What?” Clea pushed again, getting more restless.

“Say all of this happens,” Iris said, “what you’re suggesting is potent for you both. You—” Iris paused. “You love him, don’t you?”

“I loved, Ryson. Not Alkerrai,” Clea started.

“But—”

“They aren’t the same,” Clea said resolutely. “They are different people now. I just…my heart will catch up in time.”

“But even then, in such a setting. He has been nothing but kind. You’d spend the entire evening together. Drinks. Dancing. He acts, speaks, and remembers like the man you loved. You would be expected to retire together.”

Clea released an exasperated sigh. “Do you really think I’m that pitiful, Iris? He can’t even touch me. He’s sifted. The ansra in my skin dispels the cien in his. My touch would cause him great pain. He can get no pleasure out of it until I heal him.”

Another full pause.

“I need to embrace my nature. You lure out a lion by becoming a lamb. I am not so foolish; I will not be the vulnerability. He isn’t who he was.

I will make myself the apple, and when he bites, I will be poison.

” Clea rolled back into bed with a sigh.

“Besides, unless I can figure out what my own illusion is, I am useless to defend myself. I must strike first.”

At last, the night grew long and the fire low. They lay in the same bed, close and comfortable as the city slept outside.

“So,” Iris whispered, “after all of this, if you didn’t have to think about anything else—what do you want? Your vice. What is your best guess?”

Clea didn’t hesitate. She knew the answer, or one answer, in the marrow of her soul.

“After all this,” she whispered, “I think I want things to be this way forever. Is that wrong? Or is that right?”

There was a silence so long Clea thought Iris had fallen asleep. But then:

“I guess we’ll find out.”