Chapter 64: 63. Second Betrayal

“Mama! Help! Please! Let me go! Mama!”

The blade pressed hard against Corvo's throat. One wrong move would have been enough. One wrong move, and his throat would have been slit.

Dorian kept the blade still, his wrist against Corvo’s jaw, his arm locked in place over his shoulder. Every step down the stairs rocked it into his skin. It was cold and sharp, but it didn’t cut him yet. Dorian kept him too secure for that.

They were locked together. There was no chance of getting away.

“Don’t try to fight it,” he said. “There’s no need for that. Don’t move.”

His voice came firm and confident. He had done this before.

Corvo screamed for help again, but when Dorian’s grip tightened, he followed the directions. He nodded and the blade tugged at his neck.

They proceeded. Dorian limped. He held half of Corvo’s weight, and he gasped and grunted with each step. He was injured badly. He should have been in bed. Instead he continued onward.

Corvo couldn’t think of anything. His mind was blank. An animal urge to yell and flee had its grip on him at first, but as they came to the second story landing, even that disappeared. Men were intimidating, and Mother always warned that they could be dangerous; yet Dorian had been different. It was impossible to imagine that he would do something like this. Not really, even after all the fighting—it didn’t make sense.

He was certain a demon had taken Dorian’s face. Or he was possessed. Or it was a trick of the Shadow Man. It couldn’t be what it seemed to be. Or, if it was, there was more to it, and he wouldn’t be harmed in the end.

Trito appeared around the bend of the stairs. Dorian halted at sight of him, pulling Corvo backward and lifting his head to make the knife clearly visible.

“Not a step closer!” he shouted.

Trito stopped.

Mother appeared next. Then Aletheia. They all stared in silence. It was a long, marked only by breath and unflinching stares.

“Your spell has lapsed,” Trito said to Mother.

“So it would seem,” Mother said. Her voice was low and directed and cold and calm. But Corvo could see that she was not calm. In that moment she would have killed Dorian without any hesitation, and Trito for good measure, if only she could have. “You are making a horrific mistake.”

“The mistake was finding you in the first place,” Dorian said. “One I doubt I’ll regret for much longer, no matter what happens. I said no closer! I’ll do it, girl!”

He sneered at Aletheia, who had come toward them along the wall. At his voice she stopped in her tracks.

“You would have been spared,” Mother said. “I intended to keep my word. Yet now you have tied your own noose.”

“So I have,” Dorian said. “But I reckon the noose was tied the moment we stepped foot in this lunatic place. I’m dead no matter what. At least there’s a chance, this way.”

“How can you do this?” Aletheia whispered.

“Believe me when I say I’ve done worse than threaten a child in my long life. You know I’m telling the truth when I say I will do it.” He raised the knife so that the point pressed into Corvo’s jugular.

Corvo cringed and closed his eyes. He whispered, “Mama. Help.”

“Let him go,” Mother said.

“I will.” Dorian pushed Corvo forward as he took another step. “Believe me, I will. I don’t want to hurt the lad. But I will if you make me.”

“What do you want?” Mother hissed.

“Good. Let’s talk business.” Dorian thought over his words carefully. “This has gone on long enough. I want to leave. Now.”

“That is impossible. There is no way out.”

“There is. You've been keeping it in your pack for days. You found that scroll, in the vault. The teleportation spell. I want you to use it on me. We’ll go into the gardens, and you’ll send me back to Katharos. And that will be that.”

“You know you are dead the moment we step outside,” she said.

“That may be,” Dorian said. “But are you confident enough in your magic that I won’t slit his throat in the time it takes to turn me to ash? Or in the length of a polymorph? I wouldn’t be, if I were you. Keep moving. Down the stairs.”

These instructions came in a different tone, but the others obeyed. When Corvo looked he saw them backing down the steps.

“Threatening a child is not a memory most men wish to live with,” Trito said.

“Oh, shut up, you white-eyed fool. This doesn’t concern you.”

“It does. I have taken the boy under my protection.”

“Then you’ll bloody well do as I say to make sure he stays breathing!” Trito didn’t reply. They continued downward. “That’s it. Just like that.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs. Corvo spotted Neiaz in a doorway, staring on blindly, while Pherenike stood on the steps over them and watched from a banister.

“He means it,” Aletheia said slowly. Like she couldn’t believe it. Like an epiphany. “He would kill Corvo.”

“I will,” Dorian said.

"There is no choice," Trito said. "Do as he says."

“Using the scroll will destroy it without imparting it into my Essence,” Mother said. “We will have no way back ourselves. Corvo will be stranded here.”

“Then send him with me,” Dorian said. “I promise I’ll keep him safe once we’re back in the city. I care for him enough to do that much.”

“Yet no more than that,” Mother said.

“Frightened by the real me? You should be. I’m not neutered anymore. And I don’t care about what happens to any of you bastards if it’s my life on the line. Can’t believe you ever tricked me into thinking I did.”

Corvo strained hopelessly against Dorian’s wrist as he was distracted. But there would be no escape that way.

“Make your choice, Eris,” Dorian said. “Will you risk your son’s life for a spell? Or will you pay my ransom and keep him alive for certain?”

“We know his intention is honest,” Trito said. With emphasis he repeated, "Do as he says."

“You won’t get away with this,” Aletheia hissed. Rage descended on her suddenly, and Corvo had never seen her so angry. “You’ll wish you had been killed by a demon when we get to you. I’ll conjure beetles in your mouth. I’ll burn your arms off. I’ll turn your tongue to ash. You’ll die screaming unless you let him go now!”

She shouted the final word and stepped forward, but Mother raised an arm to her shoulder. She pushed her backward.

Mother kept her mouth tightly shut. Her chest heaved quickly as she breathed far faster than usual. Her hands were clenched, and veins showed through her cheeks.

“We will do no such thing,” she said, intense but measured. “The scroll is upstairs. We will do as he says. I will retrieve it now.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Dorian said. He heaved Corvo upward. “Really. Take your time. There’s no rush.”

As the others moved around him, Dorian retreated into the corridor, where his back was to the banded entrance to the tower.

Aletheia went to follow Mother. But Dorian pressed the knife harder into Corvo’s skin, saying, “No. Not you, Aletheia. You’re going to go get your bow. We can’t have that. Stay right here.”

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She stopped. He must have guessed right, because her face contorted from raw fury to pure hatred. She stared at him like her eyes were weapons.

“I mean it,” she whispered. “This time there won’t be mercy.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Dorian said. “And from prettier girls than you. But your threats don’t mean much, because you’re going to die in this blasted city, and I’ll be cozy at a hotel in the Silver District.”

They quieted. Mother returned presently. She moved quickly, and in her hands was the glowing scroll of Mass Recall.

Right now it did not glow. It was a normal scroll, with nothing arcane to it.

“It is here,” she whispered. “I will use it. The scroll will be destroyed.”

“Good. You’ve made the right choice, for everyone. Open the doors for me. You, child. Open the doors.”

He gestured to Pherenike. She was terrified as she watched, and at the acknowledgment of her presence, she swiftly did as instructed. She ran past them and to the gate, which she pulled open.

A cold breeze hit them. Corvo closed his eyes again.

“The garden—is it protected, too?” Dorian asked.

“Yes,” Trito said. “But I can disable those charms with a command word.”

“Good. Do it. We’ll do it there, in the open.”

Dorian led the way. He dragged Corvo backward across the threshold, so that he and the others were always staring directly at one another. When they were at last in the open again, Dorian held his arm around Corvo with complete poise. He was ready to plunge the knife into his neck at the briefest provocation.

Corvo cried. But when he looked up, through tears, he saw that the scroll in Mother’s hands had begun to glow anew; and Mother’s eyes were no longer brown, but golden again, and so too were Aletheia’s golden instead of green.

“We'll all be stuck here without that scroll," Aletheia said.

“There is no choice,” Mother said. And for the first time her eyes drifted from Dorian and to the paper.

Everybody held their breath. Mother pulled the scroll taut. She looked it over, and she began reading aloud.

And Dorian screamed.

There was no spell. No one moved. Aletheia did not do anything, nor did Pherenike, nor Trito. But Dorian screamed, and he let Corvo go.

“Oh, Kings!” he screamed. “What have I done!”

Corvo jumped instantly to Mother. He wrapped himself around her before hiding behind her legs. He sobbed into her knees and gasped for joy at being alive.

Mother stopped the spell at once. She dropped the scroll and grabbed Corvo, heaving him upward, and she began to cry, too.

“I am sorry,” she whispered in his ear. “Please forgive me. I am so sorry, Corvo.”

The others jumped to action. Trito pounced on Dorian and wrenched the knife from his hands, and Aletheia tackled him to the ground. She drew a dagger on her belt and put it to his neck, pinning him beneath her weight.

He kicked and fought. But between his injuries and Trito’s size, he was subdued easily.

Mother turned to look at him. And her tears dried instantly, and she glared.

“Kill him,” she said.

Aletheia obliged. She pressed her dagger to his neck and drew it lengthways, cutting into his skin.

But Dorian still thrashed. He screamed senselessly, saying, “What have I done! Kill me! Kill me!”

She hesitated.

“What have I done—what have I—Kings, what did I do—”

Aletheia deflated. She sneered at him and cut another small slice into his throat, growling, screaming, but she stopped herself. She pulled her dagger away.

“The spell is back,” she said. The fury had left her voice.

“Your Aether-damned spell!” he wailed. He sobbed between his spasms, and he hit Aletheia on the head. She cringed and stood up, and so did Trito. “What did you do to me—get out of my head, you bitch!”

Trito backed away. He glared at Mother. “Death would be merciful compared to what your magic has done to him,” he said. “Your spell is foul. Even a murderer does not deserve to have his mind twisted by magic.”

“Many murderers deserve far worse,” Mother spat back, adjusting her grip on Corvo as he continued to cry. “Yet I will take your counsel this time, elf, and be content with death alone.”

Dorian rolled onto his side. He sobbed into his hands, grasped at his bloody throat, and went limp as his chest heaved.

His tears were louder than Corvo’s.

“He let him go,” Aletheia said. She sheathed her dagger and put her head in her hands. “He let him go.”

“Yet not for sense of charity," Mother said.

“What was I thinking?” Dorian said. “Why—Aether, forgive me, Corvo. Don’t look at me. Just—just kill me! You bitch! Kill me and get it over with!”

Trito looked to Mother again. “What did your spell do?”

“It was a guarantee of protection,” Mother said. “Nothing more.”

“But what did it do?” Trito said again.

Mother tightened her grip. She cradled Corvo’s head. He was so big that he barely fit in her hands, he wouldn’t for much longer, but for now she held him with the strength of ten women.

Her chest quivered as she told the truth:

“It was a love spell,” she said. “Of fatherly love. So that he would regard Corvo as his own son. I knew I would need nothing more than that to ensure his safety.”

“I tried to—I nearly—I would have—” Dorian said. “How could you do this to a man? How?”

“Quite easily,” Mother sneered. "I only regret that I did not go further."

Trito stepped back. “He thinks he would have killed his own son. A fitting punishment. He will need to carry the guilt he feels until his death.”

“Indeed he will, for his death is forthcoming.” Mother finally sat Corvo down, and she pulled a spell into her hands. Lightning arced between her fingertips as she stepped toward Dorian on the ground.

“Guilt and sorrow are more devastating punishments than death,” Trito said.

“Not true.”

But Mother hesitated as she stepped over him. The electricity in her gasp fizzled away, and she did nothing but stare.

Dorian writhed on the ground like a dying man abandoned on a battlefield. He cried like an orphan who had lost his mother. He floundered like a captured animal

Mother shook her head. Corvo crept up behind her.

“He is beyond trust now,” Mother said. “It is either we who kill him, or he is cast into the city to die. There is no other option.”

“She’s right,” Dorian said, his mouth muffled with his bicep against his teeth. “It’s over. End it. Not—just end it. Me, or your damn spell. I can’t—I can’t take it.”

Aletheia screamed. She had drifted toward the apple tree, but now she lurched back over toward him, growling and reaching out as if to strangle him. But she stopped before she reached him.

“I hate you,” she whispered. “How could you do this?” And she closed her eyes and looked to Mother. “We could still use him. He could still help us.”

“It’s too late,” he said. “It’s too late. You can’t trust me. I can’t trust myself. I don’t—I don’t even know who I am. It’s your damned magic, I can’t—get out of my head!”

Silence.

“After all this time,” Aletheia said. “After all we’ve been through. It can’t have counted for nothing. We can’t—we can’t kill him. Not when he’s like this.”

“And what if he tries this again?” Mother said.

“Then we’ll be ready. And he can stay out here, while we stay inside. And never let Corvo leave our sight again until he’s as old as I am. But Eris—we still need help. We’ll need him. What if there are orcs? Or more goblins? There are only three of us.”

“Don’t,” Dorian said. “Don’t take me with you. Kill me—kill me, or end your spell, but don’t make me come with you. Please.”

"If you truly wish to die, beg instead to be spared," Mother spat. But her breath finally slowed. Tears trailed down her cheeks. "There is no choice."

She leaned down to him.

"I will make it swift. That is mercy enough."

Corvo grabbed her arm.

“Mama,” he said. “Don't!”

Mother twisted around to look at her son. She smiled in surprise at his voice and fell to her knees. She blinked and more tears ran in rivulets beside her nose. A hand brushed away Corvo’s hair—it had grown very long.

"I must, my son," she said.

"He's sorry! Look!"

“Apologies are not enough. Some people cannot be spared.”

“But he’s our friend,” Corvo said quietly. “He still has to teach me swords. And horses. And tell me the story about the dragons!”

Mother’s forehead fell against his as her neck went loose. She exhaled with a quivering chest.

“Friends do not last forever,” she said. “I am sorry.”

When she looked up again, he saw her eyes gazing into his. Always Corvo trusted her to make the right decisions, and he tried to do the things she said to do. But he knew in that moment that he had been right—that Dorian hadn’t wanted to hurt him, that something had been wrong, and now things could be right again.

“I don’t want Dorian to go,” he said, as his own tears returned. "He didn't mean to hurt me. He didn't mean to."

Mother sighed. She closed her eyes.

Suddenly she stood. She pulled Corvo behind her legs and glared down at Dorian.

“This is the second time my son has spared your life,” she said. “You are lucky he takes after his father. For I would sever your head and carry it with me on a pike, were he not here to temper my wroth.”

“I don’t want to be spared! Just—just let me die, woman!” Dorian said. “Just let me die.”

She looked over him. Her back straightened. She thought for a long while.

“No,” she said. “I will not.” To Trito she said, “We are protected from demons here, are we not? It is safe to use magic?”

“It is never safe to use magic,” Trito replied. “But you will find this place safer than any other in Seneria."

“Good. Then you will see how, sometimes, magic is the most merciful option.”

“What are you doing?” Aletheia asked.

“Fixing his mistake. You are right. We will need him. And he will do us no good like this.” She shook her head. “Thus he will forget what he has done. He will forget about my spell. I will extract both from his memory, and his love for Corvo shall remain. Then if he does not die before the Shadow Man is dealt with, we shall see what is to be done with him for good.”

“What?” Dorian shifted upright. “What are you talking about?”

“The Lover’s Bane,” Aletheia whispered.

“A spell of amnesia,” Trito said.

“Amnesia?” He sat upright. “You can’t—you can’t take my memories! No! Just end it!”

Dorian glanced around the garden. He spotted his knife near Trito’s boot, and he lunged for it. His fingers found its handle; and rather than lash out at Mother or Aletheia, he brought it to his own chest.

But Mother waved her hand and pulled it from his grip. It went flying over the wall and out into the ruined city.

“I can,” Mother said. “And I will. Thus you will serve me yet." Her confidence had blazed like the sun as she explained her new plan, but now she seemed to falter. She looked near tears again. She seemed very sad. "I once respected you, as a man. As a lover. Perhaps even as a father for my son. But no longer. You are now my slave. You are nothing more than Gob. And you will sleep in these gardens henceforth, like a dog, until we have need for you again."

Weeds sprouted under him and grabbed his arms and ankles. He jolted upright, grabbed by invisible hands.

“Aletheia!” Dorian shouted. “Don’t let her do this to me! Just kill me! You let that bastard Melitas go—spare me too! Kill me! You said you would! Do it!”

Aletheia shrugged. But she said nothing. Instead she came to Corvo and took his hand.

“Come on, Corvo. Let’s go inside,” she said. “I don’t want you to see this.”

Mother stepped the other way, until she was looming over Dorian.

“I have had my memories extracted once before,” she said as they walked away. “Do not fret. It only hurts for a moment. Then you shall be as good as new.”

Trito followed after Corvo and Aletheia. He sighed and pursued them to the gate, then over its threshold.

It slammed shut behind them. Then all Corvo heard were screams, as Dorian pleaded to be killed. They echoed quieter and quieter, until he and Aletheia reached the stairs. Then Corvo could hear no more.