Chapter Text
Beware the Skull with eyes veiled
Hidden by the smile of the moon
*****Anor’el’las’in, Setheneran*****
The Inner Sanctum. The Throne of Stars. The Heart of Setheneran. The Eye of the Void. Anor’el’las’in. This place had many names. Many more in dialects long since lost to the rigorous march of Time itself. Legends and myths swirled around it like vultures finding a fetid carcass.
Setheneran, both the palace and the city cradled in its walls, stood alongside Arlathan as the oldest, having been created before the Empire. Before Anbanal had its own name—and was stripped from her House—it stood as the Heart of Clan Amelanen’u’vunen. But just as Time tore flesh from bone, so to was her ancestral home ripped and scattered to mongrels.
But young things are forever curious of the unknown. And a city cloaked in darkness? A palace made from the Void itself? That kept the old fortress alive and fed. Even if the tales held but a seedling of truth.
Setheneran was, in fact, enchanted to accommodate the darkest darkness possible so that the Stars may show themselves more freely whatever the time of day. After all, those blessed with stars for eyes had no need for light to see. The brightest the sky would ever get, so long as she drew breath, was dawn’s early light, which would persist throughout the ‘day’ until twilight once more came.
It was not, however, crafted from the Void itself. That would be ridiculous. It merely housed It. Or well, a portion. Here in Anor’el’las’in, the walls themselves were the fathomless void of existence where the stars shifted along their paths, reflected back in the mirror-like floor. The moon drifted along the darkness above as it would the sky outside.
In this sanctum, Belavahni sat beneath the large seedling of Ras’an. Its weeping branches seemed to stretch forever in this limitless space. Bright colors danced upon its boughs with the hundreds of Voidfire lanterns hung amidst its leaves.
One skull for every clan member she lost.
If one looked carefully in the reflection of the room, they might catch a glimpse of each soul honored. They may see their own dead. They might see a bright white void.
Something may see them back.
She lounged in familiar throne, visage fully visible. None in this area could not withstand her. After all, the only living things here were the tree, her beloved Dinvher Thalia and Aridhel, and something much, much older than her. The big cats lazed about on either side of her, in the boughs. Their markings glittered happily in time with the old tree’s colors.
Her shroud lay draped over a limb, dead mist now that it didn’t touch her. She pulled an old comb made from Aridhel’s sheds through her hair. Her aura sank into the depths below her, reaching like roots through her home.
Dead whispers chittered through the air. The old temple hadn’t seen so much excitement in eons, Belavahni mused. She watched with her ever-seeing ‘eyes’ as her House moved about the halls of Setheneran like a swarm of busy ants. The stones themselves echoed the frantic pace as the spirits within them pushed and clamored to know what was happening.
Belavahni chuckled, withdrawing her aura from her home. Young things were always so excitable. Even the Initiates and Lower Priests in the House were enthused, despite not knowing what’s got those closer to Anor’el’las’in so frantic. Like the Dinvher at her side, they smelt blood in the air, so to speak.
Long, long overdue blood.
“Are you not going to join in the fun, Vethari?” she called into the Void around her.
At Its name, the Void stirred.
The heavens moved and shifted, the moon drifted to the center. It shone a beam down onto the dais in front of her throne’s. Stardust swirled with strange colors inside it as the dark waters fled the stones. Brilliant blues danced around fiery hues, the colors coming to life as the moon shone on its own face.
The Veiled Skull revealed Its fanged grin to the light. The mosaic tiles lifted from the ground to hover in front of her. Shadows emanated from them, snuffing out all light but the light from Its own eye: the moon.
She felt the old spirit all around her, just as fathomless as It was the day her face was painted with Its marks. The star between her eyes pulsed as though something tapped it. She dropped her guard, letting It touch her mind, with a chuckle. Vethari was ever the polite one.
Ten thousand voices in ten thousand languages pressed against her mind. It was enough to drive lesser minds mad. She was no lesser mind, though. Nor was she a Voidborn. Void-touched, yes, as all animancers were, but not Voidborn.
As such, Vethari’s whispers would forever be a mystery to her, Its Song forever lost to her tone-deaf ears. But It had other ways to communicate with her. As one might expect from a being of Fate.
Curiosity wrapped around her. An anxious skitter danced along her spine. Though It could guess the cause of the commotion, It wished to hear it from her. The feelings withdrew from her.
“I’ll be headed for Ras’an today,” she told It. “Your severed Wheel finally turned in our favor.”
A flash of hot rage scalded her heart. Or it would’ve had her heart not have been blackened from her own long ago. There was little left inside her that hadn’t succumbed to the rot that infected the wounds given to her eons ago. The same indignant fury that boiled inside the Void’s Heart. The tree turned bloody red and golden orange, like it had caught fire from the spirit inside.
“While the Listener remains unknown, your little song has escaped both his and the Twelve’s clutches,” she continued, braiding one of the thousands of Voidblooms in the room into her hair. The pungent smell of death turned to a sweet perfume as its sap stained the grey of her hair black. “And through a strange series of events, the Illusion has delivered us the perfect opportunity to get him and the little Star in one fell swoop.”
A chorus of hymns erupted from every shadow. Her chest almost vibrated with a purr of contentment. Spiders crawled over her skin with excitement. A deep hole opened between her ribs as though half her heart was ripped out. But light shone at its edges, a tingly sort of numbness ran through her limbs.
Relief.
Happiness.
Joy.
Grief.
Hope.
“This may finally be over,” she whispered. Vethari’s lights erupted into a sea of colors. The stars danced and spun, ones long dead suddenly coming to life. Soon the room was nothing more than a white void with dancing colors, the only shadows emanating from the mosaics and her beloved cats. It showed the sea of Voidblooms that hid beneath the waters among the roots of the old tree.
Thalia purred, claws and spines shifting as she kneaded the air with her large paws. Aridhel chuffed at the joy flowing through the air. Belavahni imagined they would be delighted to see their old masters’ souls once more. Even if the souls were but fragments. Even if she was now their master.
“I thought you might wish to tag along,” she concluded. She gestured to the ornate carved skull. While similar to the traditional skull the other Priests used in Trials and other rituals, hers had a green crystal—Void crystals—in each eye. The tiny carved runes followed the contours of the bones just the same, though hers were painted with blood. The bones themselves had been gilded, shining as bright as dragonbone despite being a gift from her own mother.
The Void’s Heart needed nothing more. The mosaics drifted back down to the floor. The shadows, now glaringly visible, slithered along the floor. It left a trail of flowers in Its wake. Like a snake, It wrapped and coiled over her legs before slipping into the green crystals of the skull.
A series of cracks sounded, fractures in the crystals appearing and bleeding thick black miasma. Even Void crystals struggled to hold the barest hint of Vethari’s spirit, weakened though It was. A greying sprout grew from the cracks. A tiny bud formed. It slowly grew and unfurled the hollowed reed-like petals. The grey turned to blood as darkness coalesced inside the petals.
A beautiful, vibrant Voidbloom grew proudly in one socket, the other still held a now-glowing Void crystal. Shadows settled into the runes. Colors danced inside them as she picked it up. She snapped her fingers. Her shroud lifted and fell over her. The grey mist erupted into a galaxy of colors and stars as its magic draped over hers. She started for the door.
Thalia and Aridhel leapt from their perches as the room once more descended into darkness. One would only know they walked by her side by the glow of their markings, their own stars.
“Let’s go meet our little Star, hmm?”
*****Ras’an*****
Once more they gathered in the dismal throne room. Isen held Mahviiral’s hand as he hid behind Isen’s fine skirts. The dark blue beads on his headdress clinked and clicked when he shook his head, his ears twitching almost like something was constantly tickling them. The pale blue and purple lilies that grew from the beads climbed down the little braid Isen had put in his hair.
He was ordered to make Mahviiral ‘presentable’ that morning. Odd. Given that Sylasha was the one demanding it, not Adahla, Isen already questioned the purpose. That the Queen’s aura was frazzled, flitting about like a squirrel that was trying to find its buried food, and well his stomach had turned to stone.
Not many things could get the Swamp Queen that anxious. He could probably list them on one hand, if he was honest. The constant threat of assassination from your own House, he supposed, tended to make you a bit unflappable.
Still, under the dread, there was curiosity…and there was no real reason for him to disobey. So he found the one decent set of robes Mahviiral was given: black as his mother’s and grandmother’s, with pearl-like branches embroidered throughout. They weren’t ornate and they were much too big, but as the rest of the clothes he had were plain or stained, it was as decent as they were going to get. Thank the Moon, Feli had gotten Mahviiral the headdress as that was probably the only ‘presentable’ thing for court.
Isen sighed away his frustrations about fashion. It really wasn’t the issue he was most upset about, though it was a welcome diversion. It was the meeting itself. He had wished to go find their lost Voidborn and wring answers from his pretty neck, but no.
He had to be here in the oppressive throne room, standing around, waiting for something the Queen of Assassins was jittery about. Why he and Mahviiral had to be there was what he wondered. To give the illusion of a happy family? Show of power?
Or something much worse?
His skin crawled with the thought. Mahviiral’s hand gripped his tighter. He gave him a little pat, willing his aura back into the blanket of sunshine he had taken to creating. He couldn’t truly tell if Mahviiral was as soothed by it as Sulendys seemed to be, but he felt the child lean against his legs. So he was going to pretend it helped.
“The room is so loud,” Mahviiral whined.
Isen glanced down at him. “Loud?” he asked. You could hear a pin drop.
The doors finally burst open, interrupting any reply. A frantic servant panted as they straightened. They drew a deep breath and called, “The Grand High Priest Belavahni of House Amelanen’u’vunen requests an aud—”
“I request nothing,” cut them off. The servant scampered to the side, bowing so low Isen was fairly certain they cracked their spine in half.
Isen shivered as a familiar presence flooded the room. An aura as thick as mountain snow and just as icy filled every nook and cranny of the room and probably even beyond it. It pressed down on all their shoulders like snow on a branch. It completely blinded Isen’s ability, wiping everyone else from his senses, just as a raging blizzard would hide a cliff.
Then in stepped the owner of such an aura. She was garbed in her official Sun Court attire, all golds and reds. While one could not see her shoulders, her Shroud was draped so her stomach—and more importantly, her hands—were visible. It trailed behind her like an ever-shifting galaxy of soft pinks and purples. A matching collection of thick ribbons flowed from her hip, hiding her exposed leg.
Isen had always admired the woman’s sense of fashion. From the flowery flames that embroidered the silk outer robes to the strange crystal bark that covered her bodice with dark raven feathers and strange glowing quills along the neck and hem lines, she always stood far apart from any crowd.
And not just because of the infamous Shroud and its headdress. Though they helped.
What caught his eye this time though, was the strange skull she carried gently in front of her. Priests often had skulls, often ornate ones with weird crystals in them. This one had a dark flower growing from its eye, though. And she held it as one might carry a ritualistic flame or bowl of blood.
Behind her stepped in three veiled Priests, all white with not a speck of flesh to be seen. They stood resolutely at the door, acting more like guards than priests.
“I demand this audience,” Belavahni stated as she walked forward.
The room around them shifted, like the old tree was shaking off its slumber. The room grew darker, if possible. The four Priests glowed brightly against the gloom, like stars. The throne itself creaked and groaned as it twisted. Lights and colors began to dance inside its shadows; the dark wood glimmered like it was made from black pearls.
Sylasha quickly stood and vacated her spot as Belavahni resolutely marched forward. They all bowed low as she ascended the steps. Lights danced from her steps, little wisps dancing around her feet.
As she sat, the shadowy wings of the throne burst into color. They danced and flickered like rainbow flames. Their light bounced off ten thousand mirror shards embedded inside every knot of wood in the room. Isen’s skin crawled. They were far too similar to the eyes of a certain mask.
With a wave of her hand, she bade them raise their heads. How strange the room looked bathed in so much light. And why did it react that way to her? Did every throne change if she sat upon it? Or was Ras’an special?
Isen gave Mahviiral a gentle pat when he ducked behind Isen once more. His ears had quit moving though. Instead, he seemed to be caught in one of his Void stares with the Grand High Priest…not that he could tell where the hell she was looking of course.
She lounged back, crossing her free leg over the clothed one. Her leggings of golden chains and jewels clinked delicately in the silence. She placed the skull upon one of the armrests. “I’ve grown quite tired of your little games, but I will allow you to screech your excuses just this once.”
Isen rolled his lips together to fight off a smile. The old woman had such a mouth on her. Of course, she could probably suffocate them all with just her aura, so he supposed it was warranted.
Sylasha was the first to speak. “Hahren, I assure you, I’ve no clue what this is about. We just received notice of your arrive this morning.” It was strange to see such a stoic woman turn to a frightened girl, like she wasn’t Queen of this palace.
Belavahni snorted. “Oh? No clue?” She mocked. “For a maggot, you are a horrific liar.” Ah, her bug references. Isen got to hear several in his time spent with her House. He was a moth, if he recalled correctly, because he was drawn to bright things…Also stupid enough to go to said bright things. Belavahni was a peculiar person.
Sylasha clicked her mouth shut, frozen to the spot.
“So tell me why my Priests have been turned away, their requests for an audience denied, their entrance into your Hall of Mirrors refused, if this is the first you’ve heard anything amiss?” Belavahni clicked gilded nails against her skull, watching the Queen with a piercing gaze. “You know there is not a single damn House that can deny mine; that we ask is more courtesy than should be given.”
Isen pulled Mahviiral into his side. The aura around them grew heavier, more biting. He focused on sunshine and warmth in response. He rubbed Mahviiral’s shivering arm.
Adahla stepped forward, looking far more meek than she had ever been. “We were not—”
“Silence.” That single word resonated from the very core of the room. It echoed off the crystals, shook the boughs, even rattled the lights. She didn’t even raise her voice or look at Adahla. Yet, she might as well have cast a geas over her. “There is only one spider I care to hear speak and your venomous maw is not it.”
Isen cocked an eyebrow. She was perhaps the only person outside of Feli and the Court to know of Isen’s moniker. Though, he much preferred being called a moth. It had less…growl to it. More like she was annoyed with him, not like she wanted to squash him…which was the tone she gave now.
“My Priest,” Belavahni held out a hand to one of the three by the entrance. They stepped forward with a telltale limp in their gait. They bowed gracefully at being acknowledged. “Tells me they bore witness to something most disturbing while they were here for your…disagreement of custody.”
The two assassins furrowed their brows as though confused. A clever lie, Isen noted.
Belavahni motioned for her Priest to come to the dais. They obeyed without a word, coming to stand serenely at the base of the stairs. Without a command given, they spoke, “I was implored to look after the young child,” they motioned to Mahviiral, “by the Heir’s consort, as he was needed elsewhere. Upon meeting the child, I noted several injuries, which the child confirmed to have been caused by ‘training’.”
Isen’s eyebrows rose to his hair. He had…Suddenly the meeting made sense. His stomach twisted as his heart dropped. He pulled Mahviiral in closer as though he could hide him.
Belavahni turned back to Sylasha. “Children and their welfare are among my House’s chief concerns; by the Sun’s own decree, we are granted access to every thrice-damned hall in every corner of this Empire to investigate these matters.” Her aura could of frozen the sun at this point. “And you think because you sit upon the Scourge’s stolen throne, you can turn us away?”
Isen winced. It was like watching someone bully a puppy. Or scream at a child. Painful and hard to watch, with a small part of him wanting to step in. Yet, as the aura clawed into their limbs, they all stood still.
“We did not mean to cause offense,” Sylasha started. “We have been granted our own rights by the Sun, as you well know.” By rights, Isen was fairly certain she meant the Sun chooses to overlook some abuse of power from Houses like the Lavellans and Myathilens, given the quality and quantity of soldiers they produce.
“Those rights do not extend to children that haven’t yet seen their first century,” Belavahni spat. “You are blessed that the Sun has chosen to be deaf to my counsel regarding this festering, fetid family, for he,” she waved to Mahviiral, “would be the last child to come from a Lavellan womb.”
Bit harsh, Isen noted. Sort of. He was sensing quite a bit of animosity between the two Queens. And it wasn’t just because she was threating a whole House with sterilization. That was just her charming personality really.
While the Grand High Priest wasn’t the most pleasant of people normally, she usually had far more boredom in her posture, like she could not care less about anything or anyone. Like she was a cat.
Looking at her now, Isen saw the methodical cascade of her fingers against her ornate skull, every tendon showing clearly against her skin from how tense her hands were. She did not lounge in her seat; she was sat as though it was her own throne and she was trying some felon.
If he was a betting man, he’d wager his entire wardrobe there was a bit of a story behind this. A personal one.
Belavahni turned her attention to the side. To be specific, to Mahviiral still pressed against Isen’s side. “Little one, come here,” she stated firmly, but surprisingly calm. She did not have the same bite in her voice.
Mahviiral glanced up at Isen with startled eyes. He could only smile down at him. “Go on; she’s not mad at you.” He nudged him forward despite the galloping of his own heart. He knew out of everyone in this room the Priests were the ones least likely to hurt Mahviiral. Still, Belavahni was not pleasant for him to deal with, he couldn’t imagine dealing with her with whatever Voidborns had going on.
The boy slowly scampered up the few steps to stand at Belavahni’s side. His small frame shook whether from nerves or from the sheer pressure of being so close to such an ancient person.
A single golden claw pressed gently against Mahviiral’s temple. A pale light shone from the tip, some spell wrapping around them both. In a second, Belavahni was turning her head slowly back to Sylasha. “My, how the thieving maggots have feasted since I last visited…” She hummed in thought. Without a word said, one of the Priests by the door bowed and exited without a sound.
“By the rights the Stars, Moon, and Sun have given us, House Amelanen’u’vunen revokes all rights granted to House Lavellan over the custody of this child.” The decree came with a loud sonorous crack as though something in the very fabric of the universe shattered. Perhaps something did. Something surely shattered inside Isen’s chest.
“Little one,” Belavahni’s voice shifted back to her more gentle version of malice, “go with Hahren Mitha to collect your things.” She motioned to the Priest who had watched him before.
Isen rolled his lips together. Guilt and panic brought bile to the back of his throat. He had been trying so damn hard to keep a hold of Mahviiral that he had ripped him away instead. They had moved too slow, he had made a misstep, not thinking the Priest would go as far as bring the Grand High Priest down upon their heads.
He watched Mahviiral nodded to something she said before happily darting down the steps to the veiled Priest. His heart twisted sharply. And with the hollow bite of failure came his venom. His petty need to make someone hurt just as much flared.
“If I may, Hahren?” He called quietly once Mahviiral had disappeared. His eyes locked with Adahla’s. He couldn’t sense if she felt even a fraction of his ire or knew what was about to happen, but she dropped her meek heir look for her scowl.
“Yes, little spider, what web do you wish to weave, I wonder?” Belavahni hummed absently. She cocked her head to the side. Her aura pushed at him for a moment. “Ah, not weave, but disentangle, interesting.”
He shuddered at her strange ability to just…know things. “In a manner of speaking. As you are of a higher House and a neutral arbitrator in all domestic affairs, I wish to implore you to verify my right to annul my marriage contract.” All pretty words to say he was finally showing Adahla his hand.
Both assassins sputtered various protests. He ignored them, staring at the ever-shifting Shroud. He felt her aura all around him, no doubt picking up information from his soul or something.
“For their sake,” she waved to the others, “weave your web, little spider; let them see how trapped they are.”
Isen let a wicked, spiteful smile overtake his lips. “The contract I signed stated I was to remain in Ras’an until an heir was born and seen five winters—”
“You have given us no such heir,” Sylasha spat.
“Your daughter nullified the contract within a month,” he shot back.
Adahla scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I did no such thing.”
“You slept with another man and bore his child, not mine,” Isen ‘helpfully’ clarified. “And do not give me your song and dance about being assaulted, I heard you scheming after his birth; you were far too excited to have him.”
“I did not claim him as my heir, though; your half of the contract still stands,” she tried. A low, dark chuckle bubbled out his throat at her words. Had he been from any other House, she would’ve been correct. Most contracts not drawn up by a Syriannas Librarian or Archivist would allow for infidelity so long as the bastard wasn’t claimed.
Such a shame, then that he belonged to his House. For her anyway.
“The contract stated, and I quote, you may only claim the first child born to you.” His smile grew more vicious. “And any child born outside our contract would release me from my duties. Fourth paragraph, fifth line, page three.” A bit of twisted glee wrapped around the blisters on his heart as Belavahni threw her head back and laughed.
“One must always read a Syriannas contract thrice,” she declared.
“I’ve only stayed this long because of Mahviiral; my family allowed the contract to stand in hopes our union might produce an heir of my own. Contracts are just so damn bothersome to draw up after all,” he drawled on. “And yet we can no longer stand these insults to both honor and intelligence.”
Sylasha cut her daughter a dark glare when she opened her mouth to speak. One that read ‘I’ll cut out your tongue myself if you speak again’. Such a lovely family. “And what insults have we given you?” she bit out around her clenched jaw.
“Your daughter poisons her womb each time I lay with her,” Isen said with an almost flippant tone like it was obvious. “As to the why, I imagine it has something to do with her wanting to draw the contract out as long as possible.” He shrugged. He really cared little about the motivations.
“Hmm,” Belavahni interrupted. “How can you be sure her womb was not tainted with Void, little spider? She has given life to a Voidborn after all.” Her tone was…not necessarily playful as it was obvious she knew the answer. Smug perhaps. Maliciously smug.
Isen’s eyes fell on Adahla as she stewed in silent fury. His smirk grew. “They ought to train their servants to be as silent as their assassins.”