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The Cult of Talia: Roses and Kisses
Friday, March 26th, 2010 | Uncategorized | 2 Comments
Within the walls of Talia’s Temples, every priest and priestess wears a mask. There are no names. Talia’s devoted call themselves Taliasha or “Lovers.” (The actual word best translates as “lovers of the beloved.”) And each of them wears a rose.
Most Taliasha wear a red rose: a symbol of love and devotion to the Sacred Harlot. Casual visitors to the Temple do not wear roses, but instead, only wear masks.
Those who earn a special distinction wear one of the Beloved Roses. Only one priest and priestess who wears one of these distinct blossoms. The High Priestess of the Temple gives them to those who earn them. Not every Temple has every Rose (note the change in emphasis from rose to Rose) but most have at least one or two. Some Temples are large enough (such as one in the Senate City) to have multiple Talishania: two or three for each color. The Beloved Roses are reserved for the most dedicated, most devoted and most skilled Talishania.
When a ven enters the Temple to revere Talia, he may do so privately or with one of the Talishania. If he wishes to revere Her with a Lover, he enters a small room with many vases. In each vase is a different colored Rose. He picks one of the Roses and is escorted to a private room where he may revere Talia.
The Red Rose
Most Talishania wear the Red Rose. Talia’s Lovers must serve the Temple for many years before the High Priestess will bestow such an honor upon them. It is an indication of faithful service and fidelity to Her and all Her followers. To wear the Red Rose is to be seen by Her. Recognized by Her. “You are one of mine.”
The Blue Rose
Followers of Talia choose the Blue Rose because they desire companionship. Conversation, food and laughter. The Talishania of the Blue Rose are skilled in many Arts and may have conversations on many topics. They are skilled debaters, witty and knowledgeable about the matters of the day. Many Senators come to the Room of the Blue Rose for advice and wisdom.
The Green Rose
When the Talishania of the Green Rose greets the Devoted, she does so with tea and bread and honey. She talks to him and makes him feel welcome. She moves slowly and gently. She whispers softly in his ear. She touches him with fingers that know. She lays him back and caresses his cheek. And when they are done, she washes him and perfumes him and gently reminds him to return to her. She will be waiting for him. Always waiting for him.
The Silver Rose
An old ven legend tells of lovers who embrace under the light of the moon. It is said they go mad with passion, tearing at each other with abandon. Like beasts. Teeth and claws. Love under the moon is dangerous and so is the Room of the Silver Rose. Passions in that Room have no boundary and rules that can only be understood by those playing the game. Victor and defeated. The Talishania of the Silver Rose must learn to be both.
The Black Rose
No one speaks of what happens in the Room of the Black Rose.
The White Rose
Those who wear the White Rose are in remembrance for a love that has been lost. They are not broken-hearted; their lover was taken from them. Robbed of Solace. The Talishania respect those who remember. Lost love is a wound not even Talia can heal.
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.
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)
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
A Game of Tears — Part 32
Friday, September 25th, 2009 | Uncategorized | No Comments
My Dearest Brother,
You shall have to forgive me, as I fear this note must be shorter than many of my previous letters. I am currently packing for a short trip. It has been too long since I have taken respite. I have decided to go to the seashore. I shan’t be long. I daresay not longer than a week or so. Nothing to worry you. Merely a small, niggling, annoying issue begging to be taken care of.
You do realize, of course, that allowing you to murder Lady Kassana violates the long-established rules of our private game? If I might restate rules we have clung to as if they were holy dogma: I have a Season to murder your newest lover; you have the same amount of time to return the favor for mine. Failure requires a forfeit, one which we neither of us has ever had to surrender. And surrender, indeed, is the word of the forfeit. You know precisely what I should ask if I won; the name I crave to hear. But I must admit not knowing what you might demand of me, though you have oft teased and mocked me with insinuations of what my forfeiture might entail. If I didn’t know you better, I would believe, dear Tomas, acknowledging my supremacy as the Mistress of Poisons (as I understand certain ven now whisper of me) and understanding I might never fail, were trying to manipulate the rules. After all, if Lady Kassana dies by a hand not my own, you could conceivably claim the forfeit.
Should you give me your word of honor, O Prince of Rakes, that you shall not make any such claim, regardless of how or when Lady Kassana expires, I shall concede to your request. I must admit a morbid curiosity to see how you shall kill her.
And now, my darling, a carriage awaits and I must be off on my small adventure!
Yours forever,
Ismene Yvarai
Blooded of the Fox
Countess Sha’av
Mistress of Poisons
P.S. I except you shall hear from Shajar within a fortnight of receiving this letter.
P.P.S. Don’t be ridiculous, Tomas. I am beyond jealousy and all such petty emotions. I am Ismene Yvarai.
A Game of Tears — Part 31
Sunday, September 20th, 2009 | Uncategorized | No Comments
My dearest sister,
Your latest later, I must admit, drove me to distraction. I could not believe the words I was reading. Not for their content, mind you, but for what was shown to me through their most hidden meaning.
I have attracted the attentions of Lady Kassana. “The Rake Breaker” herself. What a fool I was, falling for her pretty promises. I admit, I was taken in by her at the beginning, but now that I know exactly who she is, I shall deal with her myself. It was I who was fooled, my sister. It shall be I who murders her.
At the same time, I must admit, your latest letter only confirmed my suspicions at the party. Never before had I seen the light that was in your eyes. The way you watched her, not like my sister, but like something else. I had seen that light in other women before, but never in you. And I must say, it was… enlightening.
The light I saw, dearest sister, was jealousy.
Could it be, dearest one, that you believe my love for you has faded? Or become eclipsed by the love of another? Such a concern is ill-founded. If put in the position of having to decide between the two of you, you know well enough that I would choose you. She was, is, and shall always be a momentary distraction.
The jealousy you feel toward her has no basis in fact, my sister. You should not concern yourself with her. As I said, now that her identity has been revealed to me, I shall deal with her in my own way.
In the meantime, I notice you have not made any announcement regarding a new lover. With Shajar gone, I expect your castle must be getting quite chilly. The loss of a friend is much greater than the loss of a lover, but one can certainly make up for the absence of the other.
Do not allow yourself to be alone too much longer, dearest sister. We both know how melancholy you become when you are alone too long.
Your beloved brother,
Tomas
A Game of Tears — Part 28
Tuesday, August 4th, 2009 | Uncategorized | No Comments
What have we wrought upon the land?
I apologize for not writing sooner. After the Count’s most recent attempt to assassinate me, the safest thing for me to do is keep moving. I try not to spend more than two nights in the same place, which makes keeping up with my correspondence passingly difficult. I don’t believe I told you about the last attempt. The plan itself was rather clumsy, I feel almost insulted. It involved a poisoned dagger and a poor, doomed, bribed veth. Or perhaps he was blackmailed, I didn’t care to ask. The dirt died quickly on the tip of Shajar’s sword. I had no idea he was so fast! You have trained him well.
In my constant traveling, I have seen things I could not imagine, not in my darkest and most morbid of moods. I have seen the burnt out shell of the count’s old castle, and witnessed the destruction wrought upon his fields and farms. Once-fecund soil has drunk in so much blood that only the meanest scrub grass will now grow there. The veth have tried to plant crops, but too much death has been absorbed into the ground. No life will sprout, and even the hardiest wheat will simply wither without bearing fruit. So many have died by the score, of war and famine and disease, there are not enough of them left to sustain any sort of productive industry. The young men have died of war, their wives have died of grief, and their children and parents have died of starvation.
What use is winning this land for our own if it is no use to us once it is ours? In the last town I stayed at, there was not a single veth left who was strong enough to drive a plow. I can certainly move some veth from my land to this once it is ours, but even my own resources have been sorely depleted by our long struggle. I can ask no more favors from my friends, I have asked too much already.
At least the end is in sight. Despite all our sacrifice and suffering, it is obvious our Count knows he can no longer win. All hope of victory left him after the battle at Aisa’s Ford, when half his men fell dead of the poison before the fighting even started. I think now he seeks only to make sure our victory is as costly as possible, and that winning will give us no peace. It may be working, my brother. I had never thought to have been the instrument of so much death. A pinch of powder in a glass of wine administered to a single target is one thing. But when my spies told me the number estimated to have died from the water we contaminated, I could not imagine being responsible for that many deaths. It is a heavy weight, and keeps me up at night.
I had always thought myself strong in the face of killing. I murdered my own parents, with my own hands. I played our private Game will a deadly skill, of which I have always been rightly proud. Yet now I am haunted by the faces of the nameless dead. I suppose that is why I have such difficulty. It is easy to kill someone you know and hate. But this sort of mass murder is just so… impersonal. I didn’t particularly hate any of the men who succumbed to the powder I made for you, they were just unfortunate enough to be working for the wrong man. An accident of fate, with no more meaning nor motive beyond that.
And as each one of mine dies, I find my fury at the Count grows. My veth have done nothing to offend him except being mine. I can almost forgive him for attempting to have me killed. It is a more honest way of setting disputes, I think, than bidding strangers murder each other and whoever ends with the fewest deaths is the victor. Sometimes, I think -
[incomprehensible]
Ah, but I am getting too sentimental. Forget what I wrote, dear brother. At long last, we have achieved the dreams we treasured as children. While I might wish dearly someone had warned me of the cost before we set down this road, I would do nothing differently. We deserve this. We have earned it.
Shajar has been of immeasurable comfort during this time. I cannot begin to describe the depth of our friendship. It is strange - he is so much younger than I, and yet I find myself being the one to turn to him for advice and guidance. He is possessed of a wisdom beyond his years. I wish I had his talent, of seeing the good in everyone. You might as well give up asking for him to return to you. Shajar knows he may come or go as he pleases, and he chooses to remain with me. I will not force him to do what he does not wish to do. If you can persuade him to leave me for your side, I shall not stand in his way. But, dear brother, you must persuade him first. Besides, travel is too dangerous durng this time of war.
[incomprehensible]
And I want to make one thing explicitly, abundantly clear. What you wrote in your last letter was not just shocking, it was utterly insulting, patently ridiculous and completely untrue. I did not, nor have I any intention of, writing a letter to his parents attempting to begin marital negotiations between the two of us. Anything you have heard to the contrary is an absolute and utter lie, no doubt perpetrated by the Count in a desperate attempt to discredit me. Shajar is a very dear friend, perhaps one of the dearest I have ever had (except of course for you, my best beloved brother). But I would not think of trying to marry him. Especially not now, when I am about to become a Countess and he is barely a Baron. We should be too wildly mismatched to be an effective partnership.
Not to mention, it would be unforgivably gauche of me to begin betrothal discussions on my own behalf. Such things ought rightly be done by one’s parents, and mine are sadly deceased and unable to perform such a service for me.
Lastly, you know my thoughts on marriage. I could never be a submissive partner. From what the rumors tell me, Shajar’s parents would never allow him to become ytola, either.
Besides, my reputation is well known to the both of them. Shajar tells me his parents are already looking for a bride for him, among the Mwrrs or Adrentes to balance out his Falcon blood. The thought of their only son marrying an intemperate woman with a lifetime of scandal behind her would no doubt send them into fits.
Having cleared up THAT particular issue, perhaps we might turn our thoughts to securing our victory? My spies tell me the Count is attempting quite the ruse. He is having a veth dress in his clothes (can you imagine!) and travel in his coach to his manor in Diavale. The journey shall be quite public. Not a parade, but certainly not in utter secrecy, especially since the road to Diavale passes close to my own lands - in fact, the vineyards burnt several years ago by Lady Shara. He hopes to distract us with a decoy while he travels in the opposite direction, towards the ports wheere he hopes to make good his escape by ship. Whether he sails in flight or to an ally to beg for more troops, I cannot say.
Part of me wishes to let him go, claim his lands and be done with it. However, letting him live is a risk we may no longer take. There is always the chance he will show up with another army at his back, or that we might bite into the wrong morsel and have all our hard work come to naught.
It seems as though there is only one thing left to do, and then it is finished. Shall we meet at the ports, ready to make an end to this after several long years? I am tired of all the killing. Just one more death, the death we have been working towards for so long, and our shared desires shall finally be realized.
I shall see you soon, Tomas.
Until then I remain,
Your loving sister,
Ismene Yvarai
Blooded of the Fox
Baronness Sha’av (for now)
P.S. The rumors of marriage between Shajar and I are forgiveable. Annoying, but forgiveable. However, if you ever DARE imply Shajar might father a bastard on me again, I will kill you. I am not threatening you. I am simply stating fact. A fact which you, of all people, ought to have known without being told. I have already heard a few disturbing rumors coming from the capital. I can forgive what I have heard so far as nothing more malicious than mere attempts by my enemies to ruin my character, but it had damn well better stop. And it had damn well better not be you behind them. I’ll be charitable and assume it was some tactless attempt to discover if he and I had grown intimate since my last letter. Well, darling brother, until you tell me what’s going on with you and your Green Woman, I shan’t reveal a bit of what’s between Shajar and I.
A Game of Tears — Part 27
Monday, July 27th, 2009 | Uncategorized | No Comments
[trans. note: many letters from this particular time period, estimated to last approximately one year, are either lost or indecipherable. Given that these letters are written during a fairly chaotic period of Tomas and Ismene's life, this is somewhat understandable. Rachel and I are doing our best, but unfortunately, the next batch of letters will be fragmented and sporadic. We briefly considered not even publishing this segment; however, after long discussion decided we owed it to our readers to do our best with what we had. We hope you enjoy Part 2 of A Game of Tears.]
My dearest sister,
Once again, I find myself opening a letter with concerns for Shajar. When he refused my orders to stay here, despite my threats of abandoning his tutelage, I knew his boldness would put him in danger. But I never expected him to try confronting the Count himself. Last time I wrote to you, I hoped his bravado would have been tempered by his failure to defeat the Count’s swordsman, but it seems, his injuries only stiffened his resolve. Finding himself at the point of certain death was not enough for him, so he thought to throw himself upon it. Word got back to me swiftly–seeing the boy’s life is in my charge–and now I find myself writing to you, hoping to find him still alive.
And I write to you now from the battlefield. Here, through the fire and smoke, I can see the walls of his castle. My own men were insufficient for such a siege, but I have managed to find allies in the capital; although it took a great deal of promising to make them crawl out of the corners. I have two hundred men marching on the Count’s northern borders while my own men are currently poisoning his castle’s water supply. After all these months–nearly two years–it is nearly finished. He hides in his castle like the turtle in his shell. He forgets that I can simply flip him over and eat out his belly while he flounders on his back.
It has been almost one hundred years since these lands have seen such bloodshed. An open war. That is what we caused, my sister. An open war. If only you could see it.
The jackals sit on the borders of the lands, waiting to pick up the scraps. In the west, Duke Venel sits with his seven hundred men. I can see them on my hilltop here. I will require a miracle to put him off the scent of blood. I may need you here, sister. Your history with his son will make things much easier, I suspect.
Your last letter inquired on my progress with the Jade Lady. As I told you before, there is no progress until all this blood is settled. Her own husband, I am told, argues against me in the capital. I think he begins to suspect our “friendship.” At least, that is what the Lady told him we held. The irony is thick, my sister, for that is exactly what we have. She has refused any advances from me, and in her one moment of weakness, I found myself refusing her.
Ah, but I have not told you of that moment, have I? Let me tell you a story.
It was shortly after my recovery from Shara’s duel. I was feeling well enough to walk about the grounds, albeit with the assistance of a cane. My butler announced her arrival and I granted her my hospitality. I saw her walk into the garden carrying a bundle tied up with a handkerchief. She insisted we have lunch in the garden, revealing meat, cheese, fruits, bread and a baked pie. How could I refuse?
“You are looking healthy enough,” she told me.
“Another week,” I said. “And I may be ready to ride.”
She blushed a little. I drank the wine she brought, spiced with healing herbs.
“Am I so obvious?” I asked her.
“Predictable,” she told me. “Predictable.” She paused and cut some bread.
I smiled. “Would you prefer me to be mysterious?” I asked her.
She shook her head. “No,” she said. And then she began to speak again, and my ears distinctly heard her begin to say, “I love you just the way…”
She stopped. Her hand, on the knife, cutting an apple, slipped just a little and she stabbed the tip of her finger. She cursed and dabbed at it with a handkerchief.
“How stupid of me,” she said.
“For what you did or what you said?” I asked.
She did not look at me then. She only said
[sic]
consequences
[sic]
possible future.”
She drank the wine again, deeper than before. “Forgive me,” she said.
I nodded and took her bleeding hand. “There is nothing to forgive.”
Although, you must forgive me, sister, for sounding like a hero from one of your beloved pillow books. The Lady was mine. In my hands. Willing. Wanton, even. And could not find it in my heart to take her. Something overcame me. An emotion I have never felt before.
Pity.
And so, as
[sic]
Your brother, who loves you,
Tomas