Invidia

Eyfira is not a fool. She is aware of what she has accomplished. She has not just arranged a marriage between herself and a cruel, murderous devil of a king. She has signed her death warrant.

And I let her.

I convinced myself that she had signed her death warrant.

An Eilhunite messenger appeared at the fence of our estate. A woman with piercings in her ears and nose. Wearing a ceremonial ring. She carried a sacrificial dagger in a sheath on her waist. She told me Eyfira had lived past the wedding.

Relief coursed through me that morning. Parching my worries, as profoundly as an oasis parches the arid throat of a traveler in the desert. My thoughts muddled into a deliriously joyful fog as I sped up the stairwell, packed my things, threw them into my chariot, and set off for Eilhun. I steered for eight hours straight, tearing through the bustling streets of my home colony Kragir and towards the Seoshan-Eilhunite border.

Eyfira practically tackles me to the floor the second the oaken doors swing open. She drags me up several flights of stairs by my sleeve. My legs are burning at the end. We're both breathless. She's blushing. Rambling. About what he may feel for her. How she may feel about him. Flustered. I am not the only one who can fluster her anymore.

Khaides Ilrex is not unkind to her. There is no trace of the demon stirring beneath his soul when he is with her. He is a fallen angel at worst. He spoils her. He brings her gifts. So many gifts. Her face shines as she unwraps them one by one. A silvery necklace as light as a feather. A delicate bronze bracelet hammered to be as thin as a spider's string. Cozy wool cloaks and cute, fuzzy hats for the fall so she does not grow ill. Pretty embroidered skirts for spring and summer. Though my gut twists at the sight of it, I cannot tear my eyes away from the sterling ring on her finger.

"Doesn't he scare you?" I ask her.

"In the beginning he did. Sometimes he still does," she answers solemnly. "After the beheadings. When he holds me. His clothes are clean, but I can smell the blood on him."

"How do you know he won't execute you the moment you step out of line?"

"I won't, and even if I did, he would never do me any harm," Eyfira says firmly. "He's good to me."

What about me? Am I not good to you? Am I not good enough for you? I want to cry out. I bite my tongue. Until it hurts. The soreness distracts me. Keeps me from opening my mouth and ruining everything with my selfishness and frustration.

"Khaides told me his father left him as an infant because of his disfigurement," she says sadly. "His mother abandoned him next. An old blind monk took him in. Fed him. Taught him how to read. Then he passed away from old age."

Am I supposed to let everything go? As if that is an excuse for all the lives he's taken; all the peaceful countries ravaged by his thirst for power. The children who have nightmares of his scarlet, fanged banner rising above their flaming villages. The people whose hearts he ripped out, and the hearts of the families he has broken beyond repair. Only four months ago, he threatened to do the same to her subjects. Made a mockery of her mother. Of her kingdom. How can she forgive him so readily?

Eyfira combs her fingers through her auburn hair, the way she combed them through my dirty blonde waves.

"You know the rest," she huffs. "The king killed his father, left his mother to starve, and he offered up his soul as a vessel for the high demon Surakiel."

"Heartwarming," I snark. Eyfira glares at me.

"He's my husband, Raiju."

"At least he seems to really trust you," I remark.

"I trust him, too," she says. "Not as much as you, though."

Her expression is blank. My brow furrows. I follow her gaze. My heart skips a beat. She's staring at my lips. Her shoulders tense when she realizes I've caught her. She looks away. There's a lull between us. It's not uncomfortable. Just unusual. My heart pangs. We never had these silences in our conversation before the summit. Fortunately, it doesn't last long.

Eyfira scoots closer to me and leans in mischievously.

"Hey, hey. Guess what scent my perfume is." I breathe it in. Subtle. Grassy. Floral. Like a meadow. I quickly open my eyes, so I don't drift back to our picnic all those years ago.

"Vanilla and lavender," I say confidently. Eyfira checks the label on the bottle. She gasps.

"No way." Her jaw drops. "No Monarch-damned way." I shrug innocently. Then she's chatting away once more. "You get it every time. You've got an incredible nose. You're incredible, Raiju."

"I'm aware," I say smugly. Eyfira laughs, lively again. I cackle and dodge as she throws a cardboard box at me.

"Very modest of you."

With Eilhun's financial aid, Seosha prospers. The birth rate rises. The infant mortality rate declines. Living conditions have improved. I should be grateful.

My friend has not been mistreated. She is healthy. She is full of energy and a zest for life, just like when we were young. She hasn't changed. Nothing's changed. Our bond hasn't been broken after all. I should be ecstatic.

Yet now, sitting down in the corner of my room in a Xinzhong inn, trying and failing to block out the throbbing ache of longing in my mind, I am intoxicated with a strange sort of fume. An emotion somewhere between anger and disgust. My head is reeling too much for me to determine it.

If I am being honest with myself, I would've rather been told she died than spend another evening opening presents with her.

Khaides Ilrex can provide Eyfira with as many gifts. Fine by me. Much like Jaelyra, more than two people can play at this game. A game where I have the advantage. He provides her with shallow necklaces, bracelets, cloaks, hats, and skirts. I will provide her with something she truly wants.

I do not seek to infringe on their union. I cannot erase what is written in ink and blood. However, I can seek a flicker of triumph. A temporary satisfaction; the satisfaction of showing him that even though he has stolen her heart, her soul is still bound to mine.

I hand Eyfira a beautifully engraved wooden box. Her eyes twinkle as she undoes the clasp at the front. It unfolds into a Jaelyra board. She carefully turns an expertly carved game piece over in her palm, cradling it. She hugs it close to her chest. Her words are thick with emotion.

"Raiju, you shouldn't have," she breathes.

"A simple thank you will suffice," I tease. She embraces me as tightly as she can. I wrap my arms around her waist, pressing my cheek to hers. Her fingers thread into my hair. Her mouth brushes the shell of my ear. Her shoulders are shaking. At first, I think she's giggling, but then she whimpers softly, and something wet stains my neck. My heart sinks. I back away and cup her face in my hand.

"Eyfira, what's wrong?"

"I'm scared," she chokes out. "I'm so scared, Raiju."

"Scared of what?" I press, wiping her tears away with my thumb. My gaze darkens. My voice trembles, but not with fear. With something red hot. "Scared of who?"

"Khaides."

"What did he do?" I ask sharply.

"He didn't mean to -"

"What did he do?"

"We had a fight. I wanted to visit my mother and my subjects. He told me not to bother. He said that if they really loved me, they wouldn't have let me give myself away to him that easily," she sniffles. "But I wasn't going to stand for that."

"Did you slap him?" I ask eagerly.

"I said just because his mother abandoned him didn't give him the right to project his own pain onto me." I grimace. "Yeah, not the best argument to bring up on my part."

"No one would blame you if you slapped him."

"No, they wouldn't," Eyfira says dryly. "They would just pity me because my head would be on a pike." I lace my fingers with hers.

"You could flee right now." I swallow down the dryness in my throat. "In my chariot. Come up with new names. Start a new life in Xinzhong. Or any colony you want."

"If I flee, it will only provoke more of his rage, and then Seosha is ashes," Eyfira replies bluntly.

"He'll never find us," I insist.

"He will." Eyfira wrenches her hand out of my grip. "He'll find me. Then he'll execute you." Her tone softens. "If we were in each others' places, you would say the same." I can't rebut the truth. Three words come to mind.

I love you.

"Please be careful," I say out loud. Eyfira doesn't respond for a long while. She smiles. It is forced. My gut twists.

"I'll try."

Four more weeks fly by. I return to Kragir. I help my mother design outfits. My cousin sews them together. My father pitches them. This time, unlike our usual high-class clients, our customers are Seosha's laborers. Our fashion exhibition is a massive success.

The Eilhunite messenger shows up at our property again.

"King Khaides Ilrex and Princess Eyfira I-Seosha have accepted the Empress' invitation to a masquerade this evening," she tells me. "The princess ordered me to inform you that you are also welcome to attend."

I sit beside my parents and cousin at our designated table, sipping rose wine with him. My uncle's cane rests on my lap. I wear black, knee-high boots. I've tossed on a penny-brown vest over my short, white, ruffled dress. My mask is forest green, decorated with swirls and paper holly leaves. Several ladies and noblemen dance in a circle, their dresses and shoes gliding across the marble floor.

The Empress sits silently on her throne behind us. Her face is hidden behind a set of bejeweled curtains.

The Queensguard stands nobly at her right side, jaw permanently clenched, sword in hand. Her armor gleams, a grey fur cloak sitting over it. A white wolf's head functions as her hood. The knights flank her, each clad in chain mail and clothed with wolves of their own.

The Magistrate is on the Monarch's left. He sports a black and gold cape that conceals most of his robes. His mask is mostly translucent except for a few spots of bronze. The vitiligo around his eyes fills it in, forming the shape of a hawk's feathers.

Chandeliers shine above us, as radiant as the stars themselves. They are still not as radiant as Eyfira when she enters the ball in her gorgeous purple gown. The diamond hair clip I bought for her glitters even brighter against her auburn hair. They are the exact garments she wore when I lost her to the Thronekiller. She affectionately squeezes my shoulder as she flutters past our table and takes her seat a few steps away.

The conqueror has a red sash with the symbol of Eilhun tied over his pants. He doesn't wear anything under his black suit jacket, except for an ornate tattoo stretching across his collarbone. His sleeves are rolled up, proudly showcasing the markings on his veined forearms.

The music dies down. When the lights hit his eyes, they seem to burst into flame. The dancers lower their heads in respect as he strides past them. He stops at my table. My family stands up. My father and cousin bow. My mother and I curtsy. His ego sufficiently stroked, he reclines in a chair beside Eyfira.

Khaides' posture is still aloof and proud, but unusually calm and relaxed. Eyfira whispers something to him. He murmurs something back and she shyly buries her face into her hands. He chuckles softly. Whatever conflict they had the last time I visited is long gone. I take another swig of sweet wine to wash out the bitter taste in my mouth.

A new song begins. My father taps me on the shoulder.

"What is it?"

"Look, Raiju," he says proudly, pointing to one of the couples waltzing below our viewing balcony. I lean forward. I frown.

"I don't see it."

"Get closer, dummy," my cousin Aijon snaps. I elbow him in the ribs, but I take his advice, getting up from my chair and walking to the end of the balcony. A smile tugs at my lips. Now I notice. A red tie with a pattern akin to that of a rose's thorns. The woman next to him wears a practical, but elegant pair of light pink slippers with three pearls studded into the heel.

"That's your work, dear," my mother gushes, the shutter of her camera clicking rapidly as she snaps several photos.

"Our work," I reply sheepishly. "I only drew them. You found the fabric, Aijon assembled it, and father sold them."

"When they switch partners, you should join him," my father suggests. My brow furrows.

"Who?"

"The man with the tie." My expression sours. I feel a twinge of irritation. I slide back into my chair.

"I'm not interested."

"What do you mean you're not interested?" Aijon splutters. "You haven't even talked to him!"

"Calm down, Aijon," my mother sighs exhaustedly. She places a hand on my father's arm.

"Don't give up, honey. I'll get through to her." I wince as my mother playfully pinches my cheek.

"Raiju, dear," she coos. "There are plenty of other noblemen at the ball. At least give one of them a chance. Why don't you start with Magistrate Hytur Osson?" I groan loudly.

"Mother, for the last time -"

"Raiju," my father cuts me off. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair and clears his throat. "Do you not want to get married?" A lump hardens in my throat.

"I - I do. I do want to get married but...but..." His eyes flicker with concern as I trail off, unable to finish my sentence. He checks over his shoulder to make sure the Empress isn't listening. My mother nervously clasps her hands together. Aijon's face falls. My breathing becomes shallow.

"Do you not want to marry a man?" my father asks hesitantly.

No, I almost say.

I can't lie to my father. But I know what happens if I tell the truth. I know the law. I know the Empress' decree. Homosexuality is a sin. Any love besides that between a man and a woman is an abomination. A perversion. No family wants a perversion for a daughter.

My father won't allow me to tarnish their reputation. He will remove me from the family business. I will no longer be a Medane. They will disown me.

"Maybe I'll speak to Magistrate Osson," I blurt out.

Aijon spits out his drink. My mother pinches him. My father doesn't say anything, but the concern stays in his eyes. My stomach flips. My knees wobble. I swipe my mother's camera and tuck it into my vest as I stagger past my family's table and toward the Empress' throne.

Hytur should be standing there.

He isn't.

Maybe he's dancing. I sprint for the stairwell that leads to the main ballroom floor.

Then a man steps in front of me and blocks my way. A man with blazing red eyes. A shiver crawls across my skin.

"King Ilrex," I stammer, bowing to him.

"Lady Medane," he says calmly. He doesn't return the gesture. Of course, he doesn't. He's deluded himself into believing he's a god. And gods don't kneel to mortals. My gaze darts to the chair beside his, where Eyfira is supposed to be. My chest tightens. It's empty. He doesn't seem to have noticed.

"How may I help you?" I ask.

"Eyfira told me about how you comforted her after our disagreement. And the Jaelyra board. She's very fond of it. Fonder of it than all of my gifts." He swirls his glass. "I'm often consumed with political affairs in Eilhun. Trade routes, civil unrest, sacrifice, executions, and whatnot."

I shudder at how he lists it off so nonchalantly. All those hearts carved out of their chests. All those people publicly decapitated and butchered.

"As such, I am unable to care for Eyfira's well-being, but she tells me that your company has filled that void." He downs the last droplets of his drink. His eyes narrow. "She told me that I have her hand, but you have her heart."

The music seems clearer than before. It only now occurs to me that I recognize the tune. The same tune Eyfira hummed when she braided my hair on the night of the summit. The words of the king echo in my skull.

I have her heart. My ribs expand as if filling with a warm, glowing light. The chandeliers spin above me. The lump in my throat disappears. Air floods into my lungs, and I am light as a feather, my feet floating above the ground. I have her heart. I have Eyfira's heart.

"Have you lost your voice, Lady Medane?" Khaides sneers, ripping me out of my trance.

"I'm no threat to you," I stutter.

"Clearly," he laughs derisively, turning his nose up at me.

"Is-is that all?" I stutter.

"It is," he answers coldly. "You may leave my presence." I stumble away, holding onto the balcony for support. Then I halt in my tracks.

"King Ilrex," I call. Khaides looks at me from over his shoulder. His irises flash irritatedly. The dark, metallic mask covering the left side of his face seems to snarl back at me in a warning.

"Lady Medane."

"I am grateful for the things you've told me," I murmur. Khaides grins wryly and turns his back on me, prowling back to his seat.

"As you should be."

I can pick Eyfira and Hytur out of the crowd now. They're in the dancing circle together. I sprint down the stairwell to meet them. The music swells. Hytur dips Eyfira and spins her around. He chuckles and she whoops as she twirls into his arms. They move in perfect unison, her corset pressed to his shirt. The orchestra swells. Then decrescendos into its final, ringing note.

Hytur and Eyfira are face-to-face, fingers still laced together, mesmerized by each other in the dappled rays of the dusk breaking through the palace drapes. Eyfira's breathing is heavy, sweat glistening on her bosom. Then he tenderly brushes his lips against her knuckles. She doesn't let go.

Khaides discusses something with the Empress while the Queensguard watches over them. Neither of them has apologized for what they mentioned during the summit, they seem to have come to a begrudging understanding. Most likely political matters. Closing the economic gap. Incorporating the Monarch into the Eilhunite pantheon. Changing the misinformation around his culture. He's consumed.

He doesn't see Hytur leading Eyfira out of the palace. But I do. So I follow them. The joy I felt in my soul is replaced by the weight of dread.

I creep down the drawbridge. I keep as close as I can behind the pair without them noticing. I match my footsteps with Eyfira's so they can't hear my boots thudding against the wood. Wood turns into grass and flowers as they enter the courtyard.

The glass menagerie looms over me. The birdsong is more haunting than I remember. A baby monkey cries. A leopard growls, sending a chill down my spine. In the midnight black of the garden, the white panther looks like a ghost as it lounges in its cave.

Something rustles in the distance. Eyfira and Hytur disappear into the wods. I dart in after them. The pale blossoms fall down around me. I brush them off my vest. They're only a few meters ahead, but it's a bit of a challenge to keep track of them in the web of trunks and branches and logs. Hytur checks behind him every few seconds. I leap behind a tree when he does. He has no clue. I take my mother's camera out from under my vest. He's up to no good. This is my chance to catch him red-handed.

I look out from behind the tree. They're gone. That's not a problem. Eyfira and I have played hide-and-seek in this forest since we were little girls. I know exactly where her favorite hiding spot is. One of the trees to my left rustles. I smirk to myself.

There you are. A white willow with a lush canopy of leaves. I brush them aside and burst into my friend's old sanctuary.

Eyfira's mask is tossed carelessly to the soil. The diamond hair clip I bought her has been thrown away with them. She's lying in the grass, her thighs wrapped around Hytur's waist, fingers clawing into his hair. Dirt smears her gown. His black and golden jacket is half off. She's kissing him, gasping out his name as his lips close over hers.

I thought I had her heart, but she's kissing him.

I am intoxicated with a strange sort of fume. An emotion somewhere between anger and disgust. Then only anger. A scream stirs and boils in the pit of my stomach. The fumes become smoke, eating holes into my windpipe. Combusting into flames, melding my aching, bleeding heartbreak into something else. Melting it down into magma, and solidifying into hard obsidian.

She's kissing him, her body stiffening in horror when she finally sees me holding my camera up.

"Raiju, no!" she cries.

Click.