When Galamon touched the bright white within the door to the White Planes, he had been expecting and dreading dealing with many things. Would it be the death of his brother? Would it be the first time he’d killed someone in wake of his vampirism? He had confronted these scenes in his head countless times.
Instead, when his vision returned to him, he gazed upon a tall Veidimen woman sitting upon a white throne. She wore a white robe of fur, and had a bow across her lap. Various other weapons hung from her waist, and she had daggers lined along the robe’s chest. Her face was stern, austere, and divinely beautiful, yet her hard white eyes spoke of impartial judgment that would offer no leniency. Her hair was a long and untamed mane, making her appear even more ferocious than she already did.
As recognition dawned, Galamon’s heart thumped wildly, and he knelt and removed his helmet. His breathing was heavy as he waited, half-doubting what he had been taught. He had no memory of meeting Veid—why, then, would he see his goddess here?
“Lift your head, Galamon,” Veid spoke. Her voice flowed like water, yet carried such power behind it that Galamon felt a child again.
Galamon obeyed, looking up. Veid still sat there, unblinking, unbreathing. He dared not speak, fearing this might be some trick of the door’s design far less than the prospect of offending his goddess.
“You bypassed the door,” Veid said, slowly rising to her feet. She set the bow on the armrest of her throne. “You have nothing within to shield yourself with. There are no memories you have not conquered. But I remedied that.”
Galamon blinked, saying nothing. Those within the test could not mention either the door or the White Planes—meaning, who he saw was precisely who he saw. His heart beat ever faster.
Veid stepped closer. “You are like me.” She looked off to the side. “You spend all of your time in your own head. Deliberating. Agonizing.”
Galamon’s whole body shook. He didn’t know whether to disagree with Veid because he was her inferior, or agree with her because she was his divinity.
Veid again focused on Galamon. “Will you serve me?”
Galamon’s heart beat ever faster. It screamed at him the simple answer—yes, yes, a thousand times yes! But instead, Galamon said, “I pledged my service to Argrave.”
Veid offered her hand. “And if I were to name you my consort?”
Galamon couldn’t help but lower his head. “I would refuse. I made a vow to my wife.”
Veid was silent, and Galamon dared a glance up. Her face was stoic, ever-calm. She said evenly, “And that is why you are here—because you would refuse me twice for the sake of your word alone. Worry not. I never expected you to agree. I do not often choose mortals to represent me. Few are worthy.”
Galamon lowered his head further until it touched the ground—whatever the surface was, it was cold and painful. “I am not one of the few. I should not stain your reputation with the corruption of vampirism, even if I am cured.”
“I decide that.” Veid leaned down and grabbed his shoulders, then pulled him to his feet as easily as though he was a child. As he adjusted, she asked, “Do you wish to champion me?”
Galamon went silent for a few minutes, staring into the eyes of his goddess. He didn’t feel he could muster the words ‘no’ if he tried. He nodded.
“It’s yours.” Veid raised her hand and then slammed it against Galamon’s chest. He felt his heart resonate with something. It was an aura, a power, as pure as water and as strong as an icy blizzard. His brain filled with knowledge of her power, her blessing… and it made the whole world spin. And more than her blessing, he knew how to conjure her symbol, denoting his newfound position of champion.
Veid removed her hand from his chest and walked away even as Galamon gathered himself. “Keep it up,” she told him, the weapons on her waist clanging as she walked away. Then, as though her throne was a door, she retrieved her bow and walked inside… and Veid was gone. She left behind her last words, saying only, “Your king is coming.”
Galamon stepped closer, looking around in utter confusion. He never quite understood why people disliked his brevity until now, left wanting as he was. He looked around at the White Planes, finally perceiving his surroundings. There were rolling hills of whiteness, almost like the flat mesas or plains of Veiden when covered by snow.
When he knew that Veid would not again appear, Galamon walked back to his helmet and picked it up, staring at its eyeholes in utter confusion.
“Knew you would make it out first,” said Argrave, appearing out of thin air. Galamon’s eyes widened, but he slowly processed things.
Galamon didn’t know where to begin, but a question rose to mind. “What happened?”
“With me? Mine was quick and painless,” Argrave said, looking back in reflection. “Kind of like… a final push off the cliff, I guess.”
“In what way?” Galamon pressed.
Argrave looked surprised at the further questioning, but he did consider the issue. “Thought about a lot of things I might do to tame the whiteness within. I saw me. The old me. I asked for a little refresher about certain things, and I got some good information. And in the end, I just said one thing, and it closed the conversation.” Argrave spread his hands out as he said it, as though unfurling a paper. “I told me… that I was fine as I was.”
“That’s it?” Galamon asked.
“That’s it,” Argrave nodded, then looked around. “I think all the old me really wanted was hearing that from someone I respected. And I respect myself, now. All the past versions of me, too. Couldn’t be who I am if I wasn’t who I was. Past few months, I’ve been coming to terms with who I am, and what my strengths actually are. And that version of me, good ol’ Vinny—he’s one of them. Might be my biggest strength, and what’s the damned shame in admitting that?” He laughed and shook his head. “But listen to me, acting all grand. Let’s wait for the others. Want to bet who comes first?”
Galamon put his helmet back on. “You’d pick Anneliese.”
Argrave laughed. “Got that right. But we’ll see.”
#####
Elenore stared at Lazare as he ate his meal in this decadent restaurant. She was frowning quite hard.
“You’ve hardly touched your duck, El. Is everything all right?” Lazare tilted his head.
As she listened, Elenore started to realize just how far removed this man was from what she liked now. He was sweet, gentle, and he was always available to listen to her feelings. She found it utterly insufferable. Even that nickname, El, made her sick. This had been the cause of her untimely separation with her feet and her eyes? This fawning, obsequious, and all-around boring man was the reason that she lost much of her future?
“What in the world did I see in you?” Elenore shook her head slowly.
“I’m not sure of that myself,” Lazare’s yellow eyes looked down at his meal, downcast at her tone. “But whatever it is, I’ll prove myself worthy of you, El.”
“Like when you gouged out my eyes, staring down at me,” Elenore nodded.
Lazare raised his head. “But you killed my entire family afterwards.” He toyed with his food in bitterness. “Can’t we just… forget about all that?”
Elenore looked off to the side. No words came to her. She remembered giving that order. It had been two or three years after the event, when she was just burgeoning as the Bat. Her power had been waxing greatly, and in a solemn night… she’d ordered Lazare, his parents, and his older sister killed. She remembered Felipe III bringing her this news, trying to mock her with it.
And she couldn’t deny that nothing had felt sweeter than that sense of power over people. To make her father be her personal messenger, bringing the news her order had been completed. To enact vengeance on the man who’d robbed her of sight. It had been a total affirmation her path was the right one, at the time. And as Elenore remembered that, she felt a little ill.
“You do remember that, don’t you?” Lazare pressed.
“…yes, I do,” Elenore said quietly. Then, she looked over. “I gave that order.”
“Did it make you feel better?” Lazare asked.
Elenore narrowed her eyes. When she thought of it, truly thought of it… no, it hadn’t made her feel better. It had been like pouring pounds and pounds of syrup atop filth. The dirtiness, the hatred, kept with her for all the time afterward. She never tended to the wound. She’d just buried it beneath other things. It never truly mended, not even to this day, not even with Durran at her side.
“No. I felt as terrible as ever, day after day,” Elenore mused, pushing away the plate of duck.
“Then why did you do it?”
Elenore laughed. “Just… because a little broken girl got too much power, too fast.” She looked at him. “I’m sorry, Lazare. I did go too far.”
“It’s okay,” he shook his head.
“No, it isn’t,” Elenore shook her head. “I went too far… but you betrayed me. I’m not really sure I can forgive you. I know that asking for your life in exchange for my eyes is… quite frankly, immoral. I should probably forgive you. But even still, I just can’t.” She rubbed her hands together, warming them. “But I shouldn’t forget you, either.”
Elenore focused on him. “I loved my father, the person at the root of all this. And it wasn’t because I was stupid, or unlucky, or unfortunate… but because I was human.” She rose to her feet. “Despite how much I hate it, you were a large part of my life, Lazare. And even despite all that, I butchered you and yours.”
She stepped away from the table. “I honestly don’t know if you loved me, or you loved the princess. I suppose I got my answer, if I want to be cynical about it. But you didn’t make me like this. You were a part of it, but I made me like this.” She looked out at the window, where the streets of Dirracha waited, bustling with people. “I found a family that shouldn’t love me. Argrave, Durran, Anneliese… even that oaf Orion… they know what I’ve done. And selfish as I am, I’m not going to let that go. Ever. But I think I can admit… that I loved you, once.”
When Elenore looked back, Lazare wasn’t there anymore. There was a whiteness spreading out from his form, consuming the walls and the ceilings. She let it pass by her feet, and felt it rise up to shelter her. Strangely… it was like a part of her was returning. It wasn’t fully pleasant, yet it was filling.
When next she saw, Argrave and Galamon were chatting. Both of them quickly turned their heads to her.
“Hey,” Argrave greeted her. “I thought it’d be Anne that came out first. Color me surprised.”
Elenore was jarred by the sudden shift of mood—to be in intense emotion, and then to be so suddenly jerked back to the carefree Argrave… it was unpleasant, to say the least. She raised her hand, asking for a moment.
After a long while, she looked at Argrave. He was waiting with a quaint smile.
“I love you, Argrave,” she said simply. She couldn’t both say those words and meet his eyes, so she stared at his feet. When she dared a glance, he was sporting an unexpectedly big smile.
“Love you too, sis.” Argrave stepped forward up to her. “Must’ve been some heavy shit in there if you’re saying that.”
Elenore laughed, walking forward. She was crying a little. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was from sadness.
“I hate that stupid door,” she cursed, shaking her head. But for the first time since she could remember, Elenore didn’t fear anyone abandoning her. Even if she cried her heart out, laid on the floor and thrashed her arms, her family would be there. Now… now, it was different. She looked up at him. “Where are the gods? Let’s get this over with…”
“We’ll meet them in time,” Argrave nodded, then pointed at Galamon with his thumb. “Mister Terminator over there already met and championed Veid. Apparently, he doesn’t have any repressed memory. Can you believe that?”
Elenore looked at Galamon, returning to clarity. “A little. Don’t like waiting here, though.”
“The White Planes respond to your desires. They’ll link you up with the gods you want,” Argrave told her. “If you want to go… it’s safe. Even gods can’t hurt you here, not anymore. Go and negotiate away.”
Elenore sniffed strongly, then looked off into the distance. “Yeah… yeah. I think I’d like that.”
Princess Elenore broke away.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” Argrave assured her.
Elenore looked back and said with the faintest smile, “I know. I trust you.”
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