17.0

Dirk knocked angrily on Zyrdicia's chamber door in the late morning. He assumed that she would be asleep, given the hour. He had not seen her since she departed the party in the Great Hall the previous evening.

He had expected to find her waiting for him in his chambers last night. The knight he had sent to escort her had been ordered to take her there. The prince was surprised, to say the least, that she had chosen not to share his company. He was also extremely angry. Her breathless whisperings in his ear prior to her disappearance had apparently been calculated only to tease.

He had no more patience for her childish games. He was quite through with chasing after her. When he found she was not waiting in his chambers as anticipated last night, he refused to come look for her, responding to spite with spite. He had mistakenly assumed she would come back like a wayward pet when she grew bored of this.

In the past, she had a habit of coming to him in the hour just before dawn, when she returned from her nocturnal wanderings. That liminal hour where night submits to day was the time she tended to most crave companionship. This time the day broke with no sign of her. He presumed she was being petulant and stubborn, though he could not fathom what had triggered it.

She is insane, he reasoned. There was no explanation for her irrational, inexplicable behavior.

After the morning progressed, his outrage had grown with each passing minute. Insane or not, he refused to put up with it any longer. The previous week's sickening ride of false drops had become unbearable.

The prince banged on the door a second time. Portia answered finally, still half-asleep.

"Hi. Wake your mistress. Now!" Dirk ordered coldly as he entered the antechamber.

"Huh?" Portia asked, thoroughly confused and not fully awake.

"Which word in my command did you fail to comprehend?"

"I thought she was with you still."

"Presuming a capacity to think was your first mistake. I would not be here if she were with me. Obviously."

Portia squinted. Dealing with him was often unpleasant, but he was in a particularly foul mood this morning. She could think of better ways to wake up. "Zyrdicia never came back from your engagement party so I figured--" she stammered. She stared at him for a long moment, her tired mind finally registering the situation. "I suppose she left angry?"

The prince looked away impatiently, his eyes rolling up toward the ceiling. He snapped, "I have no idea."

Portia watched his face and reassured gently, "Don't take it personally. She's probably a little off kilter. Her body recovered from the ordeal with Baal, but I'm sure the rest of her hasn't."

"What are you talking about?"

"Think about it! The Sephiroth systematically ripped her apart from within her own brain every hour of every day. When that didn't work, who knows what he did to her on the astral plane. Add to that whatever Azriok put her through to keep her alive, and if she's moody and difficult right now, maybe there's a reason for it."

Dirk grimaced in annoyance. Zyrdicia was more problematic than any woman he had ever known. The absurdly high degree of irritation associated her corresponded roughly to her value to him. For at least the hundredth time in the past half year, he was again reminded how outrageous it was that such magical power could be couched in a creature so irrational, moody and senseless. She had dared to disappear the day of his ascension ratification.

Portia continued, "She baits you deliberately. You know why?"

"Because she enjoys it!" Dirk snapped testily.

"No. It's easier for her to be hateful than to admit to caring about you. The fact that she came back here from the astral plane rather than going home or to Lyr says a lot - she would not have done that for anyone else in this world." Portia sensed he was becoming uncomfortable with the conversation, but she refused to let up. "You mean a great deal to her. That's why she stayed away after Baal attacked."

"What?"

"She didn't tell you? I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"Tell me what?"

"Before she sent me back here with you when she was in Lyr, she told me that she thinks Azriok didn't just send Baal to this world to screw with her head. Baal came to kill you. But he doesn't know who you are. All humans look alike to them. Baal took up residence in her mind thinking that she would lead him to you. She could not return without exposing you to him."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You need to hear it."

Dirk pointedly said nothing. Zyrdicia apparently still had no idea Baal was serving both sides in Hell's conflict for her. He had no intention of setting the record straight. He picked up the magical glass shard hanging from the long chain around his neck and concentrated upon it. An image of Zyrdicia materialized in it instantly. It was still night, wherever she was. She lay upon a beach, curled up with the great, black dragon. The creature's serpentine neck entwined loosely around her torso as she stared vacantly up at the night sky. A village behind her was a wasteland of destruction.

Her hair looked wet. The thin, black silk of her clothing clung to her body as it dried, streaked with sea salt. She looked as though she had just emerged from the ocean. As she talked to the beast, her bare feet curled into the soft sand. She looked melancholic and morose.

Dirk watched her for a long moment. He had expected to see a spiteful sneer and mocking laughter in the monocle, not peculiar sadness. Her enormous purple eyes reflected the same fragility now that he had seen in them whenever she awoke from a demon-filled nightmare. He loathed that look at the moment. Once again, Zyrdicia had managed to blunt his otherwise unforgiving rage. "Do you know where this is?" he asked Portia reluctantly.

She glanced at the image, searching for a landmark. Noting the lights in the distance, she nodded. "An atoll in the lagoon south of Lyr."

"Take me there."