webcrawl/APGTE/Book-3/out/Ch-070.md.tex

\hypertarget{chapter-45-falling-action}{%
\chapter{Falling Action}\label{chapter-45-falling-action}}



\epigraph{``And so Maleficent said: `Though you be god I am Empress, crowned
of dread, and by my hand comes your doom. Rage in vain, for from your
bones will rise a great tower whose shadow will be cast upon all the
world.'\,''}{Extract from the Scroll of Chains, first of the Secret Histories of
Praes}



The fortress that lay at the heart of Dormer jutted out incongruously,
great jaws of granite gaping down at a city that had known only peace
for centuries. The seat of power of the barony had been built in tiers,
an elegant ring of grey stone making the first. The was power here, and
not young. Though no moat had been dug into the hill, the empty circle
around the castle would been a shooting gallery to bleed an investing
host were the walls manned at all. But there was not a soul in sight,
the faint night breeze lazily winding through deserted bastions. No
contest of our advance had been made as we approached, only flames in
the distance betraying the truth that Summer had yet to surrender. The
pace had been irritatingly slow due to Thief's hobbling, but I had
mastered my anger before it could lash out. There were more deserving
targets for my wrath than those who had fought and burned for me.

The gate was the sole concession the Barons of Dormer had made to
concord, sculpted columns of marble and ivory built over the ancient
rough gate and portcullis hidden away by the younger arch displaying the
words and heraldry of House Kendall: \emph{Honour Lies Immortal},
written along the curve of the wreath of ivy. I strode past the pale
marble steps, the faces of the ancient rulers of the city staring back
at me from the shadowed reliefs. Scenes of glory one and all, from the
founding of Dormer to the first oaths sworn to House Alban when Callow
was made a single kingdom. There were lies unspoken in this, victories
made false by denial of failure. Winter pulsed in my veins, itching to
take blade to the unsightliness. I breathed out mist and crushed the
impulse. \emph{You serve me}, I whispered at the cold. \emph{Never the
other way around}. The urges were more insidious than those my Name
still caused, my own thoughts painted with a Winter brush.

The portcullis was closed, bands of steel tightly wedged into granite,
and perhaps before I would have sought one of the servant entrances. But
what did mere steel mean to me now? My gauntleted hands clasped around
two bars, and the metal screamed as I ripped open a path. No more
difficult than snapping a branch, and Winter murmured in delight at the
destruction.

``That's one way to do it, I suppose,'' Archer said.

The first words spoken since we'd left the field where so many of my men
lay dead. I did not glance back as I stepped into the courtyard. To the
side I could see the smouldering ashes of what had once been stables
built around the wall, but I had no interest in sightseeing. In the
distance, at the heart of the fortress, I could feel a gate in the
making. Not at all like mine, where my will was a knife used to cut
through the boundary between Creation and Arcadia. Someone had built a
canal on the other side, and was now carefully prying open the lock. The
river would pour through unimpeded, when the time came, and sweep away
everything that stood in its way. \emph{A Queen is a god in the flesh},
I thought. \emph{No creature so powerful can lightly cross boundaries.}

``There is a ward ahead,'' Hierophant said, studying a handful of
shining runes. ``Barring the inner reaches of the fortress.''

``It will break,'' I said.

The hall we strode through was old as the walls, the raw stone made to
look luxurious by tapestries and and hanging drapes in the green of
Kendall heraldry. The Proceran carpets under our boots had already been
singed by the fae who'd once held the fortress, the edges of blackened
and twisted. Stairs rose ahead into a balustrade, sculpted ivy leaves
shaping the railing. We had not succeeding in getting our hands on plans
of the fortress, before the battle, but I could feel the gate-to-be like
the north of a compass. Further in, where the great hall where the
Baroness of Dormer had once held justice and audience before the Tower
stripped her of right and title both for her rebellion. How long had
this castle stood, I wondered? There might be nothing left of it but
rubble, when dawn came. I guided us through the corridors, the power
wafting from me eagerly scattering the last wisps of Summer's presence
in little tufts of hissing steam. The air grew cool and crisp wherever
we passed, and more than once I felt Hierophant shiver.

We found the ward as we emerged from the corridor that would lead us to
the great hall, its copper gates laying wide open behind it. A wall,
though one of woven sunlight and shivering golden Summer flame. I could
feel it spread beyond my sight, a great cage of power crafted to protect
the arrival of the Queen of Summer.

``How long will it take you to open a way, Hierophant?'' Adjutant asked.

My sword left its sheath with a quiet hiss before the blind man could
reply. I struck out, boots leaving trails of ice behind as my blade
rammed against the light. The walls shook around us, but the ward stood
strong.

``Knocking at the door might take a while,'' Archer noted, sounding
amused.

``I can walk through,'' Thief rasped. ``If Hierophant tells me how to
unmake it from the inside-``

``\textbf{Break},'' I hissed.

I opened the floodgates in full, let Winter pour through my veins and
seep into the most destructive of my aspects. My blood was cold, I only
now noticed. It had been for some time. Yet I felt no weaker for it, the
frost instead lending a sharp clarity that it had once taken effort to
reach. \emph{Duchess}, I thought. My will found easier purchase when
bending Creation to its will. Shade and ice flared along the edge of my
sword as it struck the ward and for a heartbeat it felt like I was
trading blows with the Duke of Green Orchards again. Then the ward
broke, as I'd ordered it to. Stone around us shattered as well, the
walls anchoring the sorcery torn through as the ward desperately
scrabbled to remain coherent. There was a sliver of life in it, a will
to guide it. Had they sacrificed a fae to forge this? No matter. Ice
smothered that wisp of thought, blanketing the corridor. I resumed
marching through the ruins surrounding us, the wide doors of copper held
up only by a thin arc of granite as I passed through them. Adjutant
caught up to me first, leaning close.

``Catherine,'' he murmured, though we both knew the others would be able
to hear anyway. ``Calm yourself, before you begin making mistakes.''

``I am calm,'' I replied, and I was. ``What I am is \emph{out of
patience}. If it gets in my way, it dies. We're past half-measures,
Adjutant.''

The orc looked as if he wanted to argue, but I was disinclined to allow
it. The great hall lay spread out before us, a shabby thing compared to
those I had walked in the Tower. Long tables on both sides flanked a
supplicant's path leading to stone platform set against the back wall
and the tall glass windows over it, the dying moon cloaking the simple
bench of whitewood on it in a halo of light. \emph{There}, I thought.
The crossing would take place there. Let it not be said the Queen of
Summer would ever settle for less than a throne, in any world she
strode. Hierophant came to stand by my side as the others milled around
the hall.

``Still the better part of an hour before dawn, by my calculations,''
the mage said.

``There's no need to wait that long,'' I said. ``Implement the
contingency.''

Eyes of glass shifted to me under black cloth, a brow rising.

``You know my study of the sun is incomplete,'' Hierophant said.
``Should I be forced to loose the arrow the Due would be comparable to
that of the very event that named the concept. There will be no city
left, no armies, and it is unlikely anything will grow of these grounds
before Creation is unmade.''

``One does not call a god to heel without risking calamity,'' I said.

He paused.

``I want to work a pathing spell on your mind,'' he said. ``This is
reckless even by your standards.''

``Winter has nothing to do with this,'' I said. ``But if it will make
you feel better, by all means.''

His touch against my forehead was surprisingly warm, as was the sorcery
that seeped into my mind. I could feel it curling like smoke along my
thoughts, until finally he withdrew.

``It is influencing you,'' he said.

``But,'' I said.

``No more than the mantle of your Name,'' he admitted. ``Your mind is
still your own.''

I heard Archer let out a baited breath, behind me. Hierophant no longer
quibbled after that. It was a wonder, watching him work. I'd seen him
weave sorcery before, even High Arcana, but this went a step beyond.
Eyes closed, heartbeat almost still, the blind man crafted me a miracle.
It was not runes that he threaded together but echoes of things he had
seen, flickers of great feats he had witnessed. I saw his father's
silhouette standing before a tower that built itself turning into the
Princess of High Noon with her hands raised, a pyramid of blood-streaked
mud lying at the heart of a maze melding with a glimpse of a city rising
into the sky. Pillars of translucent, shimmering power struck the ground
in a perfect circle around him and I felt their reach rise through the
ceiling into the night sky above. Eventually, he opened his eyes.

``Thief,'' he said. ``Release the sun.''

The burns on the heroine's face had peeled off, replaced by red and
tender skin through healing magic, and so I read the hesitation on her
face plainly.

``There is no need to be afraid,'' I said.

No, not us. Not today. She nodded slowly, and fingers found the pouch at
her side.

``Here it goes,'' she said, and opened it.

The glare was blinding, for a heartbeat. Hierophant's unearthly ward
caught it whole, drawing it to the pillars as even the coldness coming
from my frame was swept away by the raging heat. And then it dimmed, as
suddenly as it had come. The mage grunted in effort. It hurt my eyes to
look at it, but I did not look away: I might never see such a sight
again. The ceiling above us was not torn through so much as it
evaporated, the fortress around us melting like butter in the heat. The
sun of Summer rose into the sky, chasing night away, and with it came
dawn. I turned my eyes to the dais as the lock gave and the Queen of
Summer came, granted entry by our will. There was no gate. Between two
moments, absence was filled a young girl. Golden curls streaming down
her white robe, she still looked half a child and every inch a farmer's
daughter. There was nothing unearthly about her tan and her dimples, or
those brown eyes that could have belonged to any mortal. The left side
of her body was touched with red, bandages peeking through the collar of
her robe. Ranger had wounded her, at least.

``Oh, children,'' she sadly said. ``You know not what you do.''

It would have thought her mortal, if not for the hint of pressure behind
her. Like she was the seal on a boundless ocean that could sweep over
Creation at any time. Winter coiled inside me, frozen furious hatred
that wanted to rip her small frame apart no matter the cost to me or
anyone else. I ignored it.

``You have been summoned,'' I said, ``to discuss terms of surrender.''

``Come to me, my armies,'' the Queen said.

I did not need to look to know every fae in Dormer had taken to the sky,
the words touching their minds. The city emptied in moments as wings
flared and the tide of soldiers flowed towards us. Hierophant staggered
as if hit in the guts, blood whetting his lips. The Princess of High
Noon, I thought, had just been freed from her prison. Over the molten
ruins of the fortress surrounding us ranks upon ranks of soldiers and
pennants stood perched in silence, more arriving every heartbeat, and
only then did the Queen turn her eyes to me.

``So many dead,'' she mourned. ``You have earned him victory with your
blood, Duchess. Yet Summer does not surrender. You know this. You have
seen it with your own eyes.''

``You have three duties,'' I said.

``She's trying for the sun,'' Hierophant said, tone alarmed.

``Destroy it, Masego,'' I said.

It was with vicious satisfaction that I saw surprise twist the Queen's
face.

``A desperate lie,'' she said, but I felt her power still. ``You would
destroy us all. Break this land beyond mending.''

It wasn't fear I saw in those eyes, not exactly. I wasn't sure she
really could be afraid. But there was uncertainty. Hesitation. Three
words, and I had stayed the hand of a god. My lips twitched, and strange
joy bubble up in my chest. I laughed, loudly, and allowed a hard grin to
split my face.

``If I can't win, you misbegotten thing, then we will all lose,'' I
hissed. ``Look into my eyes. Tell me again I'm lying.''

I would have rocked back, had I not gone through the crucible of
standing judgement before the Hashmallim. An entity infinitely greater
than I enveloped everything that I was, will beyond comprehension taking
sight of everything that I was and had been. The Beast coiled at my side
and whispered back. \emph{Whether they be gods or kings or all the
armies in Creation.} The Queen of Summer \emph{flinched}.

``Madness,'' she said, appalled.

``I am a villain,'' I laughed. ``I stand before you the pupil of a
madman, heiress to a thousand years of darkness and terror. Test me
again and I will make this a wasteland to have even the Gods shudder.''

``Summer does not retreat,'' the Queen said, and it rang like a
thunderclap.

``Summer has \emph{lost},'' I replied unblinkingly. ``As we speak the
Prince of Nightfall breaches the walls of Aine, the city you are sworn
to protect. Around you stands the butchered remnants of your host,
awaiting doom at Winter's hand. And in my palm lies your Sun, three
words away from destruction. The Laurel Crown has three duties, and in
those three duties you have failed.''

There was a moment of silence, before the Queen sighed.

``And so comes the dying of the light,'' she murmured. ``The wheel
spins, Catherine Foundling. To end is to begin. We will not go with a
whimper.''

My heart would have thundered, if I still had one.

``Or,'' I said. ``I could give you exactly what you want. Aine
safeguarded. Winter unmade. The Sun returned to your sky.''

``You promise beyond your ability,'' she said.

``All I require from you is a word, and you will get your wish,'' I
smiled. ``And I ask a boon granted, for what I deliver to you.''

She studied me again, tasted the truth of my words.

``This,'' she said, ``has never happened before.''

``And never will again,'' I said.

``I will hear the terms of the bargain offered,'' the Queen of Summer
said.

It was no coincidence it happened the moment she spoke the words. The
grooves carved into Creation would have ensured as much, smoothly
turning truth to story. Coincidence that was anything but. At my side
power coalesced, stealing the efforts of Summer to allow its ruler to
cross as a path of its own. A circle left open closed, as with a sharp
smile the King of Winter came into Creation to face his created
opposite. Sleek and dark-skinned and crowned in dead wood seeping red,
the fae breathed in the air of Creation with relish.

``Oh, what a beautiful morning,'' he said.

``Treachery,'' the Queen of Summer said, words ringing of steel and the
death of men.

``Ever a favoured diversion,'' the King agreed. ``Though I come for
something\ldots{} stranger.''

He turned his eyes on me, the gaze of a teacher pleasantly surprised by
a pupil. I itched to carve them out of his skull, and not using
something sharp.

``With your permission, Duchess?'' he said.

``According to the terms offered by Her Dread Majesty,'' I replied.

``You will have your boon, greedy one,'' he said. ``Ah, but what a
daughter of Winter you make. Is she not delightful, Ista?''

I grit my teeth to get through the pain of hearing the name of the
Summer Queen spoken, feeling Masego go rigid as a board as he did the
same. Coat of black sweeping behind him, the man walked to his enemy and
with a flourish he knelt.

``Ista of the Morning Star,'' he said. ``Bearer of the Laurel Crown,
Queen of Summer Triumphant. I ask your hand in marriage, to rule Arcadia
an equal by my side.''

He extended his own smoothly. One word, I'd told the Queen. She could
still have it all, if she only said yes. The armies of Winter would end
the assault of Aine, I would return the Sun and Winter would be undone.
I watched the kneeling fae with cold, cold smile. I'd made an oath, once
that I would unmake him. And I just had, with him having to thank me for
it. \emph{There will be no more Winter}, I thought. \emph{Only a single
court ruling Arcadia, neither and both.} The Empress had been right. The
pivot was always going to be the Winter King, because he was the only
entity that would see my preferred outcome as a victory. It had all
hinged on him agreeing, because he was the oddity and he could make
decisions that led outside the stories he despised. Summer would have to
be forced, I'd known from the start, and I'd done exactly that. The
Queen would agree, because she could not do otherwise. She was bound to
seek to discharge her duties, and I'd put her in a corner with
acceptance as the only way out. To refuse here would mean actively going
against what she was, \emph{and she could not physically do that}. Black
had told me once that I'd kill Akua, one of these days, not because of
my own power but because her nature would force her to make mistakes I
would not. I wondered if he would proud, that I had used his lesson to
destroy two gods without lifting a finger against either of them.

``I accept your offer,'' the Summer Queen said, taking his hand, and I
could see the horror on her face.

She was fighting it, trying to take back the words. But she couldn't,
just like the Rider of the Host I'd once forced to monologue by playing
the hero. The change that followed the words was hard to describe. It
wasn't something I saw or felt. Neither of them metamorphosed into
something different. But it was no longer two separate entities that
were before me. I'd heard a riddle once, in Laure. \emph{When is a stone
not as stone -- when it is a wall}. Nothing changed, yet it was not the
same. The king rose to his feet, and pressed a tender kiss on the cheek
of the livid queen.

``And so the war comes to a close,'' the King of Arcadia said. ``A realm
cannot be at war with itself.''

A shiver went through the host of fae around us, as is something had
been torn out of them.

``The matter of boons remains,'' the Queen of Arcadia said, and the eyes
she turned on me were burning. ``Promises must be kept.''

I stood before two gods and did not kneel. I would not, in this moment,
pretend this was anything but my win. That I'd bled thousands on the
field, caused the death of men dear to me for anything less but utter
victory.

``Upon the granting, you will have discharged your duty to me,'' the
King said. ``And so will have earned the return of your heart. What do
you request of us, Duchess of Moonless Nights?''

``Of you, I request release from vassalage forevermore,'' I told the
fae.

``I am most saddened to grant this,'' the dark-skinned king said.

He did not seem surprised. I turned my eyes to the queen. I would have
to tread carefully, here. If I fumbled the phrasing, she'd do her best
to fuck me over. The temptations lay in the back of my mind, beckoning
sweetly. To go back on my deal with the Empress and request that the
whole of Arcadia come together to kill Diabolist. \emph{But she's not
wrong. They'll wreck the entire central plains to do it, and we'd be
risking some fae influence remaining.} And there was another, young but
no less demanding for it. I could ask them to heal Nauk. It would be a
trifle, to them. But there might be other means to save my legate. And I
would never get this chance again. A heroine, I thought, would have made
the right choice. The only justifiable one. But I was not a heroine, and
justifications only mattered to the just.

I spoke, and betrayed a man I called my friend.

``Of you I ask permanent right of passage through Arcadia for me and all
I command, uncontested and unhindered,'' I said, voice hollow.

``I grant you this,'' the Queen replied curtly.

``And so peace is upon us,'' the King said. ``Steel yourself, Catherine
Foundling.''

I felt the hand tear through my chest before I could even open my lips,
and the world went dark.