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The King goes by a new name now: Joseph.
Nobody else found it as funny as you, apparently. The irony made you cackle until you were left choking on the floor, clutching your chest and trying to breathe. It took ages to calm down. But, can they blame you??? The House of Change of Dormont sends a letter out of nowhere addressed to the saviors that they’ve apparently unfrozen and taken in The King and, oh, wouldn’t you like to visit? And see how he’s doing? How he’s Changed? Wouldn’t that be fun???
The mere thought makes you lightheaded, buzzing with emotions you dare not touch.
(How thoughtful, the universe is, to give you a second chance to wring his neck!)
HahahahahaaaHa yeah okay!!! Breathe.
So…
You’re all going back to Dormont tomorrow!!! To see The King, reformed!
You love Mira and all of her compassion, but you wouldn’t have minded if she forwent that inclination for just once! She trusts that Head Housemaiden far too much. (Too easily, too willingly, too blindly from a cliff to sea.)
You look to your right. Bonbon is stiff, hunched into themselves ever so slightly. They’re holding Nille’s hand firmly, as if she might float away if they don’t keep her in arms reach, as if they might disappear and land back in Bambouche frozen if they let go. And
And
Well
You are worried!!
Odile is, too! You can see it written on her face, in the creases of her frown, can hear it in the husk of her voice. Her usual book sits buried in her bag as she peers over notes scratched out by her own hand. The last time she studied them so intently was shortly after you last left Dormont, when she was busy recording ancient Craft knowledge and her own findings before the world would forget it again.
She talked to Mira about it a few times. Contingency measures. Just in case. Just in case. And you, you thought about it too. You feel… confident about your contingency measure though, if you need it. It almost worked before. He’s almost nothing of what he once was, now. But you, you. You.
You never let a blade go dull.
Isa sits to your left. You think he’s less worried about The King than he is concerned for the rest of you and your family members. Maybe. He was the one who really tried his hardest to turn down the invitation, day after day, appealing for anyone to object, to Mira, to Odile, to Bonbon, to you.
Because Isa wouldn’t refuse outright himself.
And even though nobody wanted to go, nobody said no.
Bonbon grumbles something to Nille, low and conspiratorial. Nille keeps her eyes on them in return, her free hand gripping her hammer tighter, tighter the closer the wagon gets to Dormont. Odile’s pen scratches at some parchment with clinical attention, thinking, mulling, writing and pausing. You form patterns in the meaningless melody of it. Mira clenches the letter in hand, tracing the emblem of the House of Change with her thumb. Isa takes your hand and squeezes.
You breathe.
Tomorrow, tomorrow, you’ll see The King.
***
Mira breathes in, and out, and opens the door.
His hair drapes down his shoulders to his knees. His face is obscured. His voice still rumbles, but without intensity. In place of star-trimmed armor is a simple dark sweater and leggings. He might be a little shorter than Odile. Certainly not younger.
He’s sitting at a table with room for the rest of you. There’s a book in front of him written in Vaugardian. He closes it and slips it into his arms upon noticing you all.
“…oh…welcome, saviors…”
“…”
“…”
“Oh, don’t be shy!” The Head Housemaiden springs forth from the sidelines, guiding Mira to the table by the hand, “Have some tea at least!”
“O-oh, I—Yes! Right!” Mira straightens up and takes a seat with vigor. The rest of you begrudgingly join her. For such a tall figure, the Head Housemaiden manages to disappear from your sight. To “make tea”, you guess.
…
“…How-how has your time at the House been?” Mira tries. Oh, Mira.
“Oh… it's… been nice. The Housemaidens have been very forgiving… even though I…” he pauses. Upended countless lives and froze everyone in time, maybe? “…Vaugarde is very kind.”
Mira nods, opening her mouth—
Odile cuts over her, “Why did you call us here?
You love Odile.
The King stiffens. A sigh escapes him, and he deflates into his chair, “…to… thank you… for giving me this chance…” He weakly turns to Mira and bows his head, “…and… for letting me see it again, one… one last time…”
Vaugarde, the others will think. You know better.
“…and…” he continues, “… I wished to meet the saviors…” your skin prickles as his gaze sweeps through you all. “…I… would like to…be certain that I will not forget.”
Odile scoffs, “Perhaps we want to. Did you think of that?”
Softly, he says, “…And yet you all came.”
Everyone startles as Bonbon kicks the table’s underside hard, “y-yes—because you-you’re a CRAB!!!! And I HAVE TO TELL YOU HOW MUCH OF A CRAB YOU ARE!!!!! So-SO I CAME HERE! TO TELL YOU! THAT YOU ARE A BIG STINKING CRAB!”
There’s tears on Bonbon’s face. Nille holds them close.
“…I am, indeed… a stinking crab, young one…”
But Bonbon isn’t done, “I HOPE YOU NEVER FORGET HOW MUCH WE KICKED YOUR CRABBING BUTT! AND—AND I HOPE YOUR FOOD IS ALWAYS COLD!!! B—BECAUSE YOU…. YOU… HURT MY SISTER! AND FRIN! AND—AND EVERYONE!! SO I WON’T FORGIVE YOU. STOP ACTING GOOD! You— YOU ARE A MEANIE!! AND—“ They have to stop and swipe at their eyes. Your heart pangs as their words turn into wails. You don’t know how to help. You’re so thankful for Nille as she hugs Bonbon, stifling their sobs into hiccups as they hold her tight.
You look back at the King and see his hands clasped together. You remember when they were plated in steel, curled around and crushing. Crushing—
“Do you remember?”
The King freezes.
The words came from your own mouth. They feel foreign.
He looks at you. You stare at him.
You stare at him.
“…oooooh………oh!…. bright one…!” he nearly weeps, “…briefly, yet forever, I remembered everything… everything…!!… I could see it… the sands… the sky… it all came back… until……. but… bright one, do you…?—“
“Do you remember.”
He lifts his head. His eyes glisten. “…what else is there to remember…?”
You.
Laugh.
“Siffrin??” Someone says. You pay it no mind. You can still hear Bonnie.
'You knew your victory wouldn’t last,' you could say.
‘You knew that something stopped you every time.
You knew what I did.
And one time, I said, ‘Let’s stop fighting,’
‘I know why you’re doing this.’
‘We need to let it go.’’
You laugh again, despite yourself. What an idiot you were.
You can hear your own heartbeat. Bonnie’s sniffles. Isa’s murmurs. You feel your chest twist, your stomach churning and pulling and tugging. Odile inhales sharply. Isa’s hand lands on your shoulder.
‘Don’t remember me. Don’t think about me. Don’t talk about me. You can rot with its memory for all I care. I hope you rot alone.’
You want to stab him and his dumbfounded face. You should have killed him when you had the chance. You should have killed him over and over and over. But you can’t.
So you say nothing.
He must see something in your eye because he winces. You wonder, you wonder, you wonder what he sees.
Maybe he sees your wish. Maybe he sees how it’s twisted, warped, collapsed under its own weight into a terrible consuming darkness. The eyes are the windows to the soul, after all.
He’s smart. You hate to admit it, but he’s competent. He can figure it out. He’ll know. He knew before Odile could even notice.
He saw the way you saw him. He saw how you approached. You think it was the first time that he truly hesitated to fight you. You, alone.
He knows that you’re a monster.
He knows that you hate him.
He knows he touched your family and that you want him dead.
He knows you won’t because your family is here.
Because Mira wants to talk to him. Because Odile wants to question him. Because Nille has some words to say.
And because it’s too late to kill him.
What a shame.
What a shame.
What a shame.
You’ll let your presence sit like a knife to his neck. Silent and pressing and always there. A living piece of his oh-so-painfully loved country. You reject him. You reject it. You let it go willingly, and you can see how it twists the blade deeper into him. Let him bleed out. Let him be haunted until he’s as ghostly and dead as you.
He’ll never find a home. He’ll never find another. He’ll never live to see another family. He’ll never let himself live. What an idiot! What a tragedy! What an awful thing of fate.
Bright one, bright one, bright one, but you feel dark inside forever.
When the Head Housemaiden comes back, it’s with a soft sigh. You accept the tea. It tastes like nothing.