14.11.0

Dirk's outward calm in public was a masterful display, but behind closed doors he was overwhelmed by agitation. Everyone wanted to know where the legendary Baroness was and why the war had suddenly turned against the North. There were rumors circulating that the Landeshexa had abandoned them again. Convening the nobles could very well blow up in his face if she did not appear soon.

Friday afternoon, he remained at the castle while his noblemen went on a fox hunt. He needed time to think, to create a contingency plan in case she had chosen to betray him by going off with the demons.

Cai knocked on his chamber door softly.

"Come!" Dirk commanded wearily.

The seneschal entered, shutting the door carefully to prevent eavesdropping. He announced somberly, "Portia sent Anthony to tell a guard to tell me to let you know that your fiancee has returned from the astral plane. Given the convoluted way they sent word, my sense is that she isn't well." Cai knew instinctively that they were trying to put as many layers of messaging into the news as possible in order to insulate her. That technique was nothing new around here.

"Where is she now?"

"They claim she's in Lyr, resting."

"Claim?" Dirk wondered, arching an eyebrow.

"Portia departed my quarters in a hurry a short time ago. She refused to tell me why she was in such a sudden panic. My suspicion is that she received word telepathically from Zyrdicia. She certainly did not go back to Lyr right away, as I would expect her to have done had she anticipated her mistress' arrival there. I walked her to Zyrdicia's quarters."

14.11.1

Anthony looked at Portia nervously. Zyrdicia's shivering had become more pronounced. Philip adjusted the blankets around her, touching her forehead with the back of his hand. She faded in and out of consciousness as the opium numbed the physical pain. It did nothing to soften her mind's bewilderment or the nightmare of having a Sephiroth's soul fusing itself to her living being.

"It hurts so much," she whimpered, her eyes closed.

"What does, dear?"

"My blood's on fire. But it's so cold."

"It's Azriok's magic, I think."

"I want to die."

"No, you don't. Whatever this is will pass."

A loud knock at the door to the outer chamber interrupted them. "I'll get that," Anthony whispered.

"Get rid of whoever it is," Portia reminded.

"Duh!" Anthony responded, pulling the door to the sleeping room shut quietly as he left it. When he went to the main portal where the visitor was banging, he opened it just a crack. "She's not here, honey," he announced through the opening, when he recognized the visitor.

Dirk pushed the door open, glaring venomously at Anthony.

"She's in Lyr." Anthony added confidentially, "Azriok's friend chewed her up and spit her out. You don't want to go there to see her. Trust me."

Dirk ignored him, moving to the other door.

"Stop!" Anthony shrieked, darting ahead of him to block the door. "You can't go in there!"

Dirk's scathing glare said otherwise.

"Don't you dare go in and yell at her! Um - shit! I mean, you can't go to Lyr and yell at her."

"Get out of my way, you fool!"

Anthony wagged his finger knowingly, "Remember how much trouble you got in after you tried to fight with her last time she tangled with Baal. You're still trying to straighten that shit out. Don't you even think of being mean to her right now!"

Dirk stared hard at him. He warned, "If you don't move from the door way this instant, I will remove you from it myself, in small pieces!"

"Are you going to be mean?"

Dirk smiled coldly. "Of course not."

"Promise?"

"MOVE NOW!" he barked. Anthony jumped aside a moment before the prince's fist would have sent him sprawling out of the doorway.

Dirk entered without knocking "Hi," he greeted, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Heavy curtains were drawn over the windows to block out the late afternoon sunlight. Even in the dim light, he immediately noticed her armor and clothes abandoned in a heap. He also noticed the blood on them. Several blood-stained towels littered the floor as well. The sickly sweet smell of opium hung in the air. It reminded him of the smell inside the Cauldron in Lyr.

Portia stood up from where she was sitting in a chair near Zyrdicia. Portia shook her head and put her finger to her lips gesturing for quiet. She whispered, "She needs to sleep."

"Leave us," Dirk commanded to everyone in the room.

"I'm afraid that isn't possible," Philip shook his head firmly.

Dirk glared down at the diminutive elfin man. They had not yet been properly introduced, but they were both well aware of the other's identity. "I insist," Dirk whispered menacingly.

The old elf shook his head and shrugged apologetically. "I cannot leave her alone with you or anyone else right now. Her condition is much too unstable."

Dirk turned and stared at Zyrdicia a long moment. She was still nestled into the far corner of the couch, mostly sitting, wrapped in several blankets. Despite her proximity to the fire and the layers in which she was bundled, she shivered uncontrollably. "I take it things did not go as planned."

If she heard, she gave no indication.

Portia nudged him, "She kept her promise. She's here. Let her be tonight. Scold her for being late some other time."

"That isn't why I'm here. You should not have tried to hide her presence here from me!" he said irritably. "Is she conscious?"

"Comes and goes. It's better for her when it goes. She is suffering quite a lot."

Dirk cringed inwardly at the word choice as he remembered Astaroth's visit. He walked toward the couch then peered down at her bare arms on top of the blankets. He picked one of them up gently. Her skin burned with fever. He stared at the deep bruising in the firelight. His brow furrowed. Although he never flinched from causing her pain, this bothered him. Hurting her was his exclusive privilege. She belonged to him. Beyond that, he knew the force necessary to cause such bruising was colossal. Nothing he had ever done had bruised her in the least - and he had done quite a lot. He also knew that for her to be suffering from pain, it had to be unimaginable. He was intensely curious about it. He had never seen any force capable of leveling her so. "And the rest of her?"

"Worse," Portia advised.

Dirk removed his gloves, then bent over Zyrdicia. Her face was turned away, one cheek pressed into the leather of the couch's back. Her face was the only part of her body that was not injured. Her eyes were clenched tightly shut in silent agony. Despite himself, he found the facial expression rather pretty, on her.

He pulled the blanket open carefully. He wanted to know what could push her to such a point. He was not squeamish about other people's wounds. He had grown up on a battlefield and in a torture chamber. Nevertheless, his breath caught in his throat when he saw her. Her rib cage was crushed - completely. She should have already suffocated in her own blood. Her lungs should have collapsed. It was inconceivable that she was still alive.

He replaced the blanket gently. He touched her exposed cheek, running the back of his hand along the bone. He cursed himself silently for caring about this embattled creature's predicament. Her bruised fingers moved suddenly, wrapping around his hand still at her cheek to prevent him from pulling away.

"You're awake?" he whispered.

"Mm." Her eyes remained shut.

"Are you able to speak?"

"A little," she coughed, groaning again.

"The pain must be unbearable."

"Mostly the magic hurts." She sounded as though she were talking in her sleep, her voice speaking out of a dream.

"What magic?"

"It's so cold. Make them relight the fire." She was oblivious to the flames raging in the fireplace a scant few feet away. She looked like she was dying.

"What magic hurts you?" Dirk prodded, sensing she was slipping out again. If he knew what was causing it, he might be able to force Vector to take care of it in time for the announcement tomorrow. All might still be salvaged. "Zyrdicia, tell me."

"Hold me."

"I can't. You'll break." In point of fact, almost every part of her that could be broken already was.

"Please?"

Dirk rolled his eyes uncomfortably. The request frankly embarrassed him, given the others present in the room. He sat down on the edge of the couch then and rested one hand on the back of her head. Her hair was still damp from her bath. He was afraid touch any other part of her.

To his surprise, she leaned forward so that her head rested against his shoulder. He could not fathom how she could possibly move. "What magic hurts you?" he coaxed.

"Azriok's," she murmured distantly.

He sighed in frustration. After speaking to Astaroth, he had no confidence at all that she knew the source she named. He suspected that calling the dark angel with the monocle again would be more useful than calling Vector.

Before he could give it much thought, she whispered coarsely, "Please kill me."

"I need you alive, not dead."

"If I ever meant anything to you, do it."

"No. You are delirious." He needed her to be crowned king. Her death was out of the question.

"I can't stand it. Please make it stop."

"I'm going to send for Vector. He knows a healing evocation or two."

"No!" Philip interrupted loudly from the other side of the room. "Magic is the problem! Her body cannot take any more of it. She's overloaded with magic. Azriok poisoned her with an excess of it!"

"In that case, I know an alternate source of assistance," Dirk muttered grimly. He reached for the monocle on its chain with his free hand and summoned Astaroth.

The angel appeared an instant later. He did not immediately speak. He stared darkly at the prince, then his enormous, otherworldly eyes settled upon Zyrdicia. Philip gasped audibly at the unexpected divine manifestation. Finally the angel declared, "I hope you are not going to make a habit of such summoning. I am quite busy, you know."

"Remove whatever magic is tormenting her and heal her!" Dirk ordered sternly.

Astaroth pursed his infernal lips. "I cannot."

"You caused it. Fix it!"

"This was not supposed to happen. It's far beyond me now," the angel replied sadly.

"What wasn't supposed to happen?"

"She wasn't supposed to trap Baal with a bind-rune. She certainly wasn't supposed to succeed in slaying him. It all went terribly wrong. His death caused him to lose control of his magic. None of us could reach her to stop it. Except Azriok, in her dreamworld. He sacrificed a piece of his soul to keep her alive -- to keep all of us alive. What he did cannot be undone."

"He put part of his soul in her body to keep it from perishing?" Philip clarified cautiously, approaching the winged figure fearlessly.

The angel looked at the elf strangely. They were already well acquainted. "Yes."

No one in the room had to wonder again why she wanted to die.

"Azriok comes to the rescue as usual," Anthony muttered sarcastically under his breath.

"There is nothing I can do," Astaroth replied indifferently. "It's out of my hands."

"I'm not interested in your excuses, demon. You know very well that she's useless to us both in such a state. Undo whatever the fiend did!" Dirk demanded.

"Impossible. The hierarchy forbids it. I cannot interfere with Azriok's magic."

"What will stop it?"

"Time. If you stop it now, she will die. His energy is healing her body but ravaging her mortal soul. Eventually it will fuse with her and the agony will abate, if she lives. Perhaps in a few minutes; perhaps in a few years. Our kind has never attempted this with an adult mortal. There is no telling how long it will take."

Time was the one commodity in terribly short supply. Returning to Dirk in such a state did the prince little good. The frustration of her disappearance now gave rise to a new frustration. He had dozens of nobles awaiting a goddess' appearance. He was supposed to announce his engagement to that goddess tomorrow evening. Were Zyrdicia to appear before them like this, their faith in her as an incarnation of Saxarba would vanish, as would the likelihood that he would be able to force the Baronial Council to call for his coronation. He was sorely tempted to slit her throat and put her out of her misery. He glared accusingly at the useless angel.

Astaroth caught the prince's thought and smiled innocently. "Oh, no. I'm not responsible. You are."

An instant later, the angel vanished.

Zyrdicia mumbled something incoherent.

Dirk looked down at her head on his shoulder, surprised she was still awake. She had been so still during Astaroth's visit, he had assumed she had lost consciousness again. He muttered, "Once we are wed and I am king, this madness will end. Slaying gods, suicidal aerial acrobatics with dragons, blindfolded sparring with demons, swimming with sharks and sea monsters. There will be no more of any of it."

A hint of smile touched her lips. She could not remember how to laugh at that instant. In fact, she suddenly could not remember how to form words. His words floated around her in the air, somehow connected and disparate at the same time. She could see them careen through the air through her closed eyes. Sometimes they brushed against her skin as they flew past. Strange things, these words.

She concentrated her thoughts on forming her own. "You're angry at me?" she wondered distantly, already deep inside the borderlands at the edge of consciousness.

"Not at you."

She could not feel the solidness of his shoulder under her cheek anymore. Everything material seemed to dissolve around her - the couch, the room, even the air. He was speaking again, somewhere. Was he whispering in her ear? She was sure it was important, but she could not make any sense of it. The words continued to float by in jumbled isolation. "I" - "die", always together lately, those two. "Miss" - "me", also somehow connected. "You" tumbled by alone, disconnected from everything else. A dozen more floated past too quickly to catch. When she snagged one, another escaped. "Love" and "pain" tumbled past in a pair, sensibly it seemed. It was far too much work to bother trying to make sense of it now. She was much too tired for such strenuous mental exercise.

A thousand thorn-covered fingers tugged her away from the voice, pulling her instead toward a familiar, dark chasm. She recognized it from her long friendship with Death. She knew He was waiting. He had waited such a terribly long time. As she fell into the abyss of His embrace, she forgot who it was who had been talking at all.