Tivalti: Ven Chess
Sunday, November 1st, 2009 | Uncategorized | No Comments
A Game of Tears makes two mentions of tivalti. Until recently, most ven scholars had little information on the game, but recent revelations have given us a very good look at what many call “ven chess.”
The game can be recreated with a standard chess board and pieces, but many of the pieces have different names and slightly different moves.
THE PIECES
Spear (Pawn): The spear (or spearman) may only move forward but may move one or two spaces. Like the pawn, the Spear may only attack diagonally. The spear may not jump pieces like a knight.
Roadman (Knight): Moves as a knight.
Sword (Bishop): The sword (or swordsman) moves as a bishop.
Lover (Rook): The lover takes the place of the rook. The lover has a very strange move in that it can exchange places with the husband or the wife (see below) once per game. This move is called “the lover’s leap.” The lover may move in any direction but only two spaces.
The Wife & The Husband: At the beginning of the game both players put their respective husband (the King) and wife (the queen) in either the left or right hand and reveal their choices at the same time. The piece in the left hand is the submissive and the piece in the right hand is the dominant. The dominant piece moves like a standard king and the the dominant piece moves in a completely different way. The dominant piece may move as any other piece on the board.
OBJECT
The object of the game is to capture the dominant husband or wife. Not to isolate it (as in regular chess) but to capture it. Once the dominant is captured, the game is over.
RANSOM
If a player moves any piece to the other side of the board, he may exchange that piece for another captured piece.
A Game of Tears — The Final Letter
Thursday, October 22nd, 2009 | Research | No Comments
I am called Shajar Thorne, a Baron of House Falcon.
I write this testimony in response to a request for information regarding Countess Ismene Yvarai and her brother, Count Tomas Yvarai. Although the events occurred almost a year ago to the day, the memories remain sharply clear in my mind. I regret that I am unable to deliver this report in person, but the particulars of it are still too painful for me to speak, and may remain so for quite some time. As the Senate well knows, as a result of these events, I have elected to take the black. My word, therefore, would mean very little when delivered on the Senate floor. I have given this written testimony to a trusted friend, who has promised to read it before the august Senators, omitting nothing.
I grew up in Uliinsher, which borders my current holdings of Teravie. You are likely not familiar with the lands. They are quiet and pastoral. Nothing rare or valuable can be found there, and it lays off the main highways. As a result, it is peaceful, idyllic sort of place. I was raised by two honest and decent ven - Baroness Sophias Thorne and her husband, Baron Kilim Adrente. I realize such virtues are not recognized by many of the Senate, but in the back counties, far from the City, honor and decency are as valuable as steel and iron. There, the Storm rages fiercely, and one learns quickly to unite with your neighbors for survival’s sake. This engenders a strong sense of community I have not encountered in the city, and which may be alien to the city-bred among you.
Shortly after his arrival, I was formally introduced to this man as Baron Tomas Yvarai. I recognized the name. Even in the wilderness of Shan’ri, we had heard of the Prince of Rakes. I wondered what business he had which brought him to our residence. After all, I had no sisters for him to seduce, and Baroness Sophias invested all her energies into her playwriting. We were left alone to talk.
“I owe your parents a debt,” he began. “Especially your father. The particulars are not important, but I pride myself on paying my debts. Even though this debt was incurred before you were born, I will honor it. I have discussed the matter with the Baron and Baronness, and they agree with me. Therefore, I have a proposal for you: while you have no doubt been provided with the best tutors money can buy, there is only so much one can learn here. Come with me, and I shall see to it your education is completed. University, if you’d like. But more important than that, I can teach you secrets books and tutors cannot.”
He must have seen my astonishment, because he laughed then. His laughter was anything but easing to my confusion. Baron Kilim was yvestra to Baroness Sophias, so I did not understand at the time quite how he could have been owed anything - especially by Tomas Yvarai. Though, I assumed, if the debt was older than I, perhaps it was also older than their marriage. And here was Tomas Yvarai himself, in my parlor, offering to take me with him to the city and complete my education! I of course accepted his generous offer, and we were away within the fortnight. It was much, much later when I learned Tomas’ purse paid for my tutors in the country. For many years later, I wondered why. I would soon discover that some questions are best not answered.
I shall not bother with the details of my budding friendship with Tomas. Let it be said he was a true mentor to me. Without his influence, I doubt I would be the man I am today. For better or worse. I have to admit feeling a certain sort of connection to the man, for reasons I shall explain later. We were often taken for relatives while out and about, an assumption I (at the time) took great pride in. It must have been my youthful impetuousness that prompted me to ask about his sister. I kept asking to be introduced to the equally notorious Ismene Yvarai. Tomas, however, warned me away from her every time I asked. “She is a dangerous woman,” he would tell me, “You are intelligent, but that matters little. You are too innocent for the likes of her. She would seize upon your innocence and corrupt it. I would not be doing your parents any favors if I did not keep you from meeting my sister until you are ready.”
Whether he planned it that way or not–and I cannot say anything is coincidence or chance when considering the Yvarai siblings–I finally did meet Ismene Yvarai when Tomas had his now-famous duel with Lady Shara. Her elegance and beauty struck me as soundly as Shara’s Sword struck my friend. And wounded me just as deeply. Though Tomas warned us both away from each other, we could not help ourselves. She was wise and strong, and a thousand other things a man looks for in a woman. All of us have read the same poetry and pillow books. We know who she was. We shall not see a woman like her in a thousand years, no matter how hard House of the Fox may try.
I remember the day when our friendship became a Romance, and the day when our Romance became a liaison. The first step was during the long struggle in which they rose to Count and Countess. Under a tree watching the fires from their Enemy’s wine fields burn, she turned to me, her lips so close to mine. I could obey Tomas’ warnings no longer. When the siblings finally succeeded, I was so proud of them both. I felt honored to be included in their small family. It is true that Ismene was the first lover I ever had. It is also true that, our first night together, I wanted to give her the most precious gift I could. I offered to tell her my true name. I thought it would make her happy. She refused to hear it, though. “The only result of telling someone your true name is suffering,” she told me. She also swore me to secrecy regarding our liaison, though at the time refused to tell me why. This also gave me pause - after all, Ismene was anything but shy when it came to her affairs.
As I reached my nineteenth year, my parents reached a decision regarding my marriage. I had avoided the question as long as possible. At first, I was enjoying my time with Tomas too much to wish for the responsibility. Later, I did not want to leave Ismene. Finally, though, I could delay no longer. Sophias and Kilim had secured for me a good match, for which I was a dutifully grateful son. When I told Ismene, however… she was enraged. She felt betrayed. Having never been married herself, she could not understand that a marriage would not have interfered with our bond. The argument caused an emotion to stir in my heart that I had never felt before while in Ismene’s presence. I felt the terrible pangs of fear. Fear for her rage, and fear that I had lost her forever.
But as the months passed with my new wife, I found a kind of happiness I did not expect. She was as I: a child reared in the country, where matters of politics and intrigue are the stuff of literature and history. Those were happy years for me. And although I missed my adventures with Tomas and my nights with Ismene, I found the Courage to put them behind me and accept my new life.
It was only a few days later when I discovered my wife had been murdered. At the time, the violence seemed mindless, and mystified me. Senators, in this matter I admit, I was woefully blind. After reading the letters left behind by the Yvarai siblings, the truth of the matter is clear to me. I should have seen it that day. However, we are always loathe to believe those we love are capable of terrible deeds.
My wife’s murder was the beginning of a long year of tears.
One day, Ismene wrote me in a panic. She urged me to leave my own home and come to hers immediately. When I arrived, I saw her as I had never seen her before. Her hair was uncombed and her face as white as a spectre’s. She was speaking so quickly, I could barely understand her. And then she said something I could comprehend but not fully understand.
Her eyes were mad and red and ragged with tears. “Because we are lovers,” she told me.
“What?” I asked, shocked. “Why? Tomas is a dear friend! He should be glad for our happiness!” I demanded she tell me what had made her so upset, but she refused. I demanded an explanation. She collapsed in my arms then, weeping madly. It was only long minutes later that she spoke. The words still burn in my memory. I shall recount to you now what she told me as accurately as I am able to remember it.
“Ever since my first lover,” she told me, “we have made a… a Game. When I take a lover, Tomas has a Season to kill him. And I, the same for his.”
I could not believe what I was hearing. I began to wonder if true madness had befallen the woman I loved. “Ismene, I have been your lover for much longer than a Season and Tomas has not made any attempt to kill me.”
I took her in my arms. “And so I must hide from Tomas until Autumn passes?” I asked her. “That is easy enough, darling. But I will do it on one condition.”
With that, she only cried harder. I did get her to promise, though.
We were married the next day. I had not even told Sophias and Kilim, who had always severely disapproved of my friendship with Ismene. I told no-one.
It was another night of wandering and gibberish. My fears were forefront in my mind. I got no sleep that night. And the next day, Tomas came to the castle. Swathed in red and yellow.
“Your wife?” he yelled. “Your wife?” He turned his head up to the windows, yelling at Ismene. “You lying harlot! You don’t know! I told you to find out his name. You did not, I know you did not!”
“What has she not told me?” I asked him.
To any who have further doubt, I confronted Sophias Thorne at her home. I demanded she tell me the name she whispered to me at birth. After a long afternoon of questioning, she admitted she could not. She attempted to explain, but I did not need to hear it. I know now the truth about myself, that I have been nothing but a pawn in a blood-soaked game of lust, love, revenge and tears.
Game of Tears — Part 40
Friday, October 16th, 2009 | Research | No Comments
Really, Tomas.
Enough with the histrionics.
Your letter is damn near incoherent, I almost didn’t respond. I hardly know what I am responding to.
Accusing me of poisoning you? Of clouding your mind? Hardly. In case you hadn’t noticed, this revenge has been twenty years in coming. I wanted you to feel the pain with every fiber of your being. Cushioning the blow with mind-numbing poisons would have precisely the opposite effect. I’ve no idea who’s been drugging you, but my plan relied on you being sober and perfectly, completely aware of the world around you.
Even now, Tomas, you have not the slightest idea how I have suffered. You have not marked the same day every year with melancholy wondering. You are not seized with worry every time you hear of the Storm wiping out a caravan; or of youngbloods dueling to the death. You do not weep when you hold an infant… even an ork infant. Do you know, though I know a dozen recipes, I have never once taken precaution against conception? The many lovers I have enjoyed, virile men all. And not once has their seed taken root. The poisons may not have accomplished what Father hoped they would, but my womb is blighted nevertheless. There will never be another child for me.
I want to see my son so badly, it hurts. I want to see the man he has become. I want to hold him in my arms again. I want to meet his wife and play with his children. I want to find out which House he has joined (though I cannot imagine him being anything other than a Fox, just like his mother).
There is something else you do not realize. Shajar Thorne loves me. There is not a single thing you could tell him about me to change his heart. Every day I wake next to him, I am surprised again by that fact. I almost regret treating his wife the way I did. It seems so unnecessary in retrospect. Even if you bundled up all the letters I have ever sent you, even if you devised complete and utter fiction and sealed it with my name and gave it to him with a pretty ribbon wrapped round the whole sheaf… yes, Shajar would read them and believe them. And he would still love me.
So tell him, my brother. Tell him everything. Tell him our whole story. Tell him how I earned the title Mistress of Poisons. Tell him I bore a bastard when he was still in swaddling. Tell him how many deaths can be laid at my feet. Tell him just how many men (and women) have come into my bed. Tell him how I murdered our parents. Tell him all that… and he will still love me. Even if you found incontrovertible proof that mine were the hands which ended his wife’s life (an act I still categorically deny), he would still love me.
You wish a token from me, to prove that I am the mistress of my own fate? Prove I am still your sister? Prove I am still Ismene Yvarai? Shajar told me his secret name long ago, the first night we were together. The first time, it turned out, he had ever lain with a woman. He thought the gift of his secret name was appropriate for the occasion.
You don’t understand, Tomas. You never will. With all your threats and bluster. You murdered me twenty years ago, when you killed the man I was going to marry. Yes, I loved him. And was grief-stricken by his loss. But I would have gotten over it. Only I could not. Not when his death also meant the loss of the only person I have ever truly loved. Had my beloved lived, you and I could have been happy. I would have been married. But wasn’t that what we planned all along? Advantageous matches for each of us, working in concert to build up both our fortunes. Sweet Sua’ven, Tomas, I would have been the dominant partner, even!
No, Tomas. You were enraged because what happened was outside your control. You have always sought to control me. If you cannot command something, you destroy it. That is why none of my lovers were ever allowed to live. Because, while you could not control who I invited into my bed, you certainly could see to it that no one stayed very long. That is why you have dangled this name over my head for twenty long & lonely years, making me play your Game and bend to your will.
And that is why I chose Shajar. Even if you had found him, I doubt you would have possessed the nerve to kill him. Not your precious ward and protege. Not an undischarged debt. Not the symbol of your honor.
I once chose lovers by their cunning. By their hardiness. Those I thought could thwart you without killing you. I only regret the solution took so long. To choose a lover you would refuse to kill.
Well, I play the Game no longer, Tomas. Tell me what I want to know, or be forsworn. What means more to you: pride or honor?
And if I learn my son has died sometime during the past twenty years… it won’t matter how it happened. Plague, Storm, revenge or romance. If he died without ever getting to see his true mother, if he died without me ever getting to see him again… I will use every resource at my command against you, and you will wish I had stopped at Kassana.
Yours with all filial affection,
Ismene Yvarai
Blooded of the Fox
Countess Sha’av
Mistress of Poisons
P.S. I counted three times to make sure I was accurate. You’ve taken two more lovers into your bed than I have. Who’s the harlot & the slut, then?
P.P.S. Shajar has asked me to marry him.
Game of Tears — Part 39
Thursday, October 15th, 2009 | Uncategorized | No Comments
Wanton Whore,
It is with a careful and steady hand that I write to you now. Careful, steady and sober. I have ordered my cellar be locked and remained in my rooms. I have used the two weeks you have given me to discover Shajar’s location to purge the poison from my veins. Yes, all the poisons. Even the ones you have secreted into my system without my knowledge.
Oh, what a clever and resourceful slut you are! Poisoning my wine. So slowly. How many years now has it been? Filling my mind with clouds. It was only your most recent letter that alerted me. You should know now that my addiction to your potent potables has been cured. You have turned my most precious weapon–my mind–into a weapon of your own. You cannot rely upon it as an advantage any longer.
My faithful spies in our father’s castle have reported the truth of what you wrote. Her body has been returned to me, as you wished. Her broken body. I caressed her hair one last time before I set her to the pyre. Her lips were too rotten for a final kiss. Another insult you have compiled upon the injury you have delivered.
Two weeks was what you gave me. It has been four. And yes, you have won, little slut. You have won. And in return, I shall tell you what you want. But only at the end. I shall make you wait for your victory. As long as I can. For you have committed many sins, my sister. Many sins. And for those sins you have committed, you shall pay dearly. I shall return the injury you have given me. But I shall not stop there. No, I shall deliver an injury to you that is far deeper than any you could ever have given me. You shall pay the price for murdering my happiness. You shall pay the dearest price of all.
But to draw out the anticipation of your final victory, I shall first list the insults and injuries you have bestowed upon me. And then, the Revenge.
Oh, yes, harlot. Do not think that you have the final victory here. No. I laugh now. Can you see my hand trembling? Can you? Can you see how my body can barely control itself for the black irony that makes me laugh? Sister, I have been saving this for you. A seed I planted so long ago in preparation for such a day. Such a day as this. That seed has grown into a beautiful blood red rose with such wicked thorns…
But I must not allow myself to become distracted. I must not allow myself to draw this out as far as I can.
Your first insult, you cowardly trollop, was slutting with that Falcon (who’s name shall never pass my lips). We made a promise to each other when we were young. We bled on it. Before we even knew sorcery, we bled on it. We swore we would belong to each other. And you gave up your flower to that imbecile. That cretin. That dandy know-nothing. You fell for his pretty promises and his flashing eyes and his smile. Did you think I did not know? Did you think you could keep any secret from me? I knew. Yes, I knew. And I waited for you to make a mistake so I could find you there. Naked. Helpless. So I could watch you beg at my feet for his life and I could steal it from you. To punish you for being so stupid.
Yes, it was a punishment. But it was also to make you strong. My own little bit of alchemy, there. Transforming my sister from the whimpering girl she was into the woman she is now. That was my first act. I repaid your treachery with a gift. Always has been my way. Repay your little sins with great gifts.
It was I who made you strong. It was I who burned your weakness from your blood. It was I who transformed you into the woman you are now. The only woman worthy of my devotion. Or, so I thought. Or, so I thought.
All the strength I gave you. But you still cling to your weakness. Ah, but we shall discuss that in a moment, shall we not?
You see, I like to test the things I create. You are my very own creature, and so, I chose to test you. To see if you were truly worthy of my love. And I have found my creation to be… wanting.
You lack the Courage to face an enemy face-to-face.
You lack the Cunning to see the trap I laid out for you.
You lack the Wisdom necessary to know the simplicity of avoiding it.
You lack, sister. You lack.
Your second insult was compounded by an injury that can only be healed in one way. You have murdered my happiness, slut. After I begged. After I pleaded. You murdered her. And for that, I shall return the favor in kind.
Shajar will be murdered.
But it will not be my hand that pulls the knife. Oh, no. Dearest, sweetest, most delectable slut…
… it shall be yours.
You will murder him. You will murder him to spare him the pain I shall give him. You will murder him to keep his ears from hearing what I have to tell him. You will murder him to protect him. And do you know why, my pathetic, love-struck sister?
Oh, how I urged you not to bring him into our Game! How I pleaded! Knowing you could not resist that which was denied to you. All I needed to do was say, “Leave this one alone,” and with the certainty of Seasons, you leapt upon him. Spread your legs for him.
You are as pathetic as you are predictable.
You may have seduced him, but not completely. Not yet. How do I know this? Ahah. My hand trembles again. Trembles with the delight of knowing I have beaten you, Ismene.
Do what you always do, slut. Pry from him his most private secret. Ask him to tell you his secret name.
And then, Ismene Yvarai, you will know my Revenge.
With deepest sincerity,
Tomas Yvarai
Game of Tears — Part 38
Wednesday, October 14th, 2009 | Uncategorized | No Comments
My Beloved Brother,
I write this letter to you from the small room atop the eastern tower in our parents’ manor. At this moment, I am sitting on a cushion with a writing board on my lap. There is ink to my right and clean paper to my left. A glass of wine sits in front of me. The chill Autumn wind blows through my hair. I hope to finish before the sun has fully set, for it seems appropriate to write you this letter from this battlement.
Do you know what I would see if I stood up and peered out over the crenelations? No? Of course you don’t. But you are afraid. I can taste your fear from here, carried on the wind. How long has it been since you last saw your dearest Kassana? Your beloved Green Woman? Your true love? A few days? A week? A fortnight? Has it been a month since you last heard her voice, smelled her scent, felt her skin beneath your fingers?
Did you really think you could deceive me again, Tomas?
You fool.
You poor, besotted fool.
I intercepted your last letter, telling Kassana where to hide from me. Yes, my dearest, best beloved brother. Once I had the letter, it was easy enough to send along one of my own. I invited Kassana to meet at our parents’ old manor. In your name, of course. Sealed with your initials.
She came. Of course she came. She was as smitten with you as you are with her.
Oh, dear me, did I perhaps reveal too much in my choice of verb tense?
Forgive me, Tomas. This letter is so much fun to write. More than I thought it would be. I feel positively giddy! I hope my hand does not tremble too much and spill ink all over this fine white paper. Though I race against the setting sun to complete this letter, I still want to draw it out as long as possible. To enjoy this feeling. Vrentae.
I think the good lady was rather surprised to see me here and not you. But I assured her you were nevertheless on your way, unfortunately delayed by your “ward”. Kassana was a bit nervous at first. But you know me, Tomas. I quickly put her at ease. We had the most delightful tea together. She could not stop talking about you. I was content to simply sit back and watch her carefully catalog all your virtues. Oh, yes, Tomas. If I had not already known, I would have learned it then. Your Green Woman was desperately, hopelessly in love with you. And you obviously returned her ardor tenfold. A hundredfold. A thousandfold.
The Rake Breaker and Prince of Rakes. What a pair. You really would have been worthy of being immortalized in opera.
I invited Kassana to take a stroll with me. Almost immediately, she remembered what you no doubt warned her of and was back on her guard. Then she realized I am Mistress of Poisons. I could see her quickly going over the tea in her head, wondering if I had fed her some deadly thing. I doubt poison would have worked if I had used it. You know all my favorites. I imagine you have been teaching Kassana how to build up her resistance to them. A good, if unnecessary, strategy.
There was no polite way for her to refuse my company. So she came with me. We walked. We talked.
“Tomas has told me of your… Game,” she said haltingly.
“Has he?” I responded.
She nodded. “I… that is, you should know we’ve never….” She blushed. But oh, Tomas. I could hear the lie in her voice! I know it well. After all, it’s the same tone I use every time I’ve told you Shajar and I are not lovers (he’s in hiding, by the way. I made sure to tell him in person why he ought to fear you. Technically, we have been lovers since before his wedding. Which means I’ve won the Game already. But I shall be charitable. Autumn ends in two weeks. Good luck. Two weeks, and then you are mine, your forfeit is mine and your knowledge is mine. Ah, but I digress horribly! Back to my penultimate conversation with Lady Rake Breaker).
I laughed off her discomfort. “Well, then, there’s nothing to worry about!”
At this, she smiled. Poor fool, she actually believed me. I decided to embellish a little bit. “To be perfectly honest, I believe I would be incapable of playing the Game with you, Lady Kassana. Not only as I have come to think of you as a dear, close friend, but also because you make my brother so happy. The Sua’ven know we both have had so little happiness in our lives. I can see the love in your eyes, hear the love in his voice. I, too, love my brother. Nothing in nearly two decades has pleased me more than knowing he has fallen in love, and with a woman like you. You are surely worthy of each other.”
I suppose I should not have been surprised Kassana believed me. After all, I was telling the truth. Mostly. At least about the important parts. About you. Mostly.
She was quiet as we ascended the east steps, but eventually broke the silence to ask me, “Why?”
“Why what?” I returned her question with a raised eyebrow.
“Why do you and Tomas play this… Game?”
I sighed. “It’s a long story. But I suppose you deserve to know. Has he not told you already?”
She shook her head.
“Very well, then. Many, many years ago,” I began, scarcely believing I was about to reveal the entire story to someone else, to this woman of all the women in Shan’ri, “I fell in love.” I sighed again, remembering my first.
“He was a Falcon. And, oh, how beautiful he was! His mother had dealings with my father, the nature of which I never fully understood. But it meant she came often to visit us, bringing her favorite son with her at times. I never noticed him until I was in my first flush of womanhood. Then I began to notice… things. Things a woman notices about a man. The way his arms looked, as if cut by a lathe. His shining dark hair, hanging halfway down his back, wondering what it would be like to run my fingers through it. The way my heart skipped a beat whenever he fixed his deep green eyes on mine.”
Kassana had the most moonstruck expression on her face, and I knew she was thinking of you. I continued.
“The warmth of his hand as it held mine. It was not long before we professed our love. We swore eternal devotion to each other. Tomas… I think Tomas knew something was between the Falcon and I. I should have told him, but I did not. This was a woman’s secret. I wanted to tell him in my own time. Every time he asked, I simply laughed it off and downplayed the entire Romance.
“Had it stayed a Romance, we might have been able to find some form of happiness. But we were young and foolish and passionate. Not yet hard and cynical. It became… it became a liaison.”
What a demure woman you chose! She actually blushed when I used that word! I ignored her and continued. I had begun telling a story I never told another living soul. Not even Shajar. And I would not stop till it was done. Yes, Tomas. All of it.
“Our secret liaison continued for… oh, less than a full Season. The happiest Season of my life, truth be told. But then came a day when our secret could stay secret no longer.”
“Did Tomas find you out?” she asked.
“Eventually. I had something very important to discuss with my beloved, so took him to my private tower. I thought no one would discover us, that we would have privacy. Of course, my lover was quite passionate back then. He insisted on a coupling before hearing what I needed to tell him. And, silly me, I consented. That is how my brother came upon us, in flagrante delicto. Or nearly so. He was… furious. You have not seen him lose his temper the way I have. He was somehow convinced I had been spoiled, that this man was taking advantage of me. And, I believe, he was also deeply hurt by the fact I had not confided any of this to him. He grabbed my naked Falcon by the throat, dragged him to the window and held him out the window.”
Her eyes had gone wide. She did not want to believe you capable of such things. But it gets worse, doesn’t it; Tomas?
“I screamed and pleaded with Tomas to let him go. But Tomas refused, only saying how he had been deceived, how his sister had been defiled. I believe he was even crying when he said such things. My Falcon flailed helplessly. He tried to speak in his own defense, but Tomas had his hand firmly around my lover’s windpipe. It was enough of a struggle simply for him to breathe.
Tomas demanded to know if I was still intact or if this man had “ruined” me. I tried to tell him I was still marriageable, that my prospects had not been irredeemably destroyed by youthful ardor. But of course, though we had not been fully coupled when Tomas came upon us, neither of us was clothed and even a blind veth could see where our liaison would have eventually gone had we not been interrupted. Tomas knew I was lying, knew I would lie before he even asked the question.
‘Tell me!’ he demanded, yelling at me, ‘Tell me one reason, one good reason, Ismene, why I should let this trash live. He has ruined you and made you weak.’
“I was on my knees, wrapped in a thin linen sheet, begging Tomas not to kill him. I was apologizing profusely for keeping this secret from him, imploring him to be merciful. I told him what I hoped would persuade my brother to pity. I told him I loved my Falcon.
‘You were supposed to love me!’ he screamed in return.
Tomas’ hands grew tighter around his prey’s throat. ‘You have one chance, Ismene. Tell me why I should let this man live when he has come between us and weakened your spirit so.’
I took a deep breath and said-”
I took a deep breath. And then I said it. Oh, yes, my dearest brother. I opened my mouth, and I said it. It.
“‘Because I am carrying his child.’
My Falcon’s eyes went wide. I had not had a chance to tell him yet. He redoubled his efforts to get loose of Tomas. But it was too late. I could see something go out of my brother in that instant. Some part of him hardened beyond recovering. I had said the very wrong thing. My poor wingless Falcon, aided by my brother, flew out the window and broke himself on the ground below.”
Kassana was staring at me, dumbstruck. Horrorstruck.
“Ismene,” she whispered, “I had no idea…”
I shook my head.
“It was almost twenty years ago. What came after was far worse.” I stopped, reliving the horror for the first time in years.
“My father was furious when he found out what Tomas had done. He had known about the pregnancy already, of course, as had my beloved’s mother. We had devised a plan to save our names and fortunes. My fallen Falcon and I would have been married quickly and quietly to avoid scandal. I would have retreated from society for several Seasons, afterward emerging with an infant of vague age. But of course, my intended had been cruelly murdered by a jealous brother who thought he owned my secrets. No vean would marry me now, not if I was mother to another man’s child. I understand Father even went so far as to stab Tomas one night, trying to teach him a lesson about precisely whose property I was.
“Father fed me poisons after the murder, trying to rid my body of the baby. He even snuck up behind me once and pushed me down the stairs. All that did was break my leg. It was too late, the child was too much in me. And, oh, I wanted this baby. It was mine, and no one could take my own flesh and blood away from me. I resisted the poisons and kept my baby alive inside me through sheer force of will. Tomas was… I believe he regretted what he had done, his role in this whole mess. He was the only person, the only person there for me during this terrible time. Sometimes, though it would cause him to spend the entire night screaming in agony, he would drink the poison himself to deceive our father and thereby spare me. He saved my baby’s life, I am certain. My father forced me to dress all in black, a symbol of my shame. No one would speak to me. Tomas alone had a kind word for me. Tomas alone gave me love.
“I delivered my baby early. It was a difficult labor. Father had brought in a midwife sworn to secrecy, but it was still hard. It took me two days to give birth… and at the end of it, I had the most beautiful son a mother could ask for. The midwife cleaned him as I panted in the bloody bed, wrapped him in a soft chamois blanket and handed him to me. Oh, he was gorgeous! He had his father’s eyes and my hands. I thought I even saw a little of Tomas in him, as well.
‘You must name him,’ she told me. ‘The secret name.’
“I nodded, and thought for several heartbeats, just looking down into my son’s newborn eyes. I have never, Kassana, ever felt a love that strong or pure. I speak of having known true love once in my life. Many assume it was with a liaison, perhaps with the one who was my baby’s father. No. The only time I have ever known true love was holding my son in my arms. Tired, sweating, bleeding, weak, crying from the emotions which overwhelmed me, but the happiest I have ever been or ever will be again.
“I raised his ear to my lips, and, as all mothers do, whispered his secret name.
“And as soon as I had, the midwife grabbed him out of my arms. I screamed, but she stepped away from me. ‘You are not fit to be a mother, slut,’ she said. ‘Your father has ensured he will go to parents who are capable of love.’
“I screamed again, tried to get up, tried grab my son away from her. But I was too weak, my leg still Injured. I fell to the ground in a tangle of bloody sheets. I ordered the veth to detain her, but they dared not. She walked out of the room, and that is the last I ever saw of my son.
“And now, Kassana, you know why I play the Game of Tears with Tomas.”
I turned to face her. Her cheeks were streaked with weeping. Strange. My eyes were dry. I suppose I spent all my tears years ago. Can you believe it, Tomas? I thought I would die with this secret. Yet I actually told another living, breathing ven about my son.
“Ismene, I never….” She was quiet for a moment. “I don’t understand. Your story is sad, but why does it explain why you play the Game?”
“Oh,” I laughed. A bit too brassy, I thought, but Kassana seemed not to notice. “I forgot that last part. You see, it was Tomas who delivered my son to his adoptive parents. He knows my son’s given name, the name all the rest of the world knows him by. Tomas also knows the names of the ven who adopted him. All I live for, Kassana, is a chance to see my son again. To see what sort of man he has grown into. I know only his secret name, but Tomas knows his public name. Tomas made it clear long ago there was only one way I would ever learn that name. To play the Game of Tears, and to win. So I play. For almost twenty long years, I have played. And, I confess, not without some degree of pleasure on my part. But now, my current lover is in hiding. A few more weeks, the Season ends and victory shall be mine.”
Kassana could only stare at me. You had never told her about me, had you? I suppose again, I should thank you for keeping another of my secrets.
“So after you win, will you still play?” she asked. Hope glimmered in her eyes.
“I am done with death,” I answered her. “Two more weeks, and it will all be over.”
And, oh, she sighed with relief just then! Poor dear.
I looked around me, and laughed. “Why, the strangest thing! We’re here!”
Kassana looked puzzled. No matter, the stupid cow was standing right where I needed her to be standing. Everything else was just drama from here on out.
“We’re in the exact same room where Tomas killed my Falcon!”
I think she must have heard the coldness in my voice, for she tried to flee then. But I was too quick. And if I am to tell the whole story, I had also slipped a numbing agent in her tea. Not enough to kill her, but enough to throw her balance off. I wager you had never thought to inure her to that kind of poison. I had played out this scene in my head a hundred times, and it would have all been ruined if Kassana escaped. I like to hedge my bets.
Just like you, Tomas, I grabbed her by the throat and held her out the window. Just like my Falcon, she struggled to draw breath. I could see the fear in her eyes. The awful, sinking realization that she had been played from the start. Of course she had. She might have been the Rake Breaker, but I am Ismene Yvarai.
I bent her over the parapet. My lips were as close to her ear as they once were to my long lost son.
“I swore to Ikhalu that one day, my brother would suffer as I have suffered. Yet I could never inflict my pain on him. There was never a way to hurt him that deeply. But you, my dearest Kassana, you are that way. He loves you as he has never loved anyone. Taking you away from him is the only way to complete my revenge. And now you know all my secrets but one. Here it is: Ever since that black day when my first love fell as you are about to fall, I have hated Tomas Yvarai.”
And with that, one small push and she was out the window! Flying with no wings, screaming curses at me until the most satisfying wet thunk I have ever heard. I leaned out the window to look. There she was, broken and sprawled on the cold, hard ground, blood seeping out from her. Most definitely dead.
I went over to the small cabinet that is even now still there. I took out the wine I had been saving for this day, poured myself a glass, and began composing this letter.
Two weeks, Tomas.
Two weeks.
Vrentae!
Yours with all filial affection,
Ismene Yvarai
Blooded of the Fox
Countess Sha’av
Mistress of Poisons
A Game of Tears — Part 37
Tuesday, October 13th, 2009 | Uncategorized | No Comments
Sister,
I remember the Falcon now. I remember throwing him from the walls of father’s castle. I remember you begging me, pleading with me to spare his life. I remember how pathetic you looked on your knees, tears streaming down your face. How weak. How helpless. And how I despised him for making you so wretched. Like an alchemist performing his trick in reverse, transforming something so sublime into something so vulgar. You truly loved him, didn’t you? Clinging to my surcoat, you offered me anything if I would spare him from our Game.
And I had you, then. In that moment, you truly would have done anything. Given in to any command. And you would have done it without any hesitation or regret because you knew that act would have saved his life. Would have saved your happiness with him.
I had you.
No act would have been too demeaning. No act would have been too profane. And you know exactly how many vulgarities and profanities my imagination can summon. Anything for love. The love of your precious Falcon.
I had you.
You. Proud Ismene Yvarai, begging at my feet. The woman who makes men beg. She who has tamed a thousand hearts with only a glance and ten thousand more with only the promise of a touch. You offered me anything, then. On your knees before me. Snot and tears on your face. Disgraceful. Disgraced. Humbled. And with your surrender before me, do you remember what I asked? Do you remember?
On your knees, looking up at me, I asked, “Are you still a virgin?”
And that is when you lied to me. And that was when I knew he had to die. Because you lied to me. He made you lie to me.
And so I threw him from the walls of father’s castle. I watched him plummet and I watched his body break below. And I remembered your lie. Your deceitfulness. Your treachery.
Yes, Ismene. I have lied to you. I have performed the very same treason you accuse me of, now. And I do so because I suffer from the same pain.
Here I am, at your knees, with tears in my eyes. I cling to your dress with weak, trembling fingers. My head bowed with shame, I admit, I am weak. I am helpless. I cannot live without her.
I hope you remember the moment when you knelt before me. And I hope you remember my cruelty. I hope you remember it because I want you to remember the pain of asking such a thing.
I am asking for your mercy which I know is still in your heart. I will offer you anything to spare her.
Please, my sister. I plead. I beg. Please. Let her live. It is such a little thing.
Please. Let her live.
(unsigned)
Game of Tears — Part 36
Wednesday, October 7th, 2009 | Research | No Comments
Really, Tomas,
Your last letter was so garbled as to be nearly incoherent. Spattered with ink, the words illegible. Not to mention, the paper positively reeked of brandy. Did you uncork a bottle directly into the inkwell? Or did you simply decide to launder your clothes in alcohol?
To begin with, I am deeply shocked and hurt you would accuse me of murdering Shajar’s wife! How dare you?
I am, of course, willing to be charitable and believe you spoke through a haze of liquor. Why, I only met the woman once! I certainly had no cause to wish her dead. Especially not now, not once I have seen the effect her death has had on my poor Shajar. He is positively inconsolable. Not, I believe, because he loved her (I know he didn’t); but rather, I do believe it’s the first time someone close to him has died. You think I am jealous. But I assure you, I am anything but. To begin with, I am not a jealous woman. Shajar is a dear friend of mine, and we agreed long ago what was between us would not progress any further. Strange, I know, but I am oddly content with it. And so, you see, his marriage was certainly no threat to me.
Perhaps, dear sibling, I am being framed. I have heard rumors Lady Shara still passionately hates me, though she will not attack me up front. She is no doubt the one responsible for the vile rumours circulating about me. I would not put it past her to attempt to implicate me in another’s death.
I need nor want any of your ‘help’. You may not realize this, Tomas, but I am damn near untouchable. The Senate has tried several times to find fault with me. Tried, and failed every single time. Lady Shara has tried to assassinate me, and failed as well. Why? Because I am Ismene Yvarai. I could dance naked through the Senate, waving a blood knife in one hand and my enemy’s severed head in the other. And they would not touch me. I’m that damn good, Tomas. So, no, I don’t need your ‘help.’
And I have absolutely no idea of whom you speak when you demand me to return ‘the boy.’ Surely you do not mean Shajar Thorne, who is a grown man, a widower and free to come and go across Shan’ri as he pleases? If you want him to come to you, you’ll have to charm him away yourself. He may have started out as your ward, but take another look at him, Tomas. He has grown up, and no longer needs you as he once did. Or are you trying to take him away from me just out of spite? Poorly played, brother. If that is the case.
Also, in your drunken stupor, you are confusing my lovers. My poor Falcon died instantly, breaking his neck on the rocky ground beneath the parapet from which you tossed him. The lingering death you are thinking of is a different Falcon, not my first. Your first. Our first. Your wine has begun to affect your memory. Do take care. I have never known you drink quite this much.
Oh.
Oh, dear.
Are you grieving? I have to say, you have always seemed able to hold your liquor before. You rarely, if ever, get this drunk. Has the Green Woman’s death (by your own hand, no less!) so unmanned you that you have crawled into a brandy bottle as a result?
No.
Of course you haven’t.
Because Kassana isn’t dead.
I know she’s not dead, dear brother. Do not waste ink or breath trying to convince me otherwise. I have been keeping a close eye on her. I suspected you might attempt to trick me in hopes of preserving her life. I knew you were capable of it, but I yet hoped you would prove true to me. It seems I have been sadly disappointed. How could you, Tomas?
A clever ruse you pulled, to be sure, but I am cleverer. Far cleverer. Not only have you violated the tenets of our Game, you have LIED to me. I think the green bitch deserves to die screaming for that alone. For driving my dearest brother, the only family I have left in all the world, to betray me.
Throughout our lives, since even before we were born, we have been an inseparable pair. No matter the amount of physical distance dividing us, there were none who could come between Ismene and Tomas Yvarai. Threaten our special bond. Not our parents. Not our lovers. Not anyone. And you, Tomas, have now profoundly violated that bond. Our promises both spoken and unspoken. Had you told me the truth, that you loved Kassana, I would have been merciful. As I wrote in my last letter, I understand what it is to truly love someone. And I understand the utter agony you feel when you are separated from that person. All it would have taken was you offering me the forfeit. The one question you refuse to answer Season after Season, year after year.
But now, Tomas, you have lied to me. You have taken great steps to deceive me. And now, no matter what you offer me or how ardently you beg, Kassana will die. And she will know exactly why she is dying - that you were the one who betrayed her. Even though my hands will be the ones to brew the poison and slip it into her wine, it will be your fault when she dies. Perhaps she might even expire calling your name. I’ll let you know if her last words are of you. Just so you might know the peril of breaking your word to the Mistress of Poisons.
If you didn’t want her to die, you should never have fallen in love with her.
Yours,
Ismene Yvarai
Blooded of the Fox
Countess Sha’av
Mistress of Poisons
Game of Tears — Part 35
Thursday, October 1st, 2009 | Research | No Comments
[editor's note: the letter below is deeply stained with wine making some passages difficult to read. The damaged passages have been translated to the best of our abilities. We've taken small liberties, assuming words and phrases from context. We've marked these passages with parenthesis.]
My Sister,
It is done. She is dead.
Although, it would seem I am not the only one with blood on my hands. I received a letter from Shajar recently. He told me about his wife’s murder. He also told me it was performed with a sorcerous blade and an old, stained strangle cord. Ismene, you must be more careful.
I told him to burn the cord lest it prove sorcerous. In truth, I told him to burn the cord lest he allow one of Jonan Drax’s blasted “knights” to divine whose hands were on it last. Like I said, sister. Careless [sic]
I also told him to send the blade to me. I would deal with it. Again, I find myself covering your sloppy trail. For this, you are in my debt. Do not doubt it or contest it. The boy was ready to bring the dagger to the Senate and what kind of trouble would that make for you and I, do you think?
You even went back to the Castle and allowed these things to remain in his possession! Your wits are no longer with you. I have lost all patience with your pre-occupation with this boy. He was entrusted to me to begin with and he belongs here with me, not with you. Not after what you have done to him.
I begin to suspect your preoccupation with the boy may have more to do with your loins than your brains. Only a woman so enthralled with pleasure acts as you have. You have surrendered all your cunning and all your wisdom to a pair of pretty eyes and a dashing smile. (You must send him back) to me before you put me in the position I was in before: having to murder one of your lovers that I actually admired. And this one also a Falcon.
You have already put me in the position of having to murder outside the Game once. Do not put me in the position of having to do it again. At least the previous Falcon–who’s death occurred so long ago, the name I cannot even recall now–was a man of courage. When it came time, he did not beg or barter. He looked me straight in the eyes and told me, “Your sister loves me more.”
(As if he would know) my sister’s heart better than my own. I nearly felt pangs of regret when I learned I would have to kill him. I also nearly considered allowing you to win the Game, so great was my admiration for him. Allowing him to escape. It would have been worth it. At least, that’s what I thought.
That’s what I thought until he said, “Your sister loves me more.” And then, I had no qualms about killing him. In fact, it wasn’t until morning that he died. It wasn’t until morning that the last drop of his blood spilled and his eyes rolled back and his breath stopped. He was an honorable man. And for that crime, I murdered him.
[sic] bother [sic] child [sic] wearing the (black)
I realize now I’ve never told you that story. The wine in my head makes me remember and forget. Too much wine. Too much poison in my blood and in my brain. But, yes, that is how your Falcon died. Whatever his name was. And you! You wearing mourning colors for weeks. Never have I been so ashamed of you. Never. Not until now.
Send the boy back to me. Do it or there shall be consequences. I killed her for you. The least you can do is send the boy back.
[unsigned]
Game of Tears — Part 34
Tuesday, September 29th, 2009 | Research | No Comments
My friend Tomas,
I must needs beg your forgiveness. You have treated me far better than I deserve, and I fear I have not adequately returned your kindness. I know it has been too long since I last wrote you, and that is the primary slight I have committed. My wife and I had been quite busy establishing our new estates. I thought it prudent to simply return your letters to you, rather than risk their being lost in the hectic shuffle.
It means little now, but I must also offer you an apology for not extending either you or your delightful sister an invitation to my wedding. Ismene’s reaction to hearing that my parents had chosen a wife for me was quite… spectacular. She is a woman of rare and incredible passion. And though she has long been one of the closest friends a man could ever ask for, I feel safe in admitting to you my fear that she might have disrupted the ceremony. Having made that decision, it would have put me in a rather awkward position to have invited you and not Ismene. I hope you will forgive me, for I surely meant no Insult by it.
Though now I must confess it appeared there was little to celebrate that day. We had expected our fortunes to be tied together until Solace came upon us. Yet now I must report the sad death of my wife.
She has been murdered. Most foully and most cruelly. I cannot fathom it, my friend. Perhaps you might be able to offer some advice. I know you have a superior understanding of such things. You have cultivated an insight into the darker motivations of the ven heart than I have cared to.
My wife was the sweetest woman I have ever met, hardly the sort of woman who went about making deadly enemies. She was also quite pretty, though nowhere near as beautiful as Ismene. Ismene carries herself with a certain sort of sensual self-possession few women ever seem to master. Ah, but I am letting thoughts of her distract me!
Though my bride was quite confident herself, she lacked that smoldering inner fire so unique to your sister. I did not think she was a woman who would ever stir a great passion within me (my bride, that is), but I could certainly come to care for her. And, more importantly, we would easily be able to manage our estates together and raise strong daughters and competent sons. I was looking forward to our future prosperity. Isn’t that what a marriage is all about?
She did not deserve what has been done to her. As Ismene might have told you, part of my wife’s lands included an expanse of swamp infested with all manner of abominable ork. As I was chosen theyvestra in this marriage, the responsibility of clearing my wife’s lands of course fell to me. I assembled a group of brave Swordsmen and we ventured into the boggy terrain. We were gone for three weeks. Though we could not exterminate all the orks, we certainly made a significant dent in their population. A wary and well-armed traveler might now cross the swamp in safety.
I rode back to my castle looking forward to a soft bed, sweet brandy and the coming Summer opera Season. I was quite sad to learn that your sister had tried to visit me while I had been away. We had, in fact, just missed each other! She departed the day before I returned home. A wonder we did not meet on the road. She did leave a note for me, which lightened my heart to read. Though your sister might be a woman of rare passion, she is sensible when she has had time to cool off. She expressed happiness for my situation, and asked forgiveness for her outburst upon hearing I was to be married. She also wrote several quite nice things about my wife. Apparently, they had shared several meals during Ismene’s brief stay. I am not sure what to think about that, but Ismene can be quite discreet when she needs to be.
I was pleased to read her note, and immediately dispatched my own roadmen to come find your sister on the highway and beg her to return. If all has gone well, she is on her way here.
My happiness turned sour in my mouth, however, when I entered the chambers I shared with my wife.
She was in her nightclothes, tangled in the bed linen. I could not begin to fathom what I saw. There was blood, so much blood! It soaked her clothes, the sheets, even the mattress. Her hair was matted with the stuff. I ran to her body. There was a dagger rising from her chest. She had been stabbed through the heart. I reached to pull it out, but gasped when I touched it. It was a blood dagger, Tomas!
Who would murder my wife with a blood dagger? As I said before, she was a sweet woman. I cannot imagine her being able to incite such hatred in even the most vengeful of ven.
The entire situation is confusing. Not only was it a blood dagger, but when I examined the weapon from a safe distance, my questions only multiplied. This was not a true weapon that she had been murdered with, the edge was completely wrong. It seemed more a plaything, perhaps something someone might use whilst playing the Game of Knives. Yet someone had turned it into a blood knife, and then murdered my wife with it. Not only that, but she had also been strangled. With a length of dirty white cord. It looked quite old, and crudely made.
I cannot begin to comprehend it.
Does any of this make sense to you? There are rumors that my wife made an Enemy through her marriage to me, but I cannot find any solid proof. You have many more connections to Society than I do. What I have heard speaks of a suitor, upset at losing her to me. But if that is true, why kill her? As long as she brought us no shame, I would have been happy to look the other way when it came to her forming especially close friendships. After all, I am scarcely pure myself, in that respect.
Ismene is on her way here, I am glad to hear it. I could use the presence of a friend tonight. I intend to ask her as well what she thinks of this sad affair. I know her forte is poisons, though, so I do not think she could offer me as much insight as you might. Though, on the topic of your sister… please forgive me, I do not wish to cause offense. But I have heard some disturbing rumours about her. I cannot believe she might ever be capable of what is spoken about her. Please, my friend, reassure me that these are but rumours. They say Lady Shara is behind them, and I well know the enmity between her and Ismene. A word from my closest friend and mentor, and my heart shall be at rest.
I hope to be able to visit you soon. I remember well what you have taught me, and I have already had all my veth killed for allowing a murderer into my home.
Your friend,
Shajar Thorne
Blooded of the Falcon
Baron Teravie
A Game of Tears — Part 33
Friday, September 25th, 2009 | Uncategorized | No Comments
My dearest Kassana,
You must die.
You must trust me now more than ever before. There is a delicate reason why this must be accomplished and it is a reason I cannot tell you. However you may do it, do it quickly. I have bought you enough time to conspire with whom you must to create and maintain the illusion, but it must be quick. By the end of the Season. Sooner, if possible.
My beloved, I would tell you the reason this must be accomplished, but I cannot. I must not. Only know that I have been commissioned for your death and find my hand incapable of doing so. Despite ourselves and who we are, I now know that I love you and I cannot bring myself to destroy the only woman I have ever loved.
I beg you, leave your husband and come to me now. I will make the arrangements myself. I realize now, even now, as I write these words, that such brutal work can only be accomplished by a villain. A villain such as I. As unworthy I am of your love, I shall prove its worth by breaking the most sacred promises I have ever made. I hope these revelations will prove my truth and devotion to you. I hope they are not wasted in vain.
The danger to your life lies in the mind of my sister, Ismene. She sees you as a threat to her own legacy. A dangerous woman driven by jealousy and hate. Jealousy for your beauty and cunning. Hate for the love that has grown between us. And all of this because of our Game. Of that, I can say no more in letter, but I shall reveal all when you arrive.
I beg you again: leave your husband and lands. Come to me now. I have already made preparations in my mind and soon I shall fulfill them with my hands. Come to me and we shall be together. There are many lands in Shanri where we will not be recognized. I will go with you wherever you desire. Together, we will build a new home and I shall serve you as you desire.
I have sent this letter with my most trusted servant, Isha. He shall bring you to where I am now. I have sealed the letter in such a way that only one of my family may open it. Such is my concern for your safety.
I hope that I shall see you soon. Already, I fear to lose your laughter forever. It has been the only light in my dark life.
Your beloved,
Tomas