IX. We Two Unhappy

It was, by all accounts, a perfect ceremony. The groom was handsome, the bride beautiful, and both seemed happy. Holland sat through it quietly near the Lord Protector and his wife, her throat knotted closed as a sea of increasingly familiar, conflicted emotions raged muted inside of her. She found herself looking down at her hands for most of it, though she forced a smile and clapped at the appropriate times. A strange tension filled her body, almost expectant, like she was about to go into battle. There was no fight to be had, however.

It couldn't have been over soon enough.

The ceremony gave way to celebration as the wedding party moved back to the palace from the temple district, the sounds of the whole city having a good time riotous and joyous at the same time. It was something to be excited about, if only because it broke up the drudgery. Holland lingered on the fringes of the party, watching with wine in hand. She couldn't help being a grim-faced specter, though she made an effort to smile whenever Seva looked her way.

The foreign delegations approaching didn't really grab her interest at first. The red and gold of Genev, the blue and white of Talin, both passed by her without much notice. The next, however, prompted someone to grab her elbow tightly. Holland looked over to see Cadeyrn looking exactly as grim as she felt. "Holland," he said urgently. "Are those your Imperials?"

She looked over. There were six people approaching, their clothes markedly different from the eastern dress that filled the room. Instead of tunics and tabards, they wore uniform jackets with actual buttons and pants with pockets. Their boots were polished to a shine. There was one woman in the group, out of uniform, wearing the crimson of a painted woman. She was olive skinned and almost painfully beautiful except for the marring brand on one cheek, elven nature plain in the angles of her face. She was curvaceous for an elf, potentially a mark of a touch of human somewhere in her blood. As soon as Holland's mind registered the identity of the man whose arm the painted woman was on, she felt a blistering surge of hate course through her body.

He was a man of proud, aquiline features and a disarmingly handsome smile, dark eyes currently focused on the newlyweds. Instead of the charcoal uniform of his guards, he was wearing a set of armor in the style of Holland's with swirling dark patterns blending with the silver metal as if it had been treated with smoke in particularly aesthetic curls.

"Presenting Immortalis Laenus Nasica and Lady Naris Velane, representing the Princes of Iron," someone announced. Holland didn't even notice who. She just knew that absolutely hated name had just been said in her presence. She thought she'd laid her anger to rest, but apparently it lived on in full spirit.

"Welcome," Fionn said graciously.

"We come bearing good wishes, Your Highness," Laenus said with that smile. "We have heard much of your court in the west and accordingly my liege lords wished to extend an olive branch to you and your kingdom on this happy day."

"Thank you," Seva said, though her answering smile was a cautious one.

The wineglass in Holland's hand shattered when her fist tightened, piercing through the music as a sudden, discordant note. The crystal biting into her hand felt altogether too good. The people who had been murmuring their surprise looked her way, startled. So did Laenus.

He went white. "I did not realize I was in the company of a ghost," he said after a brief moment of stunned silence. "Hail, Invicta."

"Laenus," Holland said curtly. People between them actively moved out of the way. She switched languages seamlessly, her native tongue coming to her as if she'd never stopped speaking it. "Are you the servant now of all of the Seven of Iron, cur? I am certain that the Divine Prince is so pleased."

"Do you know this man, Holland?" Seva asked, concern for a moment eclipsing her happiness.

Holland could feel blood dripping down from her hand. "We were acquainted," she said. If looks could kill, Laenus would have been at the bottom of the worst pit of hell.

"I'm certain that on this day of days, we can leave bygones as bygones," Laenus said, recovering himself as quickly as she knew he would. He had a certain grace to him. "Besides, I understand that the east is famed for its hospitality."

Within the confines of her own mind, Holland cursed him and the entire bloodline that had resulted in him with every vile epithet she knew. Laenus was right. Fionn would let no harm come to him while he was staying here. Her hot temper was still very near to boiling over. She could stand, though she didn't know how, seeing Seva marry. She could stand, though she didn't know how, knowing she had ended Galeo's life. She wasn't certain she could stand this too, not when her mind was supplying her with memories of the humiliation and pain that were being broken on the saltire in view of everyone. Even the people who supported her had been forced to keep silent by the magnitude of the shame. The proud Invicta reduced to so little, completely at the mercy of one who had never reached those heights of favor. It was not the blaze of glory her life deserved to end in, no matter how defiant she had been to the end.

"It is," Fionn said. "Lady Penitent, if you cannot control yourself, leave."

"There will be no problem, Your Highness," Holland said, her tone coming out flat and just shy of disrespectful.

The prince glared, but he didn't say a word about it. His quiet on the subject was probably some small deference to his new wife. At that, however, the celebration awkwardly resumed, gaining momentum gradually until it was back in full swing. Laenus and his lady escort took a seat at the table at a respectful distance from Holland, their guards lingering in the area.

"Are you alright?" Cadeyrn said, offering Holland one of his wife's handkerchiefs for her hand.

Holland plucked a shard of glass out of her wound and then took the handkerchief, her blood staining the white cambric a brilliant crimson. She had cut her hand in quite a few places. "Well enough to kill him," she hissed venomously. Cadeyrn almost recoiled in surprise. He had come to know Holland as a relatively genial, if usually somber woman. Hatred was not an emotion he associated with the Lady Penitent.

"Careful that the prince doesn't hear that," he cautioned her.

She forced herself to swallow the worst of the bile rising in her throat. "I'm not going to ruin today with violence, Cadeyrn. I know better and Her Highness deserves better," she said, trying to bind up her hand awkwardly. The Lord Protector stopped her and carefully tied it for her.

"What did the man do?" Cadeyrn asked, unable to help himself.

"Enough," Holland said shortly. She didn't want to go into the ugly details with anyone, let alone Cadeyrn. He respected her and she had no desire to lose that respect. Objectively, she knew that he wouldn't care or understand what it meant, but her knee-jerk reflex was to conceal the invisible wound.

He nodded, understanding the limit. "I'm going to go see to my wife," he said. He felt bad for Holland, but he knew there was little he could do to help her soothe her temper. "Perhaps some garden air would do you good?"

"Perhaps," Holland said with a nod. She waited until he had departed and no one was watching to slip out into the garden, where she could sit down on one of the benches and brood.

Well, almost no one.

It was only a few minutes before she was no longer alone in the garden. Holland heard the sound of snow crunching under feet and looked up from the bloody hand she had been scrutinizing. There was the elf, moving as gracefully as her kind were expected to. Her almond-shaped, piercingly green eyes were fixed on the penitent. "Greetings, Invicta."

"That is not my name any longer," Holland said. She didn't have anything against the woman, so she kept her expression and her tone neutral. It would have been unfair to vent her anger on this stranger. The woman had had no hand in what happened so long ago. Besides, elves were dangerous and making an enemy of them never ended well. They had memories that could stretch over centuries, far longer than even Holland could hope to live without the intervention of Saraqael.

"Ah, forgive me. Holland Cea Trădată, yes?" the elven woman said with a small smile, showing pearly teeth. She was so perfectly lovely and symmetrical that it was almost unsettling to look at her. "I have heard much of you in rumor and story. It is...interesting to see the real thing."

Holland stood up. "I've changed," she said. "I don't imagine that I measure up anymore."

"The more we change, the more we stay the same," Naris said philosophically, watching with a certain catlike interest. "I think you're still quite impressive. Laenus certainly considers you a threat."

"As he should," Holland said bluntly. "He'll be missing you by now, no doubt. He never did like his company out of easy reach."

"He is a man of...appetite," the elf acknowledged. "But you are not him. You are a creature whose vice is secrets. I find that compelling."

"Then I'm certain you'll be entertained the entire time that you're here, Lady Naris," Holland said cautiously. She didn't like hearing that an elf was interested. With their glamor, they could affect the senses and the mind. Naris was likely more master of Laenus than the other way around, no matter what her brand implied.

The elf laughed, a silvery sound that lingered in the winter air. "I think you don't trust me," Naris said, green eyes alight with an inner fire. "Or perhaps you do not trust yourself?"

"It's been a long day," the penitent said with a sigh. "If you were in my position, you would be brusque as well, Lady Naris."

"I hope we can overcome that," the elf said smoothly. "I'm very interested by this land. Perhaps you, as a bridge between worlds, could educate me."

Novelty was what elves craved above everything else. It was the danger of living such a long time. Holland avoided that trap by constantly traveling and seeking out new things, but her lifespan was shorter and her aging would begin again in the near future. Naris, however, would remain perhaps forever young. It wasn't a surprise that this elf was so intrigued by the unknown. Anything was better than the perpetual boredom that motivated the cruelties of the fey elves. As a captive, Naris probably wasn't that old, but even that meant she likely had a century or two behind her.

"We'll see," Holland said. She avoided promising anything to this creature.

"I look forward to learning," Naris said with a slight, almost sly smile.

Holland nodded and exited the garden, almost colliding with Seva. "Sorry," she said quickly, steadying the noblewoman with her good hand. She was careful to keep her bloody one away from Seva's white dress. "Shouldn't you be with your husband, my lady?"

"Art thou well?" Seva asked with concern. "Lord Cadeyrn told me that thou hadst taken refuge in the gardens."

"Recovering," Holland assured her friend. It was some small solace that Seva clearly cared what happened to her. She could feel Naris's eyes on her, scrutinizing every move and absorbing every word. "Why don't we rejoin everyone else?"

Seva nodded, much to Holland's relief. She knew her encounters with the elf were far from over, but she could at least escape this one.

When night fell and Seva vanished with Fionn into the royal chambers, Holland felt a melancholy setting in. Laenus had, wisely, retreated to the quarters for foreign ambassadors and taken Naris with him. Cadeyrn and his wife had excused themselves to go home. That left Holland alone. Rather than return to her room to be with her thoughts, the penitent left the palace and made her way to the temple district. She was tempted to go see Ciar, but by the time she arrived at the temple, it was late enough that he was probably abed and sleeping. She walked without really thinking, letting her feet carry her where they willed.

She found herself standing at the door to the Tuama, staring at the symbols on the door. She could hear the whispering again. So much pain, my Ilex... it murmured to her.

Her mind was reeling, unable to decide whether or not to focus on her past or the present. What did she have, really? Laenus had taken her life from her and this empty continuation was just filled with longing that would never be satisfied. She needed a war. She needed an end. The only thing keeping her from seeking it again was the thought of the Imperium coming and putting an end to everything. She rested her still-bloodied hand against the door and felt a tingle start in her hand. There was power in this place enough to bring down the city.

Give yourself to me, my Ilex, and I will give you the world, Deus's voice whispered again.

Holland wanted to crumble and give in so badly. She put her back to the door and slid down to the ground, tipping her head back to look up at the plain arch of the ceiling. She missed her old life. It had all seemed so simple then. Obedience. That one virtue was the only thing that mattered in the world. If the Imperial delegation had been anyone other than Laenus, she might have begged for them to take her back. Saraqael had removed her doubts with the ease of a surgeon with a scalpel. She had never wondered if what she was doing was right. The certainty had burned in her like magnesium set aflame, so bright that it banished any fear. That zeal was what made an Immortal what they were, even more than the augmentations of their respective prince or the breeding that went into them.

You know you want to...

She covered her face with her hands. She'd known that life outside of the Imperium and her own little world of following instructions to the letter would be hard. She just hadn't realized it would be this hard. "I know I want to," she snapped at the empty air.

"Lady Penitent?"

She let her hands fall so she could see who was speaking. It was Ardashir, the hooded knight who had let her into the Tuama when she came with Seva to Tamaris. He was standing there with a bottle of something, looking perplexed by her presence. "Sir Ardashir. I'm afraid I'm not at my finest at the moment," she said with a sort of dry humor. "What brings you down here? You must not be on duty if you're drinking."

"No, I came down here to be alone, but I heard you," Ardashir said. He looked at her quizzically. "Were you talking to someone?"

"Myself," Holland said. "It's been one of those days."

"May I?" Ardashir said, motioning to the ground beside her.

"Be my guest," she said. As much as the penitent hated to admit it, she was craving company right now. Talking to anyone was better than living with the pounding of her own thoughts inside her head. He sat down next to her and offered her the bottle.

"I didn't bring a glass," the young man said apologetically.

She took the bottle with a quick smile. "Doesn't matter," Holland said. It smelled strongly of alcohol, which meant this was no simple wine. It was something distilled. She took a sip from the bottle and felt her throat start to burn like a wildfire. It felt like it evaporated the moment it hit the warmth of her mouth. It was basically rotgut. "Strong. So how has your day been?" It was an inane question, but the sound of a human voice drowned out Deus's whispering.

"I found out my wife is with child," Ardashir said. He looked lost rather than happy and Holland felt a sympathetic pain. She knew where this story was going. "Not mine."

Holland passed him back the bottle silently, knowing that he would need the quiet space to find words. That much she understood.

"I didn't used to feel pain," he said quietly after taking a healthy swig. "They worried it was leprosy, but I have been careful and nothing has ever rotted away. The moment she told me, I slipped with a knife and cut myself and it hurt."

"It does that," Holland murmured.

"What about you?"

"In love with a heart that does not love me back," she answered. She would never be able to tell anyone who, but she could tell a complete stranger that much. Both of them needed someone to talk to.

A silence descended on the two of them as both contemplated what all of that meant. Finally, Ardashir spoke. "We two unhappy souls on a happy day...." he started, letting it trail off.

Holland nodded and accepted the bottle when he passed it back. If she had to go stumbling through the temple drunk to avoid Deus's voice and her own stupid mistakes, she would gladly do it. Riaghán could scold her later. The harsh liquid burned her throat and made her eyes water. She could feel all her worries slowly starting to evaporate with the liquor, though. Just this once, Holland told herself, on this day of days.