Underland

The bed was cold and Valdemar’s fingers were warm.

Marianne grunted as they stabbed into her back like daggers. Although he had used some kind of healing spell to lessen her pain, her enhanced sense of touch reduced its effectiveness.

“If you could please stop moving,” Valdemar asked. While Marianne kept her eyes closed, she visualized him perfectly with her other senses. He had to kneel beside her bed to operate on her naked back, his teeth grinding as he tried to extract the machine’s needle from her chest. Her upper clothes lay on the steel floor and close to the only door. “The more you strain your muscles, the harder it is for me to remove the needle.”

“I’ll try.” Marianne breathed slowly as she did in the maze, trying to relax the best she could. But when Valdemar’s fingers touched the needle, she had to bite her pillow to suppress the pain. The bandage on her facial wound started to itch, and the Soulstone around her neck felt as if it burnt against her skin.

Valar Bethor afforded his apprentices no more comfort than the smallest of his soldiers. He had given them a single room with bunk beds, a small desk, a shower, and toilets. The cell—Marianne couldn’t call it anything else—barely reached nine square meters with a window too small for someone to jump through.

Valdemar had started redecorating it though. The few times Marianne had managed to open her eyes, she had seen expanding paintings on the walls representing moths, foxes, flowers, dunes, and alien landscapes. This ‘Painted Field’ would help Valdemar sleep, hopefully without summoning a phantom hamlet.

“I am going to remove the needle very slowly to avoid causing internal damage,” the summoner said. “I need you to exhale as I do it. Think of something pleasant and relaxing.”

“Like what?” Marianne asked dryly. She didn’t want to sound snappy, but she had had a rough day.

“I dunno, a warm hot bath? Reading a novel?” Valdemar hesitated. “Making love?”

Marianne couldn't help but turn her head and glare at him… before instantly closing her eyes as the visual stimuli overwhelmed her. She buried her face in the pillow once more.

“Was the suggestion so ridiculous?” Valdemar asked with a sigh. “The first thing that comes to mind for me is painting, but I don’t think you do that to relax.”

I will think of the warm bath, Marianne thought while she tried to imagine warm water on her skin. Now that she thought of it, could she cast an illusion on herself? Trick her own mind to ignore the pain?

As it turned out, lying to oneself came more easily than deceiving a killing machine. Marianne imagined herself in her family’s manor bathroom, enjoying a warm bath with only flashes bringing her back to reality.

He’s fusing his hand with my back, Marianne realized as she wavered between dream and reality. She had to bring down her own psychic defenses to prevent a backlash from the operation, but her enhanced senses gave her a detailed picture of Valdemar’s activities. His hand had turned into roots digging between her bones and muscles, extracting the needle inch by inch.

As their flesh briefly became one through the medium of his hand, Marianne noticed the subtle abnormalities in his biology. Valdemar looked human, with human organs, but his blood moved seamlessly even without his heartbeat. The heart helped, but it wasn’t necessary.

A grail, Marianne thought, a god’s blood in a human-shaped container.

“One, two,” Valdemar whispered, before swiftly extracting the needle. The sudden pain made Marianne grit her teeth and dispelled her own illusion. “Three.”

His fingers magically knitted her flesh together, closing her wound. Marianne let out a breath of relief, made even better with no metal needle to impair her lungs. It feels better than the warm bath, she thought. “Thank you, Valdemar.”

“It’s longer than my index finger,” the summoner said as he examined the needle. “I’m surprised you could even talk with something like this so close to your lungs.”

“And I’m surprised you could survive in boiling blood without your skin.”

“I’m sure I would have been appetizing once fried,” Valdemar said, and Marianne couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’ll let you rest before we operate on your face.”

“No,” she said before clearing her throat. “Sorry, umm… if you are willing to, I would like to be done with it as soon as possible. If I’m not asking too much.”

“As you wish. Give me a few minutes to clean my hands.”

“Would that change anything?” Marianne asked as she grabbed her clothes and put her shirt back on. She sensed a slight change in Valdemar’s blood pressure before he turned his head away. How can he be embarrassed after painting Frigga naked? Marianne wondered with amusement. Still, she appreciated his gentlemanly behavior.

“The needle and the blades that cut your face were infected with special bacteria,” Valdemar explained as he put the needle on the desk. “They disrupt blood pressure and clotting. If you couldn’t use the Blood, you would have probably become paralyzed or bled out.”

“I… I didn’t know,” Marianne admitted, surprised and disappointed in herself. “I didn’t notice any poison.”

“You wouldn’t have unless you had either access to biomancy spells or perfect awareness of your body,” Valdemar replied as he moved to the shower room. “Your healing spells are passable, but not good enough to expunge that kind of infection.”

Marianne sat on her bed, her back against the steel wall. “I was never good at healing magic,” she admitted. Valdemar’s remark had put her in a sorrowful mood. “When I was young, I thought it didn’t matter. That I should instead improve my strength so much that I wouldn’t need to heal in the first place.”

“What changed your mind?” Valdemar asked over the sound of running water, washing his hands over a small sink.

“I saw someone I loved bleed out in front of me.” The sight of Jérôme agonizing in a puddle of his own blood, life leaving his eyes as his slashed throat turned into a red fountain… Marianne would never forget it. “He looked at me. His eyes begged me for help. And all I did was panic.”

Valdemar closed the water. Marianne ‘heard’ him look at himself in the bathroom’s mirror as he tried to find an answer.

“He was your fiancé, wasn’t he?” he guessed.

“Yes,” she admitted as Valdemar returned, kneeling in front of her. His left hand brushed against her facial bandage before slowly removing it. “I’m still not sure I could have saved him with my current spells.”

“Don’t do that,” Valdemar said as he put her bandage aside and examined the scar. “Dwell on what could have been. It leads nowhere.”

“I know.” Valar Bethor thought the same. “Valdemar?”

“Yes?”

“Do you believe it is alright to make sacrifices for your dream?”

“Of course I do,” Valdemar said as he cast a spell on her.

Marianne focused on his magic, and as she did she realized he was expelling the machine’s leftover bacteria from her wound. “Even if the sacrifice in question is someone else?”

“Depends if the goal is noble or not. If I had to kill one person to save ten with no third option in sight, I wouldn’t hesitate.” Valdemar paused for a moment. “You’re not asking me, but yourself.”

Marianne sighed. Should she tell him? She had only ever discussed this with Bertrand, but her friend and retainer wasn’t here anymore.

“I told you before,” Valdemar reminded her as his fingers touched her facial wound. The blade had cut to the bone, leaving it exposed. “You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to. Everyone is entitled to their private life.”

“No, it’s alright,” she said while clearing her throat. “But… I would be thankful if you did not repeat what I’m about to tell you.”

Instead of continuing with the surgery, Valdemar knelt and joined his hands. He didn’t say a word and waited for Marianne to speak.

“I loved him. Jérôme. Even if our betrothal had been arranged.” Unknown to their parents, they hadn’t even waited for the wedding to consummate their relationship. “But there was one thing about him that I hated.”

“That he wouldn’t let you wield the rapier?”

The mere mention of her missing weapon made Marianne feel naked and incomplete. Lord Bethor hadn’t returned it to her. He wouldn’t give it back unless she learned to stop relying on it.

“He said he would let me borrow it behind closed doors,” the noblewoman replied. “Jérôme… My father chose him because he was everything he had wanted in an heir. A dashing young man, well-loved, with a promising military career among the Knightly Orders and a talent for swordsmanship. He was someone mindful of appearances… and he knew that my ancestor’s rapier was a regalia of the Reynard family. That whoever carried it was its head.”

Valdemar listened without a word and Marianne was thankful for that. It was easier for her to articulate her thoughts without interruptions.

“Even though we loved each other, the marriage between our families was a political alliance first and foremost,” Marianne explained. “Jérôme was meant to inherit both my father’s titles and his own estate. He was afraid that if he let me wield the rapier, then others wouldn’t recognize him as the true new head of House Reynard. That it would weaken him politically.”

Marianne sensed movement in the air around Valdemar’s face. Using the Blood, she identified his expression as a sneer of contempt.

“I know,” she said. “That’s how I felt too. Eventually, we had an argument and I demanded a duel to settle the rapier issue. I said I would give my all. We met in the gardens when everyone was asleep or occupied, with Bertrand as our only witness and referee.”

Valdemar finally spoke. “You didn’t warn anyone else?”

“No,” Marianne replied. “Nobody would have sanctioned the duel, and our retainers would have warned our families to prevent it. Even Bertrand wanted to speak up until Jérôme and I ordered him to remain quiet.”

Valdemar didn’t offer any condemnation. “How did the duel go?”

“I dominated him from start to finish.” Jérôme had been good and gave his best, but he was never her equal in battle. “At one point… I saw an opening to disarm him. He tried to stop with his sword, but his parry accidentally drove my blade through his throat. As he fell on the ground with his neck bleeding, I realized he wasn’t wearing his Soulstone. Because he trusted me.”

She sensed Valdemar’s body tense up, the paint on the walls rippling. He’s angry, Marianne realized to her shock. At me? She tried to ignore the reaction as she continued her tale. “Bertrand was no expert healer, so he asked me to stay with Jérôme while he looked for help. By the time doctors arrived, he had already perished in my arms.”

“It was an accident,” Valdemar whispered while trying to comfort her, though Marianne still sensed an undercurrent of suppressed anger in his voice.

“The Empress ruled it in that sense too, but my father told me in no uncertain terms that the noble families of Saklas wouldn’t want to associate with the Reynards so long as I remained. I was…” Marianne cleared her throat. “I was so ashamed and guilt-ridden that I didn’t even dare come to Jérôme’s funeral. Bertrand… he felt guilty too. He never said it, but I know this is why he followed me into exile.”

“You are blaming yourself for the wrong thing,” Valdemar said firmly. “You didn’t sacrifice your fiancé, you simply threw away the life you could have had with him. You didn’t make the choice to slay him.”

“Did I?” Marianne asked grimly. “I was happy to beat him, Valdemar. To give him bruises. When I struck him, I wondered if a part of me—”

“A part is not the whole, Marianne,” Valdemar interrupted her harshly, to her surprise. She had never heard him use such a harsh, venomous tone, not even when he spoke of the inquisitors who arrested him. “Did you strike Jérôme with the intent to kill? Did you want to murder him when you raised your sword?”

“N-no,” she blurted out. “Of course not.”

“Then it’s settled,” Valdemar grunted. “Poisoning your husband to inherit their fortune is not the same thing as accidentally pushing him down the stairs in an argument. The result may be outwardly the same, but the context is wildly different. Intention matters as much as the expected result.”

“Yet you’re angry at me too,” Marianne pointed out.

“I’m angry,” the summoner admitted, “but not at you.”

Marianne froze, before tensing up. “Say it.”

“You won’t like it,” he warned her.

“We agreed to tell the truth to each other,” Marianne reminded him as she clenched her fists. “Say what’s on your mind.”

Valdemar took a long, deep breath before speaking. “It was beyond foolish to walk to a duel with a master swordswoman without a Soulstone. As stupid as walking into a fire.”

Marianne’s nails sunk into her palms so deep, she worried they might draw blood. “Don’t say that.”

“Do you even know the cost of a Soulstone?” Valdemar asked with a hint of envy. “Marianne, if I had been rich enough to buy one I would have carried it everywhere. Everyone in my family would have done the same, just like you’re doing right now. This is a chaotic world and death visits as it wills. Your fiancé courted it.”

“He trusted me,” Marianne snapped back angrily. Why am I raising my voice? She thought, surprised by her own reaction. “Jérôme trusted me and died for it.”

“What does trust have anything to do with it?” Valdemar marked a short pause. “Did you wear your Soulstone during the duel?”

Marianne gritted her teeth.

“You did,” Valdemar stated. “Because you knew there was a chance Jérôme could win, even if you were better than he ever was. Because you respected his abilities.”

“You imply he didn’t respect mine?”

“That’s how it comes across to me. Duels are restricted for a reason, Marianne. Walking into one without any protection, even if it’s a supposedly friendly one…” Valdemar shook his head. “That doesn’t sound like trust to me. More like arrogance.”

“I bested him in practice,” Marianne hissed, her tone cold as ice. “He knew I was better.”

“Then why didn’t he carry the Soulstone?”

“Because he thought I wouldn’t have hurt him!” By now, she was shouting.

“So he thought you would go easy on him even though you were ready to throw your marriage away for the prize?” Valdemar snorted. “Did he truly know you?”

Marianne recoiled as if slapped.

“Marianne, we barely know each other and I can tell you always give your all in a fight,” Valdemar argued. “Enough to attack a Dark Lord. Jérôme must have been willfully blind to think you would pull back your punches… or truly conceited.”

Marianne tried to keep her calm, and failed. “You know nothing.”

“I’ve never been in love with a woman, so I can’t say about what Jérôme felt… but I loved my grandfather enough to defend Earth’s existence even in the face of mockery and criticism. Why wouldn’t he bear the burden of shame and let you bear that sword?”

“His political career—”

“Exactly,” he interrupted her. “Because he cared more about his self-image than you.”

Marianne opened her eyes.

The overwhelming visual stimuli caused her pain, but it didn’t overwhelm her. She could have been pierced with needles everywhere and her glare would have remained unwavering.

Valdemar stood before her, with his human face twisted into worry, his human eyes full of concern, and her blood dripping from his fingers.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Marianne asked with anger, restraining herself from slapping him. She couldn’t stand pity.

“Because you are trying to see things that weren’t there,” Valdemar replied with a sigh. “Like I did. Nostalgia blinds us to the bad parts of the past.”

“Is that what this is about?” Marianne asked as she glanced at the covered portrait in a corner of the room. “You’re projecting your disappointment with your grandfather on me.”

This time, it was Valdemar’s turn to wince. He lowered his head and looked at the floor with bitterness. Marianne instantly regretted her words, but didn’t find the strength to say so out loud. She closed her eyes, a tense silence settled between her roommate and her.

“Maybe,” he admitted. “Probably. But that doesn’t make what I say untrue.”

Marianne gritted her teeth, but didn’t answer.

The noblewoman should have brushed his words aside like Captain Léopold’s… but she couldn’t get them out of her head, to her surprise. Did I truly misunderstand everything? she thought. Jérôme can’t have… he respected me.

Marianne thought back of all her moments with her fiancé, trying to look for any hint of contempt behind the smile, searching for any hidden meaning behind his words when they discussed with other nobles. She knew he was always eager to boast about his skills in battle, about how only his future wife could make him sweat. Marianne thought he had been boasting for the both of them, but had it been a subtle mockery instead?

It had been years since that duel, and she had been young and lovestruck beforehand. Had she glossed over Jérôme’s flaws? Idealized him? Maybe Marianne was the one who didn’t know him at all.

She was mulling over her own memories when she noticed Valdemar was speaking out loud.

“If I had spent all the time researching summoning and Earth on biomancy instead, maybe I could have healed my mother from her mental illness,” he said with surprising gravitas. “I could have created a Soulstone by studying necromancy or stolen another. That’s how I tortured myself after she died: by thinking of the roads I hadn’t taken.”

Now it was Marianne’s turn to listen. He had given her that courtesy, she would return it.

“After a while…” Valdemar sighed. “Hard as it sounds, I realized that I put my dream above my mother’s well-being. I loved her, but I wanted to show everyone the sun even more. I regret I couldn’t save her and continue my research, but I made my choice. Just as you chose to duel Jérôme even knowing the possible consequences, because you prized your warrior’s pride more than marital bliss.”

“You still want to reach that place?” Marianne asked, trying to clear her own thoughts. “Even knowing your grandfather might have deceived you.”

Valdemar nodded slowly. “Yes. Even if the dreamer wasn’t perfect, the dream is worth following. Because no matter what my grandfather raised me for, our people still deserve better than this tomb of stone and flesh.”

His next words were heavy with determination.

“We deserve better than the eyes.”

Only then did Marianne realize that they had stopped looking back.

Even when she closed her eyes before, they had been there in the darkness, peering through the blood vessels in her eyelids. But they had vanished. For how long?

Since Valdemar touched my cheek, she realized. She thought he had only expelled the machine’s bacteria… but he had instead removed the eyes inside her eyes.

To make her feel better.

Marianne’s anger vanished, like waste cleared by water. “I need to think,” the noblewoman said, unsure how to react.

She heard Valdemar’s nod, his head moving through the air. His hand touched her cheek while his magic fixed her bones and knitted her flesh and skin together.

“Is this your first time operating on someone?” Marianne asked, trying to change the subject to something lighter. “I could tell you were uncomfortable during the surgery.”

“I raised and restored corpses as undead for clients,” Valdemar said, before clearing his throat. “Operating on a living subject is a harder task, but I think I’m good at it. I find biomancy surprisingly easy to grasp.”

Like almost all fields of the Blood, Marianne thought. She couldn’t help but feel slightly jealous of him, even though she knew it was irrational. He needed an entire magical apparatus to even sleep normally.

By the end, Marianne touched her own unblemished skin. Her festering wound had closed without even leaving a scar.

“You know,” Valdemar said as he rose back to his feet, “I would like to paint you one day. You have a very beautiful face.”

“I’m not sure how I should take that remark,” Marianne said with a thin smile. “But it would be with pleasure.”

“Take it however you want, you are quite graceful,” Valdemar replied with a shrug. “Are your eyes—”

“I’m getting better.” She could take a look for a few seconds before all the visual information overwhelmed her. Before she couldn’t even open her eyes. “You look normal.”

She heard him freeze in place. “What do you mean?”

“My eyes see everything now, but you look the same as you always did,” she explained. “Human.”

“I see,” Valdemar said when he meant thanks. Marianne didn’t need enhanced senses to notice his palpable relief. “You know, I’m supposed to summon a familiar tomorrow. From what I read, the creature reflects the summoner.”

Marianne could read between the lines. He’s afraid the familiar will take more after his father’s side of the family. “I’m sure it will be a good friend and creature,” she tried to reassure him. “If intention matters as much as action, then surely nurture counts as much as nature.”

“I hope so.” Valdemar let out a sigh before raising his hand, paint spreading to cover the window outside. “We better go to sleep. Lord Bethor is going to come wake us up in six hours.”

“Alright,” Marianne said, exhausted herself from both the operations and her own tests. She lay on her bed and covered herself with a bedsheet. “Good night.”

“Good night,” he replied before climbing on the bunk bed above her own.

A few minutes later, when Valdemar was snoring lightly, Marianne opened her eyes. She gazed at the darkness of the room and the painted forms dancing on the walls, at the blood coursing through the alien landscapes. Then she looked up at the bed above her.

She hoped that Valdemar had better dreams than her own.