Chương 43: Hadley: Chapter Thirteen

When Elyse awoke, it was like climbing her way out of a long, deep, endless dark. An endless dark where she had a burning, echoing buzz behind her eyes that made it difficult to think, her thoughts tracing out wild patterns, like the fireflies she used to chase as a child, blinking and winking as she raced after them in her swamp. She remembered flames, and burning bodies.

The tittering, mocking laughter of a blue fairy, and she could not tell whether it was in her memory, or coming from somewhere within the darkness itself. Corpses laying frozen and scattered beneath a silent snow. And all she could do was grope forward, blindly, through the black. And there was something out there, in the darkness, she knew. Something that shivered and hummed, something made of a thousand thousand strings, each of them plucking out their own discordant, alien tunes. Something comforting.

She felt the tangled strings in the darkness, rough and vibrating beneath her hands, and she climbed up them like a web, not knowing where she was going, only knowing that her thoughts became clearer the further she climbed, and though she could not see, she knew there was something there at the top, something - Until, finally, the dream burst like a bubble, and she opened eyelids that felt as if they weighed as much as boulders.

The world came back to her, blurry light slowly focusing, until she found herself exactly where she had been when she fell asleep: laying comfortably in a pile of furs in Grizel's chambers, before the now-dying embers of a fire in the fireplace carved into the stone walls, staring up at a dull gray ceiling. Cecil lay curled about her head, tail flicking idly, batting at a stray strand of her hair.

So comfortable were the furs that she thought she could have probably remained lying there and gone immediately back to sleep. But she could hear voices in the room with her, and as she glanced to her side, she noticed that Martimeos and Kells were not there, the two men already awake and gone. So with a groan she sat up, rubbing her eyes, and adjusting her hat on her head, Cecil giving an annoyed meow and padding away silently as she looked about the room.

The cold stone walls danced with firelight, the shadows sending the strange carvings that lined them into stark relief. Grizel and Kells stood in one corner of the room, and as Elyse approached, she saw what it was they were looking down at. Aela sat up in her bedding of furs, hugging her thick mane of red curls to her almost as if it were a pillow, bright green eyes staring pensively around her, a small, weak smile on her face.

"So," Elyse said, softly, as she approached, nodding to Kells and Grizel as they looked back at her in surprise.

"She is awake."

"She es," Grizel replied, though the old witch seemed somewhat troubled. Her bony hands tapped a rapid patter atop her gnarled cane, as she glanced back at the Crosscraw woman, biting her lip with crooked teeth.

"She awoke shortly afore ye. An'..." Grizel looked as if she wanted to say more, but suddenly kept her mouth shut, and shook her head.

"D'ye... feel alright, child?"

"Ah am nae a child," Aela replied, her voice somewhat hoarse, looking annoyed.

"Ah... Ah...." Suddenly, tears sprang to her eyes, and she choked out a sob.

"Ah'm fine," she said, as Kells took a cautious step toward her, "Ah'm jest... Ah'm so happy." Kells glanced towards Elyse, stormy gray eyes looking somewhat troubled, as Aela continued to cry, wiping her tears away with her hair.

"Happy about what...?" the soldier asked cautiously.

"Ah.... Ah cannae remember proper," Aela sniffled in response, "But... Ah can remember th'flames... an' Ah remember somethin' pressin down on mah very soul, ye ken, wit' a weight like a mountain, crushin' me. An' now that it's gone - Ah cannae help but feel happy. Ah - Ah dinnae want tae die nae longer, an everythin' seems so beautiful." She looked upward towards Kells, and a happy grin split her face.

"Ah can remember ye carryin' me away from... some place of darkness. Yer beautiful, ye sweet lowlander. Ah dinnae care ef yer a queensman, yer th' most beautiful thing Ah've ever seen." She laughed, with an almost frantic relief.

"Ah dinnae want tae die!" Grizel cursed as Aela began struggling to her feet on weak, shaking legs.

"Sit yer arse down, ye idjit," the old witch snapped, smacking the younger Crosscraw woman with her cane.

"Ye hae nae had a proper meal yet, an' yer weak, an' Ah dinnae ken ef the Bogge-King has left yer skull entire-" But Aela brushed off the old woman's objections, laughing gaily as she staggerd forth from the furs, and then the Crosscraw woman launched herself at Kells. The soldier shouted in alarm as Aela wrapped her arms around him, and blushed furiously as she showered kisses down upon his face.

"Ye saved me, Ah ken that much," she said, as Kells struggled to disentangle himself from her. Elyse snorted at this, but then Aela turned to her as well.

"Ah ken ye were there as well, wee one," she said, and soon enough Elyse found herself caught up in an embrace too, struggling against an assault of kisses and laughter.

"Get off me," she cried, trying in vain to pry Aela's arms away.

"Pfaugh! You stink! You need a bath! You - ack!" Aela planted a final kiss on Elyse's lips and broke off, patting the witch on the head. Elyse pulled her hat down to hide her burning cheeks as the Crosscraw woman placed her hands on her hips and looked about the room curiously.

"An'... where is yer wizard? Ah should thank him as well. Ah...." Her smile disappeared, and she became quiet, looking inward.

"Ah feel as ef... Ah hae somethin' tae apologize tae him fer, as well." She glanced upwards, looking towards Elyse and Kells, trying to force a smile onto her face.

"Esn't that strange?" Kells coughed into the crook of his arm to hide his surprise, and Elyse looked curiously at the Crosscraw woman as well. No memories, she had said, of the dream they had saved her from, and yet, perhaps, some lingering feelings of guilt from it still lay within her.

"I don't actually know where Martimeos is," Kells said eventually.

"Though maybe you should save the kisses. They are not a normal manner of thanks where we came from."

"Ach, were et so bad, queensman? Do Ah stink that much?" Aela snapped. Then she paused curiously, and lifted her arm to smell herself.

"Pah! Ah do." She slapped her stomach.

"An' Ah'm famished. Ah-""Aela...?" a quiet, cautious voice called out, interrupting her. Elyse turned with the others. There, by the entrance to Grizel's chambers, standing in the stone-carved doorway, stood a Crosscraw man. Haggard and lean, he was dressed in furs and hide similar to Aela's, though his hung loosely off him, stained and disheveled. Thin red hair cascaded down his head, to his shoulders, and he wore a short beard.

Dark circles lined beneath his eyes, as if he had not slept in ages, but most notable about him was that he appeared to be missing his right arm. He looked wondrously at Aela, blinking as if to hold back tears.

"Ach, Torcull," Grizel snapped at this intruder, hobbling forth on her cane to poke at the man.

"Did Ah nae tell ye nae tae intrude upon mah chambers when last ye came by?"

"Ye tol' me mah sister was likely tae die," the Crosscraw man snapped back at her, stepping forward, a smile spreading on his face that seemed at odds with his dark, sad eyes.

"Aela, yer alright? Ye're.... they tol' me ye had faced th' Bogge-King and were..."

"Ah'm fine, Torc," Aela cried, running forth to embrace her brother.

"Better'n fine. Ah feel so light. Ye should ken yon Bogge-King couldnae take a hold of me." Torc laughed happily as he hugged Aela, though eventually he pushed her back.

"Ye need a bath, sis," he said, wrinkling his nose.

"Ah cannae stink that bad," Aela muttered. Seeing Torc stare over her towards Kells and Elyse, she punched him in his remaining arm.

"Dinnae give these lowlanders th' evil eye.

'Tis thanks tae them Ah live. Oh, an' Grizel, of course." She gave a bashful smile at an outraged harrumph from the old witch.

"Ye owe yer life tae queensmen...?" Torc replied dubiously.

"Not a queensman," Elyse snapped irritably, plucking a long strand of Aela's red hair from her robes.

"I never even clapped eyes on the White Queen."

"Th' big braw one es Kells," Aela replied, gesturing to the soldier, who gave a small nod.

"An' the cute wee one there es Elyse, an' a witch. An' aye, Ah owe mah life tae them, an' Ah will hear nae a bad word about them, nae matter if they be lowlanders. There's a third, as well, called Martim, an though he es nae a queensman, he es a wizard. Ah dinnae ken where he es now."

"Th' wizard woke before any o' ye did, though nae before Ah," Grizel said, her cane clattering against stone as she strode across the room to her stone table and began rifling through stacks of dried herbs bound with twine.

"He wandered off intae th' halls, as is his wont."

"Well, Ah will want ye tae meet him as well," Aela said, though her smile faded a bit. She paused for a moment, as if thinking about something, and then shook her head and draped an arm around the Crosscraw man's shoulder.

"Elyse, Kells, this here es Torc, mah aulder brother." Despite Aela's cheerful introduction, Torc still stared at the both of them suspiciously, misty green eyes narrow beneath bushy red eyebrows.

"Ah s'pose ef Aela vouches fer ye," he muttered, "Though Ah warn ye, ef Ah discover ye hae hurt or deceived her, Ah will nae hesitate tae put an axe in ye-" He yelped as Aela reached up and gave his nose a hard pinch.

"What did Ah just say tae ye, ye daft cripple?" she cried, as Torc rubbed his face and glared at her.

"Nae a bad word! Nae only did they help me tae drag back th' moose ye've likely been fillin' yer belly wit', they saved me from th' Bogge-King! More'n once!" Sweeping her arm out, she pointed to Kells, who glanced around, distinctly uncomfortable.

"An' Ah tell ye, that one at least es strong and kens well how tae fight. Strong enough tae carry me up th'mountain. Ye will nae be takin' him on wit only one arm, Ah dinnae care how used tae et ye hae become. Try yer luck aginst him an find out!"

"I'm, uh, sure it won't be necessary," Kells replied awkwardly to this, putting his hands up, his eyes widening in alarm at the prospect of fighting a cripple.

"We've no intention of harming your sister."

"Not unless she tries to kiss me again before bathing," Elyse said, fiddling with a strand of her long, dark hair. At Torc's hard stare, she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, 'tis a jest. Don't get rude with me, or I'll hex you." Despite his initial misgivings and suspicions, Torc gradually relaxed at his sister's repeated reassurances and admonitions that these lowlanders had saved her life. Elyse retreated somewhat as Grizel's chambers became a flurry of activity; the old witch was rushing back and forth and to and fro from the adjoining rooms, gathering various dried herbs, berries and small stone jars, while Aela regaled her brother with the tale of her journey up the mountain.

She drew Kells in as she did so, the soldier adding to her telling in his own quietly friendly way. Kells had a way about him, Elyse realized, of setting people at ease with his unassuming nature, and it wasn't long before even Torc was chuckling at his jokes, though the Crosscraw man had moments before been suspicious enough to threaten him. Elyse, though, backed away from the bustling, retreating to a corner to pet Cecil, feeling the rumbling purr of her familiar beneath her hands as she watched Aela closely.

The Crosscraw woman seemed well and fully recovered; indeed she seemed almost deliriously happy. An extremely odd contrast from how she had been, hours ago, and in the Dream, suicidal and begging for someone to kill her. It seemed as if the Bogge-King truly had left her mind, at the request of Martimeos. Elyse thought she might understand the woman's sudden happiness, as well. She thought she had felt something similar, at some point. Shortly after her mother had died, and it had really sunk in that she was free.

No more of the cruelty, or the fear, or the panic she had lived with her entire life. No more of watching every shadow, wondering if her mother lurked within them. It had been such a weight lifted, that even now, Elyse marveled at just how happy living could make her. She hadn't been joyful over her mother's death, precisely, not quite like that, but just the simple fact of living from out beneath her gaze.

So she thought she could understand Aela's giddiness; the sudden lifting of the burden of the Bogge-King's black guilt from her soul. For that was what it was. She had seen enough in the dream to tell that much. Elyse thought back to the dream they had shared, back to the flames and the ruins that they had found Aela in, an echo of the destruction of Martim's village, and she shuddered. Martim had told her of its burning, but to hear the tale of it was one thing; to see it for yourself was another.

She had seen destruction before, oh yes, her mother had assured that - but not on that scale, and not where children numbered among the corpses. It was hard to think that it was not merely a dream, but a reflection of something that had actually happened. Aela blathered on about her plans to take a hot bath - and that caught Elyse's attention; the Crosscraw had a way to take a hot bath here?

- and her plans to eat until she was fit to burst, and how Kells, Elyse and Martimeos should join her and Torc for a drink when they could. Grizel, it seemed, was still skeptical that Aela had truly been cured; piling herbs and various small stone jars high in Aela's arms, the old witch insisted on accompanying Aela to the baths, to give her a thorough examination.

Elyse was interested in attending the baths as well - apparently the Crosscraw had access to a hot spring within the caves that they used to bathe - but Grizel insisted that they remain in the lower halls of Dun Cairn, among the tombs, until they had been given permission by the Chief to walk the rest of its halls.

"Ah am certain he willnae stand in their way," Aela said to this, "Nae when Ah tell of how these lowlanders saved mah skin. Ef he es rude tae ye, Ah'll kick his arse up an' down th' mountain mahself." Torc and Grizel, however, exchanged skeptical glances. Aela had a habit, it seemed, of overestimating the welcome lowlanders might receive among the Crosscraw. Elyse thought it might take some convincing to grant them access to the rest of Dun Cairn, regardless of whether or not they had saved her.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. But presently, all three of the Crosscraw left, with Aela promising that she would return for them so that they might see the rest of the sights of Dun Cairn, embracing both Elyse and Kells once more before she left, and whispering a happy thanks into their ears once more. And then she was gone, leaving Kells and Elyse alone in Grizel's chambers.

Kells strode over to the stone fireplace and picked up some logs from beside it, tossing it onto the burning embers to begin a blaze going again. Elyse wished he would not do that; it was already uncomfortably warm in here for her. He stood for a moment, staring into the flames, broad shoulders and narrow waist framed by his black jacket and pants, so dark that he seemed nearly a shadow himself.

"So," the soldier said, after some time, "That's that, then."

"What's that?" Elyse asked curiously. Kells glanced back at her, arching an eyebrow.

"I mean, we accomplished what we came here to do. No more bogge-man rattling about in our skulls." He tapped his forehead, and then went back to staring into the fire.

"I have to say, I don't feel much different." Elyse could only agree, really. She had expected to feel a sort of relief, or something, at the very least, once they had seen the shade of the bogge-man destroyed in the Dream. But there was nothing, in the end.

"It makes a sort of sense, I suppose," she replied idly.

"If the bogge-man had been hiding in our heads, perhaps 'tis not surprising that we do not notice much difference when he's gone."

"Hmm." Kells stared long into the fire once more, tapping a smart black boot on the stone floor as he did so.

"I worry for Martim," he said after a long moment. Elyse felt a surge of irritation rise in her that she tried to smother. She didn't know why she should be feeling that, anyway.

"Well, he is the same as us, is he not," she muttered sullenly, plucking at her robes.

"He is free of the bogge-man's curse now as well."

"Not for that," Kells replied, in a tone that made it clear he should think this was obvious.

"It, well." The soldier coughed, suddenly awkward.

"It could not have been, er, easy for him. To see what he saw in the Dream." With a sigh, Elyse crossed her arms, and stared down at the floor. When Martimeos had seen his village burning, in the dream - as he had confronted the Bogge-King, his former friend - she had been too busy taking everything in herself to notice. But she had noticed, when it was all over, the vacant, dull stare the wizard had worn, like whatever fire normally burned behind his eyes had gone out.

"Yes, well. I suppose that is why he went traipsing off on his own. Perhaps he wanted some time alone."

"Perhaps," Kells replied quietly, "Though I've heard tale of men driven to madness by seeing far less." He fell silent for a moment as the fire cracked and popped.

"You've known him for longer than I."

"Not by much, really." Kells waved a dismissive hand, his back still toward her.

"Still. You've spent much more time with him. You know him better than I. Do you suppose he's.... going to be alright, with all this? With all he's seen?" Elyse wrapped her arms about herself, and thought of what she knew about Martimeos. Irritable, the wizard was. Tricksome, a secret-keeper and a skilled liar. Brash, and prone to overestimating his own strength. Wanting to go his way alone, even when he needed someone by his side.

"No," she said softly to herself, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't think he will be."

"Did you say something?" Kells asked, without turning around.

"Speak up." He waited for a moment, for an answer, and when none came, he turned around. Elyse was gone; he was alone now, in Grizel's chambers, and he could just make out the sound of footsteps retreating down the winding stone hallways. ~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~ Elyse kept her arms wrapped about herself as strode quickly down the winding hallways that made up the tombs of Dun Cairn, the sound of her boots echoing off dark halls lit only by the feeble light of an occasional candle.

She had not seen much of this place, having spent her time in Grizel's chamber for the most part. The old witch had chosen herself a grim home, though a fitting one for a necromancer. And massive, too, Elyse realized, as she strode along. The hallways seemed to go on forever, winding ever deeper into the mountain.

The halls were lined with doorways, and peering through these, Elyse could see that what lay beyond each one were catacombs, their walls lined with small alcoves into which old bones had been set, hundreds of grinning skulls leering back at her. In many of the rooms, the bones were so old that either they had turned brown and hard as rock, or crumbled to dust that lay along the stone floor in great mounds.

And above each of the doorways leading into the catacombs there was a symbol carved into the rock, a different one for each catacomb. Many of these symbols, Elyse did not recognize, but others, she thought she might know what they were - she recognized them from the carvings they had seen in Stelle Cairn, the halfway point up the mountain where they had first met Aela.

One symbol looked like a pair of butterfly wings carved through with spiralling patterns; this, she thought, looked similar to the winged men the Crosscraw had been depicted fighting in the carvings at Stelle Cairn. Many of them bore a carving that looked like the head of a locust, which reminded her of the insect-men that had shown up in so many of the battles depicted there.

The symbols above each catacomb, she supposed, might represent the enemy against which the Crosscraw entombed within had lost their lives in battle against. She could feel Grizel's Art here, too, sunk into the stone, more massive and intricate than it had been at Stelle Cairn, a weaving of the Art almost unlike any other she had ever sensed; something that was the work of years.

It prickled at her curiousity, and she might want to find a time to investigate it, necromancy though it may be, but at the moment she wanted to find Martimeos. The wizard was likely to be here somewhere; it was with the Art that he liked to distract himself. She felt somewhat foolish, as she strode through the halls. She did not know what she would say to Martim once she found him.

She only knew that it did not seem right for him to be alone in this place of death, not after having the slaughter of his village echoed before him; not after seeing what had become of his friend. The fool wizard needed some light and warmth, not to be here among the bones and the darkness, all alone. It was like him, to go off alone where he should not be, someplace where he was going to get himself hurt. As she walked along, the tombs around her slowly began to change.

Previously, the symbols above the entrances to the catacombs had been carved with intricate detail, by a hand more skilled with stonework than she had ever seen. Now, as she descended further and further into the tombs, the symbols above them became more crude and roughly carved, telling a story of the long decline of the Crosscraw.

No longer did the locust-head and spiralling butterfly wings show up; instead the symbols seemed more mundane: A pair of crossed swords beneath a crescent moon, a bell, and sometimes a collection of different animal pawprints. She gave a start as, once or twice, she saw a symbol that she recognized: The dual suns of Twin Lamps, carved into the stone. She knew little of history, but she wondered when the Crosscraw had gone to war with Twin Lamps. Centuries ago? She was deep within the tombs now.

And she paused, there amongst the dancing shadows lit by candlelight, as she heard a sound echoing to her through those hallways. It was singing, she realized, as she stopped to listen. Martimeos singing, in a language she did not understand. But she did not need to know the tongue to feel the power of the song. It was a dirge, and so much more than the other times she had heard Martim sing, it swept the heart up along with it.

A song of deep loss and sadness, of something beautiful now gone forever, and never coming back, so powerful that she found her head swimming, and she had to stop to catch her breath as tears sprang to her eyes. She wiped these away fiercely, muttering a curse beneath her breath, as she forced herself to step forward, to chase after the source of the song. The symbols above the entrances to the catacombs now were so crude that she could barely recognize what they were meant to depict.

And as she drew close to the source of the song, she saw two new ones. One was a crown, jagged and spiked, and beneath it, painted rather than carved into the rock, was a crude depiction of the White Queen's face, little more of it depicted than her white skin and blood-red lips stretched in a cruel smile. And above the catacomb next to that one was no carving at all.

Instead, someone had scribbled furiously into the rock with what looked like a pierce of charcoal, a great mass of blackness above the doorway, with the negative impression of a cattle-skull helm in the midst of it. The Bogge-King and the White Queen, twin dooms of the Crosscraw. It was from the catacomb beyond that Elyse could hear Martim's voice, and so she stepped through.

The space here was massive, with ceilings that rose nearly three times as tall as she stood, opening wide to stretch out and disappear into darkness. The stone floor here seemed clean, as if it had been recently used, and here many of the corpses were not yet decomposed to bones. Instead, they remained wrapped in thick, mummifying cloth as they lay in their alcoves, almost looking as if they were wrapped comfortably in tight blankets.

It was hard not to notice how many of the corpses were very small, or missing their heads. And so many. Too many to count, and this, she realized, could only be the corpses the Crosscraw had managed to recover from the bogge-men. There were certainly many more. It was cold, this deep in the mountain, so cold she could see her breath when she exhaled. And in the center of this place stood Martimeos, arms outstretched as he sang to the dead, his black-furred cloak hanging limply from his shoulders.

His voice echoed and reverberated off the walls, in that unknown tongue, and Flit sat on his shoulder, the tiny cardinal joining his master in the melody. And so sweet was the song, so full of a longing sadness, that Elyse felt it twisting like a bitter knife in her heart, and she could not stop the tears from falling, until, though it seemed like blasphemy to interrupt such a song, she cried out: " Stop!" Martimeos immediately stopped singing, letting his arms fall to his sides.

He paused for a moment before turning to face her, his green eyes almost seeming to glow in the darkness as he stared, his shaggy dark hair faling limply about a face worn and shadowed.

"I thought," he said quietly, "I was alone down here." Elyse realized she was almost panting for breath as the power of the song drained from her, though it left a lingering ache in her heart. She approached the wizard cautiously. Part of her wondered if this even was Martimeos at all, and not some spirit that haunted the tombs. She did not think any normal person could sing so sorrowfully, so powerfully.

"What... what was that you were singing, Martim?" she asked, as she stepped towards him.

"I have never heard something so sweet. What tongue was that?" Martim's face burned as he looked away, embarrassed; it did seem like this actually was the wizard after all. Elyse did not think a tomb-spirit would be blushing so hard before her.

"It was in the tongue of the fae," he muttered.

"Their tongue is meant for singing. Songs are always more sweet when sung in that language."

"I did not know you spoke it."

"I do, a bit. I learned to sing in it before I learned to speak it." Martimeos was still looking away from her, dark shadowed eyes instead staring long at the corpse-lined walls.

"What are you doing down here?" Elyse suppressed a flash of annoyance, and the urge to snap at the wizard for making her walk all this way to find him.

"Aela awoke, if you did not know." A small smile graced Martim's face, one that seemed an odd contrast with his sunken eyes.

"Well. That's good, at least." A long moment of silence passed between them, as Elyse stood there, arms crossed, staring at Martimeos, who steadfastly avoided her gaze and kept his eyes on the walls.

"Martim," she said finally, "What are you doing down here? This..." she swept her arms wide, to gesture towards the countless corpses that lined the walls.

"'Tis not right to be in a place such as this all alone." Martim was quiet for a long time, almost to the point that she thought he was simply ignoring her.

"I don't know," he said finally.

"I felt as if I owed it to them."

"Owed it to them...?"

"To the ones killed by the Bogge-King." Martim's voice grew hoarse, and finally he shifted his gaze to look at her. Elyse nearly stumbled backwards beneath the weight of the sadness he held in his eyes.

"You heard, in the Dream. The Bogge-King... Hadley... said he did this for his sister. For me."

"That does not mean you owe..." Elyse began, but Martim cut her off.

"It does. Because there in the Dream, with the ruins of my home around me, there was a part of me that thought..." Martim closed his eyes, and gave a crooked smile.

"That thought, yes, that was right. That Hadley had the right of it. So I owed it to the dead to come and see them to remind myself that this... this is..." he stepped away from her, flinging his arms wide to gesture to the entire catacombs at once.

"It's madness. Cruelty and madness. The Queen's War is over. How could Hadley think this was right? He was the kindest man I knew. How could he?" Elyse waited until the echoes of Martim's voice stopped whispering back from the darkness that surrounded them. She could hear a wavering in Martim's voice, a cracking, that she had never heard before.

"The Bogge-King is not your friend any longer," she said softly.

"Something happened to him to change him. You said it yourself."

"I know," Martim replied wearily, his shoulders slumping, his back still to her. Flit warbled slightly and fluttered away from his perch on the wizard's shoulder. Elyse was somewhat surprised when the tiny cardinal flew towards her, to rest on her hat, instead.

"But... some part of him must remain. Even now, he remembers me. And killed the shade that pursued us." He sighed, then turned back towards her, though his eyes were on the floor, his mouth a thin grim line.

"I was ready," he continued softly, "To find his bones. Ready to find him still living. Even ready to find that he had done unsavory things over the course of the war. A thousand possibilities, I imagined. But this... he's killed an entire people. For me. I never imagined this. Not Hadley." Elyse drew close to Martim as the wizard buried his face in his hands, sighing wearily as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Do not be foolish," she snapped, and then sighed and softened her tone.

"The Bogge-King is not your friend, no matter if he remembers you or not. It is the daemon that took hold of him that is responsible for this. And it does not matter if he thinks he has done it for you. You are not to blame for any of this."

"I know. I know." Martim shook his head, dark hair falling across his face as he did so. He gazed sadly down at the red scarf he wore about his neck, twisting it between his fingers.

"'Tis just, all the death... I am just so tired, Elyse. So tired. It doesn't have to be like this." Elyse reached out, and took one of Martim's hands in her own. His fingers were freezing, almost feeling like blocks of ice.

"'Tis no wonder you are so tired, when you dwell here in the dark and cold," she remarked idly, giving him a frank and skeptical look.

"If you are tired, even after all that sleep, come back and sleep more. Come to a place where it is warm. Aela has promised us a feast, and I am sure she'll have kisses for you as well for having helped save her. And I can think of a few ways to put the fire in your blood myself." She tilted her head to the side, and tried to give him a smile, but she could not stop the harsh words from spilling out.

"You are such an imbecile, really. What did you think was going to happen if you moped around in a tomb all alone? Fool." Martim stared at her for a long moment, and Elyse suddenly realized how sharp her tongue had been. Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to apologize, but Martimeos just gave a low, dry chuckle.

"I suppose you're right," he replied, squeezing her hand, "You are certainly warmer than I. I don't suppose there is much to be gained from lingering among the dead, other than a broken heart." He cocked his head at her, giving a weary smile.

"Well witch, might you lead me back to the warmth? I am afraid I wandered down here without paying much attention to where I was going. I am not sure I could find my way back." Elyse snorted.

"'Twas a straight path, more or less," she replied. But she twined her hand in his, and led him out of the catacombs, back to the long, winding hallways that led to Grizel's warmer chambers. As they walked, they murmured to each other about the Art they could sense that Grizel had woven into the stone, speculating amongst themselves about the purpose and marveling at the complexity of it. And behind them, the twin visages of the Bogge-King and the White Queen, painted into the stone, faded into shadow.