the woman with
white eyes has vanished
to become her own nightmare
and a french butcher blade
hangs in my house
love's token MILENA IVANOV. QUEEN OF BONE. UPYRESS. [part of BVBRPG]
“Rotten brains? Is that a delicacy for your people?” Zion pressed back against the grinding insult with her own twist. She never let Milena’s sour words affect her much. There were more interesting Upyr to entertain these days. “Have I told you my deepest desires yet? If this relationship is going to work, then we are going to have to slow down.” Zion blew her a sarcastic kiss. The vampire was far livelier than the night they met. She had been injured and starved then. “I was half passed out and bleeding the last time we met. You will have to enlighten me on the value of my information. I have some I think you might like but maybe it’s not worth it anymore. You did pressure me in a vulnerable state.”
Zion leaned against the same wall that housed the window that Milena was far too interested in. “Who’d ya bring to watch your back?” Zion was too close to the upyr, a dangerous game to play with power. “Could they really get here before I ripped off your head? That’s not a threat. It would be a stupid move to go murdering you now. Influential people are nice to have ties to…even a conspirators tie.”
“Vein feeding is the big issue. Sources have seen Zak, Ayanna’s little pet wicked, stumbling about the vampire district at night. He may have even passed out from the blood loss. Word is the scarf isn’t covering much up, but I suggest you talk to him. Given his intricate past with your people, it could be fun. Maybe put another Wicked in your pocket?”
Once upon a livelier time, Milena had retreated from her lessons with her mother wondering, every single time without fail, why she had been forced to endure such torture. She did not know the true value of all she had learned until she met the creature beside her.
It was in those lessons she found solace, and was able to divert the negotiations back to where they needed to be: in her favour.
“I have no interest in pocketing anything.” But her information was curious nevertheless. If it were to slip out in the Tribunal meeting that there was the heinous possibility of vein feeding going on in the shadowed alleys of the Blood District, they could be tied up for weeks with investigations and accusations. Then again, it would also deter them from the true focus: the things lurking on the horizon.
Without solid proof her accusation would only sever the delicate ties she had bound the Blood King with. Something to look into, no doubt. But not to be mentioned until it was useful. There was no point in starting a war before either side was armed.
“You’ll have to provide more than that if you wish for anything from me. I need information I can use little creature. Not whispers without basis that could easily be explained by a clumsy child in the wrong place.”
Profoundly, Elise wished that when she had foreseen a conversation between them, it had been more helpful than giving her a path to know what was coming and opening words. The question she wanted to ask regarding all of it was why again but if this conversation had taught her anything, it was that Milena was clever enough to circle the conversation several times and then leave as the only path through the one she wanted. Why would get her nowhere and what seemed only conditionally successful here in that the right what would get an answer and nothing else.
There was a pulse of fear with that understanding, which undid her a little, something she wouldn’t dare show, even as it manifested in a chant in time to her suddenly very audible heartbeat, a drumbeat of her own making, its pace and accompanying tune safely locked in her chest but echoing in her ears: not safe, not safe, not safe.
This was hers the same way prophecy was, hers the same way the bare, basic truth of what she needed was; in all the time she’d spoken for him, Elise didn’t think Gabriel had ever fathomed the truth of her, though that wasn’t his fault. To hide it, she’d asked him to promise her things, some of them important, most of them not. It seemed valuable to test whether Gabriel would call her on the uselessness of what she asked, but instead, he’d accepted the demand he owed her more than just her life for continued prophecy, without calling her on the most fundamental truth, namely that when Gabriel gave her a permanent place at his side and believed, he gave her what she wanted more than anything else: peace born of power, safety and security.
And so, reasonable as her previous answer had seemed, no matter what Milena said, no matter how she strung her words together or tried—and failed—to reassure, the blind belief that had been the one thing giving her peace wasn’t there. It was a call without answer, an empty echo because the truth was plain: Milena would forge fate from the stars themselves on her own. Elise could speak to her, for her and it would do both of them little good. Hadn’t she always known that, somewhere underneath everything else? It wasn’t as if things between the two of them had ever been anything better than thinly veiled antagonism.
Still Elise forced herself to nod, to half smile, to agree, to hide the undoing. “Most often, I think prophecy is more about finding a way to change the future to something more palatable than adhering to it.”
Not safe, not safe, not safe; how much longer would her heart remind her head of what she already knew?
And then, Milena spoke of alliance, but Elise knew her version of the truth: it was as empty as the call and answer Milena had already failed. And so, the offer was no comfort, if anything it only served to make things worse.
Elise knew some in both the Bone Court and Sanctuary at large wondered how she could survive living as she had. The thing was, as she was finally confronting the piece to all this change she had been avoiding by refusing to speak, by not trying to figure out whether her impressions of Milena were correct, she had an answer: she couldn’t. She’d slowly fracture into a thousand pieces walking on edge for too long and without that peace to anchor herself with she’d break the next time she had a dream like the storm. The prophecy itself would simply shatter her.
And worse yet was that even if she were willing to explain that answer, there was no one to explain it to, and she wouldn’t have had the words to really explain.
In fact, she didn’t seem to have words for anything. Somewhere, she was aware that she had to find them fast, but it wasn’t so easy. Maybe that was the worst part of it, that this set of realizations was happening here. Now. There was no smoothing this away, no hiding behind the mask that belonged to the prophet. She didn’t know what it looked like for Milena’s eyes, especially considering Elise’s gaze had shifted away from her long moments ago, but it felt like a different kind of honest than the one that had let her give an almost lecture.
It felt human. Not Wicked like she was, not Upyr in the little touches she’d adapted to suit life in the Bone Court, but human. Perfectly powerless, delightfully ordinary. Funny to think that after all this time, it was being undone that would feel most normal, that it was almost a breath of fresh air in a place where that was impossible.
Not safe, not safe, not safe. Hadn’t she lived years with that fear echoing in her ears? Hadn’t she only learned to recognize it in its absence?
She didn’t want to own its return. Truly, she didn’t, and there were a great many things she’d be willing to do or say to rid herself of it once more, but for right now it was bearable the way it had been in what was almost like her past lifetime.
It was seconds and time, but her expression settled into something certain, an echoing of the last time she had been Wicked and felt human, when she had managed the impossible. After all, the only thing she could do now was the same thing she did with Gabriel that very first time: make a demand or speak the truth in its most perfectly stripped down form.
“Then give me terms.” She’d take them with a grain of salt, but she wasn’t agreeing to anything blindly either. She wasn’t that stupid.
No matter how immensely she had been enjoying it -- and really, she had been -- it was time for their game of verbal chess to end. Not since her mother’s passing had Milena felt as though she needed to gauge and word every single measure of her sentences carefully. For Olivia Ivanov it was a test of wills and practice for the future. For Elise Bone-Pledged, it was a matter of understanding, of finding that place where neither of them needed to push or pull on the rope of control.
Even Gabriel hadn’t allowed her this much entertainment, as single-minded as he was.
“My terms,” Milena answered, “are simple. Whatever arrangement you had with my husband the Duke is now void. You will report to me regarding your visions and only if I deem them apropos will you relay them to Gabriel as per your consistent standing with him. Wouldn’t want him to get suspicious, now would we?
“In return you will not only continue to be compensated with the privileges of Court Wicked but also be a presence on my Advisory Council. Not solely for the information your visions provide, but because this,” she gestured airily between them, “this has been an informative time. Not the entire waste I thought it would be.”
She raised her chin and regarded Elise with the closest thing to praise anyone could claim she was capable of. Something previously only acknowledged by her prized project Lilita.
“You have the potential for great things, Bone-Pledged. I have no doubt that somewhere in generations gone you have the blood of Upyr within you. Though you were not blessed to have it take hold... then again, would you have been so lucky you would have been Caste regardless. Despite it, potential is not something I wish to squander in these times.”
Milena reached out her hand, knuckles turned up to show off the dull glint of the silver signet ring that echoed her rule. “Do we have an accord?”
Perhaps their time in Sanctuary could be better spent but with a Monarch that disliked her, nor trusted her, Venera was often left with little to do around the place unless it really required someone whom Queen Milena might consider disposable. The General knew that her queen didn’t like or trust her, just as Milena knew that Venera felt the same of the Monarch. So when the time came for a duel of the queen, Venera couldn’t pass the opportunity.
The younger Upyr spent nearly all their time in the pits, getting to know the other Upyr that dared participate as well as any Vampires who joined in. She did little with the humans unless directly challenged, finding them boring and slow. Never play with your food, her mother would say.
An amused smirk curled her lips upward as Milena entered the Pits. “I can’t let him have all the fun, now can I?” Rolling her shoulders, she tilts her head a little and the smirk grows into a smile- though cold and far from something friendly. “Since you laid down the challenge, you should pick the terms of the fight. Please, m’lady, after you.” The formality of the name is just that- a formality to Venera. A face in which they must play for now, only while Milena sits on her stolen throne.
There wasn’t just a difference in refinement between those of the Upper Class and the Lower Caste; there was a difference in... being. Something that could not be defined with simple language other than the fact that the impurity of the Lower Caste’s blood, how diluted they had become over time -- and it was them, there was a reason the Bone Court had been so adamant on the ability to prove one’s blood lineage -- made them lesser Upyr. It was almost an embarrassment.
So though the General had been allowed to stay in the Queen’s Court, a generosity as far as Milena was concerned, there was no way she was going to allow herself to lose to something that was biologically inferior. It would be like losing to a Human.
“I will disregard your implication that the chance to bloody me is something f u n to you...” Milena answered, and there was a distinct desire to caution in her tone, “as you have only done as requested.”
To be stuck behind desks all day, to patrol but never be on the ground, it could be regarded as weakness and sloth. Milena was never a slothful person. Though she had rarely stepped outside the Bone Court in her time as Advisor, then Duchess, it was by no means for an inability to fight.
It was with measured steps that Milena wandered to the wooden chest she had requested be brought to the Pits. An antique from home. From within she pulled out two shining rapiers, admiring the song of the metal through the air before she tossed it through the air in an arc to the General.
“Careful not to damage these... they are worth more than three generations of your lineage.”
Milena was waiting as stoic as ever. Whatever distress her words revealed at Zions blatant disregard for time remained hidden in some unfeeling distant gaze. The ruins of a window held the perfect aura of mystery befitting of the creature. Zion couldn’t help but admire the calm air of power that radiated between them. A heavy sigh escaped her, a brief moment to collect her thoughts to form an appropriate response, perhaps even inappropriate? Zion enjoyed the thrill of pushing the Queen further with her uncivilized tongue.
“Perhaps you would like to rebuild your precious walls yourself? Here…” She threw the shamble of a toolbelt just behind where the Upyress stood with her eyes still fixed into the darkness. “Please, the only thing you risk is being seen with a vampire as common as me. I was good enough to be in your chains but talking to be in public is beneath you, however you require my sensitive information.”
There was a brief pause before Zion continued with yet another bold statement, “I am not so stupid that I do not realize the advantages of meeting in isolation. You have me here alone, probably some personal guard close enough to monitor you, and if things go south you can simply kill me where I stand and chuck it up to some accident or drag me outside the boundary of the city to be discovered while you wash your hands of the entire situation.”
“I am the only one really risking anything because no one cares about me anyway…..except maybe Kellen and that is a rocky boat anyway. So tell me what my information is worth to you. Tribunal already let me off with community service so you can’t hang the fear of an execution over my head.”
Good enough to be in chains was an understatement that Milena would not deign to even give detail to. But there was already such time wasted that the Upyress was content to disregard the nigh-overwhelming desire to correct and educate the Vampire spawn. For another time, perhaps. Not that she ever wished to be in present company unless the situation was absolutely necessary.
And it should have been clear to Milena that the fanged beast would continue to chit and chat until she got what she wanted out of their little bargain. Though how explaining what Milena was going to do with the information she was given hardly seemed relevant.
Her Raven’s did not ask, only obeyed. Something the woman before her could stand to learn a thing or two about.
“Perhaps your brain might be rotted through to a level where you can’t recall,” an insult pressed forward through gritted teeth, “but I’ve already told you the value of your information. The more you provide to me, the easier it will be for me to find time to ask that my soldiers back at Court take the time out of their patrols to... acquire what you so desperately desire.”
She always knew her younger brother would come in handy, though she had no idea how much until recently.
The young upyress was surprised at the praise. The Queen wasn’t the sort to shower direct praise on anyone, it was on very rare occasions that she had praised Lilita. In her own opinion, Lilita hadn’t done much to deserve this rare gift.
So, she was a little reluctant to accept it, yet she did with a grateful smile and a bow. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said softly.
However, the moment the Queen revealed that she already knew the names, Lilita had to exercise a restraint on her reaction. It meant all of her work had been futile and that the praise was hollow. It was evident in the brief pause that the older upyress had taken when telling her that she already knew of the information that Lilita had supplied her. Keeping her eyes lowered, Lilita gave a nod to convey her understanding, as was expected of her. She can seethe in private, later.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she repeated, taking the offered seat, and sitting with her back straight and ankles crossed.
The pause she took after the Bone Queen asked her that question, was to overcome her hesitance, though she made it seem like she was giving it some thought. “Pardon me, Your Majesty, but… If I may be so frank… I think the biggest opposition to your security on the Hollow Throne is the Duke of Ash.”
Much of Milena’s time as an Advisor and, later, as Duchess, had been spent cultivating what would become her Ravens. While her own loyalties remained strictly to the Throne she had had to ensure they would not waver to anyone but her; for while Thrones remained who sat upon them was a matter of time and politics. Even Milena herself wouldn’t have guessed a change in the monarchy not once, but twice in her lifetime.
But she knew from the moment the idea took root in her mind that there had to be a strict certainty as to who her Ravens served; not House Ivanov, not the Hollow Throne, but Milena Ivanov and Milena Ivanov alone.
Lilita was proof that success could be achieved given time and an unwavering principle.
“Yes, and no.”
She waved off her Raven’s comment regarding frankness -- she had been asked for her opinion, after all. But it was noted that Lilita’s respect wasn’t something easily faltered.
Milena continued, “The Duke is simply one weed in a garden overrun. Who he is means nothing if one does not consider what he represents. He is the face of a brave, old regime that stood the test of time, of a Blood King, of familial bonds cast aside.” And though the last note was an utter lie -- which they both knew -- the point stood. “Gabriel had the luxury of years within the Court’s walls both before and after his Coronation. Such time taken to foster relationships, breed loyalty, and inspire it too.”
The Queen looked to her Raven thoughtfully.
“As I am required here I do not have such luxuries. The main opposition to my rule, then, would be the distance between my people and their Crown. Would you agree?”
DISPENSABLE
or Milena Ivanov’s Journey from Sister to Duchess
written for bloodvbonerpg’s february writing prompt
warning: this content contains mature themes and several triggering topics
2261, or the Abuse
“Stand up straighter. You’re an Ivanov, for fucks sakes. And--”
“Ivanovs don’t slouch.” repeated the youngest with a mocking whine to her voice. Iryna barely had time to finish the arc of her eyes into her skull before she felt a stinging pain in her arm. A cold, silk-adorned hand covered her mouth to contain her wail of pain from the ears of the rest gathered in the Throne Room.
As Iryna’s mother unclenched her nails from the meat of her youngest daughter’s arm, blood began to drip down the pale skin in thin ribbons. In the time it took the blood to crawl down her pale skin and reach her wrists the shallow crescent-shaped cuts had already healed.
The woman’s dark eyes flicked over the decorated head of her little girl to where her eldest, Milena, had taken care of silencing the punishment without being asked. As she did with everything one would not have noticed Milena’s attention wavered between helping her mother control her siblings and the procession going on before them.
The closer one was to the Hollow Throne, the more eyes were upon them. And though the entire Court seemed to be rapt with attention as His Royal Highness conducted the ceremony that all had gathered to witness; the ascension of a Lower Caste into the ranks of her betters, anyone who knew how the Court worked would have their eyes trained on their King but the rest of their senses focused on the rest of the room.
And no child of hers, only two bloodlines removed from King Albescu, would slouch so long as Olivia Ivanov remained matriarch.
Olivia allowed the ceremony to regain its place to the forefront of her attention. Not a hair out of place, nor a fluttering of her skirts as she permitted her eldest to take care of the rest.
Milena, who had carried a sour face for all the hours leading up to the event, had outdone herself at how she seemed not only relaxed among the crowd but also accepting of the implications the ceremony carried. Around the waistline of her dress she procured a scrap of cloth and wrapped it around her sister’s wrist.
Iryna clenched her teeth around young, dewey lips as she her blood was cleaned against her will.
But as with all things involving her younger siblings, Milena paid her obvious discomfort no mind and continued doing what was best for the name of the family. And though all those with five bloodlines or less in distance to the Albescu family were packed towards the front of the ancient and rusting Hall like a mass grave, no one was any the wiser.
Iryna did not slouch again.
The ceremony lasted until the sun had set over the far, forest-dotted horizon. As the appointed General, Zolnerowich, rose from her kneeling position, the King spread his arms wide in stoic silence.
Restrained applause went around the room in a large oval. The Ivanovs were not the only family with discontent about the arrival of a Lower Caste among their ranks, but they were satisfied in knowing such a feat could only be accomplished by those who went above and beyond for not only the Bone Court but the Bone King upon the Hollow Throne himself.
And tonight, with the rotted and withered face of the Vampire Blood King poised on a golden rod outside the gates to Court, they would celebrate their victory -- however temporary -- until the sun rose and turned what was left of the former King of Leeches into ash.
The doors at the end of the Hall opened and servants began pouring in single-file with candles and torches to begin setting up for the festivities. The King gave a bow and stepped off of his dais to retire before everything began, and the rest of the Court took their leave only when the side doors had closed behind him.
Olivia Ivanov stepped before her daughters; the young Iryna barely containing herself, Milena with a face of carved marble, and Zinaida who, as was expected of her, had already departed from her family to venture across the floor and rejoin her latest courter.
“Milena.” Was their mother’s only acknowledgement before she turned and departed with a small wave of heads of family.
Milena’s soft curtsy at her mother’s departure went, familiarly, unnoticed. And only when the siblings were alone did Iryna truly look frightened. Wide, doe eyes looked up to the towering figure of her sister beside her and a beat of sweat fell down her temple.
Milena’s shadow began to eclipse her and Iryna moved to flinch away from whatever she might be struck with -- though in the back of her mind she remembered they were still among public eyes and that to be punished in front of them would shame not only the sisters but the entire family -- only to feel fabric brush against her cheek.
Milena gave a soft and gentle wipe of her linen to Iryna’s head to make sure the signs of her fear were removed from sight.
“You’re a fool for mocking Mother so,” Milena muttered under her breath so that only her sister may head, “especially with the negotiations taking place tonight.”
Milena righted herself and offered her gloved hand to the child, who took it in her own. Together they departed the Throne Room as a single unit, with only Milena giving notice to those who wished them farewell. It wasn’t expected of Iryna, still a child without her first kill, and for that she was grateful.
“I’m sorry, ‘Ena,” as wince of pain as the grip holding her hand became a voice, “Milena, Milena I meant Milena.” And the grip slackened.
“Don’t apologize to me. Nor to Mother if you know what’s good for your wretched little tongue.”
“But--”
“Apologies are temporary and useless things. Do better next time. Don’t fuck up again.”
In a corridor less-crowded, Milena stopped and brought her sister to stand before her. She took a gentle knee,and smoothed her skirts as she did so.
“Embarrass Mother in front of the Court again and she won’t be merciful.”
Iryna’s face scrunched into childish confusion. “Even though…”
Her voice trailed off, but Milena waited. Iryna made an expression as if to say the rest of her statement was implied, and earned a crack over her ear for it.
“You aren’t Caste, Iryna Katya,” she chided while smoothing down her sister’s hair, “if you open your mouth to speak, the only thing that should stop you from finishing is losing your tongue.”
Iryna’s lower lip trembled as she nodded. “Even though she’s my Mother?”
Mirth of a dangerous kind flickered in Milena’s bright eyes. Iryna had seen that look only several times before; when her elder sister was eying the King, or the Throne he sat upon. It wasn’t something reserved for their meals -- it was a look for a different kind of hunger.
“You remember what she did to Father. And he was the love of her life.”
A chill ran through the young Upyr as memories she had long-ago locked away were prodded. Enough to instill terror within her; enough to make her nod fervently in silence.
Milena stood; satisfied.
“Good. Keep up your behaviour and I’ll tell Mother she can forgo your punishment tonight.”
The sisters took hands again and began towards their apartment.
2278, or the Quarrel
Milena rushed through the apartment in disarray, leaving behind her a trail of flurried papers and haphazardly-written notes that fluttered to the ground like large snowflakes.
Behind her a dutiful servant immediately sprung to action, collecting the pieces and gathering them in a neat pile in her arms.
Milena hardly noticed her, as was expected of someone serving their house, but a quick double-take caught her attention as she saw the servant glance over the contents of one of the documents.
The papers made their home on the antique carpeting a second time as the upyress slammed the servant against the wall, hand wrapped around her throat. Squeezing tightly, feeling the grind of tiny bones as the lesser upyr struggled, tried, and quickly realized it was futile to breathe.
“How dare--!”
“Milena!”
A cry of surprise, and a small infant’s gurgle behind her and Milena turned her head away from the struggling servant to whoever dared interrupt her.
Zinaida stood in the doorway, still dressed in her frock to battle the winter chill around the Court Gardens. Bundled in her arms was their young infant brother, Nika; the only male in the Ivanov family and, as of his one year on the earth, an extreme disappointment to their mother. So much so that Zinaida had taken over much of his rearing while the Matriarch of the Ivanov House continued her usual duties of ensuring their status.
A duty that was being pressed down upon Milena’s back like the weight of the world itself.
Her sister stared at the scene before her with a judgment usually reserved for those beneath her, but Milena remained unphased. Tightened her grip on the servant’s throat. She could feel the fluttering pulse beneath her hand beginning to quicken in anticipation for the end.
“How was your stroll, sister?” asked Milena casually. Zinaida’s lips pursed into the same thin-lined frown their mother always wore.
“Why are you murdering the help?”
“What business is it of yours?”
“Well,” Zinaida clicked her tongue, “besides the fact the help isn’t solely yours, but belongs to the family, and I have no time to get Iryna ready for her debut tonight…”
Milena’s jaw clenched at her sister’s condescending tone. “There are others. Others who know better than to let their eyes wander.” She looked back to the flailing girl in her grasp.
“We mustn't touch what isn’t ours, lest we suffer the consequences.”
“Oh for fucks sakes, Milena, she was doing her job in picking up your mess!”
A look passed between Milena and her captive in the briefest of moments. Though her trembling eyes tried to see through the grim figure of the Ivanov choking her to plead with the one making her case, there was an understanding in the space they occupied together. The servant conceded her fight for breath. Milena’s hand tightened. The briefest snapping sound followed, and Nika began to wail in his swaddle while the hanging body went limp.
Zinaida gave an exasperated sigh as she tried to calm down the infant. “There there Niki, hush now. You’re alright… you’ll get used to big bad Milena inconveniencing all of us. Yes you will, yes you will.”
The body slumped to the floor as Milena relinquished her hold.
“Save your high horse for someone else.” She scoffed, and began to pick up the fallen papers on her own.
“I’m just telling him the truth.”
“Like his constant screaming isn’t a burden?”
“Not as much as yours.”
Milena whipped her head around to glare at her sister -- strands of hair falling out of place in her high bun and into her sight line. Zinaida had the gall to not move a muscle. Tense silence filled the space between them, before the younger upyr glanced down to readjust the fussing baby.
With her papers in hand, Milena righted herself as she stood and smoothed her hair back into her usual flawless appearance. Not only would she still be late to her meeting with the other King’s Advisors, but now she would have to explain to Mother why they needed to bring in a new Caste to serve the house. It was shaping up to be a very long day.
On her way to the door, Milena stopped beside her coddling sister. Zinaida paid her no mind as she let Nika nibble on her fingertips.
“Sister,” Milena spoke lowly as she brushed the tips of her nails through the thin strands of hair atop their brother’s head, “if you ever question me again, I won’t hesitate to seek punishment.”
The soft tone held an underlying menace that made Zinaida give the briefest of glances upwards to her elder sister. Milena, however, was focused on combing Nika’s mop.
“Fine. Not in front of the help.”
“No… I mean at all.”
“Milena…”
The next words she spoke sent a chill down Zinaida’s spine: “Learn your place, and respect mine. Or you’ll be joining the help.”
Something in the simple way she spoke warned the upyress that Milena wasn’t joking. She watched, eyes wide, as her sister bent down and kissed the crown of the infant’s head before departing.
Not another glance or word passed between them.
2289, or the Beginning
All fell silent as the King stepped forward. His eyes roamed over each of the Ivanov children, taking in their appearance, their demeanor, their stance. Four crowns of raven-wing hair met him back in supplication. Nothing out of place. Nothing flawed. It was the epitome of perfection that Olivia would have demanded from such an occasion.
King Albescu reached out an open palm. Thin pale fingers encased in a silk glove reached upward and hovered delicately over his skin -- respect shown in restraint. The hand was carried to his lips and there he bestowed upon it a chaste, lingering kiss.
“The Hollow Throne gives condolences for your loss,” he spoke with his usual softness, but in the stillness of the Throne Room all could hear him clear as day, “to lose one’s kin is a tragedy, but to lose one’s elder is something that has yet to be defined in its impact.”
Gabriel released Milena’s hand and she brought it back to rest over her front.
“The Ivanov Family is humbled by your words, Your Majesty.”
Gabriel passed the siblings to stand before the resting place of Olivia Ivanov; bare as custom dictated but decorated in ornate wreaths and weavings from the Court Gardens.
“Your sisters’ handiwork?” he asked, and beside Milena, Zinaida and Iryna nodded once, “impressive and detailed. Your love shines through.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” the younger girls rang out in chorus together.
His hand, adorned with the King’s rings, hovered over one of Olivia’s long arms in silent reverence. Beyond the family and King, dozens of members of the Court watched. Some had known Olivia her whole life, others for a brief time. And some had never even seen the trails of her skirts around a corner. But for the death of such an important and pure Upyr attendance was not only demanded, failure to do so was a punishable offense.
As he took the limp hand in his, Gabriel’s eyes flickered to Milena and approval was silently spoken.
The eldest Ivanov stepped forward and, chin high, she began to address the Court.
“The Ivanov House is humbled by the presence seen here today,” her speech, carefully rehearsed, echoed through the crowd, “and could she see the faces that mourn the gaping hole created by her loss, I know Mother would be pleased at the diligence of your duties to your respective Houses. Since the crowning of His Royal Highness, may his soul be without tether--” a brief pause; silence for the Court to mourn their first King and Gabriel predecessor, “--Olivia dedicated her life to the noble art of serving the Hollow Throne without question, without expectation, and without a need for anything in return except the knowledge that she was working towards a purer line of Upyr lineage.
“And though her loss is a great one for this House, her soul can rest without tether knowing that I, Milena Athenodora Ivanov, take her place as Matriarch of the Ivanov line.”
Restrained and polite applause followed the coattails of her words. In that brief moment something came over the upyress; never before had she been given the opportunity to address the Court in such a manner, and the thrill of it filled her with a longing for it to continue. Up there, before her family, before her King, before the Court itself, Milena felt a triumphant wave of power.
And when it passed, it left an anchor in her gut -- clinging to Milena with the strength of iron chains.
She would do this again. And no power on the earth would be enough to stop her.
Milena stepped back in line and turned to watch, along with the eyes of the Court, as King Albescu brought Olivia’s arm forward. Skin broke, bones cracked and ground together, and the tang of old and respected blood caused every Upyr present to relish it with an inhale as Gabriel took the King’s Share of the Dead in the first bite.
The funeral went on for the rest of the night. In a show of “grace and decency” Olivia Ivanov had requested her funeral be a public affair; her death shared with all who knew her in life. After Gabriel, her children had taken their share before opening up the meal to the rest of the Court. Wine was brought up from the cellars and soft music filled the spaces in between polite conversation as the siblings took their places at different corners of the room for condolences to be given from those gathered.
Milena gave a short curtsy to Advisor Vasilescu as he departed. Behind him like a shadow followed the youngest Petrescu son, whispering in his ear at a level that not even the skillful Milena’s ears could pick up.
“Interesting, that you would prostrate to your equal.”
Milena’s curtsy deepened as Gabriel came to stand before her. They were alone; the rest of the Court giving a wide berth to their King and the Ivanov Head.
“Mother would have respected his presence,” she countered, and continued at the King’s raised brow, “despite his change of status, his blood is no less pure.”
Gabriel nodded and took Milena’s hand in his to give her fingers another kiss of respect.
“Olivia was a wise woman; her ambition almost without equal.”
“Almost, Your Highness?”
“Indeed.”
Gabriel’s hands came to cover Milena’s in his own, and though she was able to mask her surprise with years of practice, the intent behind the action was still unknown to her.
Their eyes met. Secrets weren’t a foreign concept to the pair. Milena had been trading in them for half a decade now and the results were far more promising than either of them could have anticipated. Secrets discovered that even the King himself had wished to keep hidden.
“The world is changing, Milena,” Gabriel nodded to the resting table, now empty from the feasting, with the decorative garlands abandoned and each flower petal dotted with Olivia’s blood. “As each member of my Uncle’s regime dies, I must replace them with those who would serve me best.”
“As you see fit, Your Highness.”
A spark flickered in Gabriel’s dark eyes. “And with those replacements I find myself wondering if there is space between the Throne and the Court itself. A space that needs filled -- a bridge between the worlds, of sorts.”
Milena carefully inclined her head, lashes brushing against her high cheekbones.
“And what might this bridge do, Your Highness?”
“Serve as conduit to the Hollow Throne. The Advisor of my Advisors, of my Generals, of all who carry title in our Court. Someone who knows the importance of our purity and who has seen to it that this shall not waver. Who can be my acting hand in all matters, public and…”
“In the shadows?” Milena offers, and Gabriel’s chuckle rumbles through them both where they remain joined.
“And in the shadows, yes.”
The two Upyr gazed deep into one another’s eyes. Finally, only after giving him space to continue, Milena spoke.
“And what title might this position carry, exactly?”
The lack of honorific was not lost on the King. “I’ve yet to decide, in truth. As one of my trusted Advisors… would you happen to have a suggestion?”
Despite the grief around them, Milena’s lips curled in a reserved smile.
“Actually, I may. How familiar are you with the old, Human titles held in this very hall?”
2296, or the Rift
Not a word had passed between the siblings the entire length of the meal. Servants came and went, bringing in plates of decadent portions and returning empty porcelain to the kitchens. Knives and forks scraped against the fine antiques; the symphony of a family without anything to say.
At his end of the table, Nika took a gulp of his wine for courage and cleared his throat.
“I’m actually, uh, glad you chose to dine with us, sister. There’s been something I’ve wanted to discuss with you.”
Milena looked up from the stack of notes beside her plate. Though she wore the mask of a thoughtful sister, her siblings gathered knew it was a facade -- that she would much rather be taking her meal and pouring over the most recent Advisor Meeting alone in her offices.
Still, at the very least she attempted to seem interested in her brother’s attempt at conversation.
“If you needed to discuss something with me, why did you not come to my offices?”
Nika frowned. “I… did. Your guards didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Their words were drowned in silence and more chewing as Nika looked back at his plate as though it was suddenly filled with new and interesting things.
Inwardly, Milena seethed that her brother was going to force her to continue the conversation. A conversation she neither wanted nor cared about the details of.
Outwardly, she set down her utensils and folded her hands together over her plate.
“What did you wish to discuss?”
In their flanking seats sisters Zinaida and Iryna exchanged furtive, worried glances.
An emboldened Nika looked across the table at his sister; her words mistook for actual interest.
“I’ve been drafted for the King’s Soldiers. Got the letter a fortnight ago.”
The chiming of utensils faded.
Milena’s head inclined. “You should be honored.”
“Well… I mean, I am,” Nika explained hastily, “but… I’m not cut out for that. Petrescu, Sobol, Medved; they’re all good for it. I’m not a take-orders kind of man, right?” He looked to his sisters, tried to ignore the pity in their eyes. “Right?”
The Duchess of Ash gave him a level gaze across their dinner. “I completely agree, Nika.”
He laughed in relief. “Good! So you can fix it?”
Across from him she picked up her glass of wine and drank deeply. Wiped the edges of her lips with her linen.
“That would be counterproductive to my enlisting you, little brother.”
Zinaida choked around the morsel in her mouth. Across, Iryna stifled her gasp of surprise with the palm of her hand. But it was Nika, eyes widening and jaw falling agape, who felt every emotion rush across his face in the span of a heartbeat, that was so taken aback he found himself scraping the wooden legs of his chair across the tile to stand.
“You what?!”
Milena stared, unphased.
After regaining her composure with a hearty swig of wine, Zinaida tried to join in. “Milena, tell me you didn’t.” The sudden icy stare she received wilted her resolve.
“Why shouldn’t I have,” she snapped, “lest he continue to disgrace our name with his scandals and frivolous outings beyond the Territory? Returning a full belly and not even a scrap to give the King?”
“That’s not fair!” shouted Nika in protest.
“No, but then again neither is life.” Milena wiped her mouth and stood to gather her things. “I will hear no more on this.”
“I’m not done yet!”
Iryna reached out to take Nika’s hand. They had always been closer than Iryna with her other sisters. It was simply the way their family worked. “Nika, lower your voice…”
“No!” he pleaded at her and swatted her hand away. “No this is madness! You have no right to enlist me by force!”
A chilly silence blew in from the open dining room windows. Milena, still as a corpse, looked on to her brother’s tantrum with a calm that made his bones feel hollow.
“I have no right?” repeated Milena. And her delicate tone instilled a worry in her siblings that had been bred, not born, and only in the recent years. Like a pond that they had dipped their toes into with their late Mother, but had been fully submerged in without warning the day Milena was elevated to the title Duchess of Ash.
Nika wavered, debated sitting back down. But the point of no return was not only breached, but far behind them.
“I have every right, you ungrateful little cur.” Her words were the only thing that betrayed Milena’s inner rage. “As head of this household I have the right. As the hand behind the Hollow Throne I have the right. As your fucking elder sister, I have every right. You waste your time, your years, your blood by gallivanting around without care as though you are without duty to this house and the name you bear. I will no longer sit idly by and let you besmirch everything Mother worked for -- everything I continue to work for.”
Milena straightened her back, though how it was possible to do so further no one present understood, and gave a slight nod of satisfaction as to her reasons. Nika, meanwhile, stood slaw-jawed at the tongue-lashing he had just received. Rendered silent; mute.
Slowly he lowered himself back into his seat. The youngest Ivanov struggled for something, anything to say in response, but the weight of what was happening had settled onto him with every vowel and enunciation from Milena’s poison-tipped lips. It was not acceptance that brought him back to his chair, but unadulterated shock.
Milena decided against retiring from dinner, and instead picked up her utensils to resume eating. Satisfaction oozed from every pore as she cut into her entree and took a dainty bite. Once ostracized for the weight of her familial burden as well as her Royal duty, she now knew her time in hiding had only been a stepping stone to this, here, tonight.
With the tip of her fork, she gestured to Nika’s unfinished plate.
“You’ll stay here until you finish every scrap. Once you have your first hunting patrol maybe you’ll learn to be grateful for what you have and the hard work it took to get it.”
Her gaze moved to her sisters, who struggled with what to say, or if they had the presence of mind to say it. But the look in Milena’s eyes worked quickly to silence them.
The meal resumed.
2307, or the Culmination
Milena’s nose crinkled the moment she stepped through the doors of the Ivanov apartment. As if it wasn’t bad enough that every stone and ornate golden carving that forged the Bone Court felt saturated with the stink of the mortal coil, to have it in her own home was simply unforgivable.
Though the Duchess held the most power of anyone outside of the Bone King himself, there was nothing that she could say or do that would convince Gabriel to rid them all of the Wicked he had taken in several years ago. She had tried, and knew this to be absolute.
The faint sound of conversation reached her ears and Milena walked brusquely through each doorway to the drawing room situated near the largest window in the apartment. Servants closed each door behind her as she went, but she paid them no mind. They knew their place.
“What is the meaning of this?”
Milena arrived in the doorway of the drawing room to find her sisters; eternal burdens on her soul, in polite conversation with the Wicked Prophetess herself. It sent a stabbing anger through her gut that while her sisters fell silent immediately after her entry, the Bone-Pledged continued on as though nothing had stopped their conversation.
It was bad enough that there was an audible chink as she set her teacup down on an antique older than her ancestors’ ancestors.
Iryna recovered first -- a socialite having bloomed within her in the last few years. Idle chit-chat aside, there was information to be gained in flirtatious banter with other members of the Court. Especially as the Petrescu and Vasilescu lines sealed their friendship with a marriage contract for their youngest cousins.
“We were entertaining, Duchess,” responded Iryna politely, “would you care to join us? More tea, I think.”
She gestured behind Milena for the standing servant to refresh the tea pot, but Milena’s raised hand stopped the Caste in his place.
“I have eyes, Iryna.”
“She’s asking about the Bone-Pledged, I think.” Chimed in Zinaida, who sat uncomfortably close to the Wicked thing. Milena would have to have her clothes burned come midnight, or risk the stench seeping permanently into the fabric.
Iryna nodded as if it was a revelation. “We wished to get to know her. Right, Bone-Pledged? She looked so lonely waiting for the Advisor Meeting to conclude.”
The Wicked remained silent as she sipped her tea. There was a challenge in her serpentine eyes that tensed every part of Milena’s body.
“So you bring her into our home, to muck up our furniture?”
Zinaida snorted around the rim of her cup. Iryna, to her credit, played the part of an embarrassed host well.
“Where else would we make her feel comfortable? She says the King has her in much smaller luxuries, right?”
The Wicked nodded. “Indeed, I’ve never seen anything so… beautiful.”
“Well, living amidst the insects and other foul things as you have, I’m not surprised.” commented Zinaida with a shrug. She and the Wicked exchanged polite smiles.
“Your sisters have been lovely hosts.”
“Get out.”
Decades of settling into a role of command with ease had instilled in Milena an authority impossible to miss, and to ignore it was out of the question. Both Upyr sisters set down their teacups and Milena felt the disturbance in the air as the servant moved forward to begin cleaning up the mess. He gathered everything onto a rusted silver tray -- even going so far as to pluck the porcelain from the Wicked’s grasp -- and moved to retreat.
Milena caught him with a gentle touch to the arm as he passed. “Throw it all away. We have no further use of it.” Her order was low, but not impossible to hear.
The twisted grimace on the Bone-Pledged’s face was all Milena needed to get satisfaction out of such a small gesture.
“Leave us.” spoke Milena again, and both sisters exchanged twin looks that spared no hesitation that they very much did not want to leave.
But dutifully they stood, gave the Bone-Pledged their soft farewells, and took the further doorway out of the drawing room. The Duchess and the Court Wicked were left alone, and tension began to flood the carpet and rot the wooden floors beneath their feet.
“You will never again step foot in this space, do you understand me?”
Milena was appalled when the Wicked laughed at her instead. “I don’t obey you. I obey our King.”
“Our King is easily swayed.”
“I’ve realized.”
In that moment Milena came to a certain conclusion. Though she had spent decades instilling the obedience and silence of her family, she had far less time to do such with the new Court pet. But just like the young Upyr child who once took her hand to walk down the corridors of their home, the Wicked, too, would realize everything was dispensable on the staircase to power.
Ending her piece, Ayanna was a little surprised at herself. This was more than she’d ever spoken to Milena, unless it was on a matter of importance for the town. This bordered on familiarity, the kind of which she only shared with Wolfgang, out of the three Tribunal members. But, books were the topic that was close to her heart, something she never shied away from talking about.
However, Milena’s musing surprised the blonde more than she had surprised herself. It wasn’t a conceited fact doled out to the lesser mortal, as was usually the case when one was in the presence of the Bone Queen. “I couldn’t agree more,” came the Keeper’s quiet reply. And she couldn’t not love books despite them being as fragile as her own self, in world as it stood today.
The older lady’s words were met with a smile on Ayanna’s part. A genuine, bright smile, the first she might have ever given the woman. “Thank you.” Was it a sort of true, calling an end to the underlying coldness? For the blonde it definitely was.
Though they had reached an understanding, it by no means meant that Milena would leave the Human to her idleness here in the library... alone. If that was something the Keeper so truly desired, well, she would have to accept that it was a day that would never come.
And while at first Milena had found the idea of taking hours out of her day to play guard to the whims of a mortal, hours that could be spent doing more productive things regarding the situation with the Lower Caste back home, now that she was victim to free time she found herself at a loss for what to do.
Partake in the reading, perhaps? Not as though they would share opinions and have spirited debate over the contents of whatever books the Keeper decided to choose, but... even the Queen could admit to herself -- in silence, in her mind, in the dark, where no one would never know -- that the concept of time to revisit some of her favourite volumes, a thing she had not been able to do since her youth, was... refreshing.
She plucked a black-bound book from one of the shelves in her line of sight. Obviously, a book she knew was there and not a random choice judging by the swift action. And brought it to one of the many plain, wooden chairs at small plain, wooden tables. She adjusted her skirts around her knees and ankles, opened to a page, and began to read.
It had been convenient to arrange the deal between herself and the youngling leech Kellen-Child when the creature was in her captivity custody. When the Tribunal settled the matter of the traitors, the presented problem became getting the information she had been promised.
Milena knew without a shadow of a doubt that if she asked her Raven -- not just any of them, but Lilita personally -- to do the deed, it would be done regardless of the spy’s reservations towards their informant. It was the nature of their business. But with the sensitivity of their circumstances the Queen had decided against using a third party. The only way she could ensure a constant flow of information in the raw; that is to say information that had not been taken apart and pieced back together with new or missing pieces, would be to find a way to meet with her informant in person.
The idea of using the abandoned tower to the southeast had come to her on the precipice of a dawn. Milena had been able to gather information about the crumbling structure without raising any suspicion, and found it perfect: far enough for any of the Blood District’s Vampires to be out of earshot, and ancient enough to provide not only a place to meet but aid in escape with its fragility should they be discovered. Arranging the time of meeting through Lilita had been a child’s game afterwards.
The Bone Queen pulled the edges of her fur-lined shawl tighter against her skin as the night wind howled. The wind fought to push at the withered stones of the Watchtower, but Human architecture of old stood steady and refused to bow down. Though she could not see her, Milena knew Lilita was close -- her Raven had demanded to guard her even if it was from afar.
Neither of them trusted the Vampire girl. Milena was simply better at masking it.
“You’re late,” Milena did not deign to turn away from the hollow skeleton of a window as she heard something else, something behind her, interrupt the war between the wind and the structure, “the sun set on the horizon some time ago. I don’t appreciate being left to wait -- unless you’ve forgotten you aren’t the only one risking something in coming here.”
The fact that she didn’t out right correct him was enough. Milena had gotten this far by playing her cards close to her chest; she certainly wouldn’t change that now that she was at the Top. If anything it would cause her to be more close-knitted, and Darius had yet to reach that inner circle of hers.
Eyebrow raised he listen as she imparted a small explanation upon him. “Potential?” He queried. Not that he wasn’t one to acknowledge when he did have a connection with someone. “So this potential we have was something Gabriel wasted away, but you won’t?”
Darius could see the difference between the two of them. At the very least Milena wasn’t going to allow herself to make the same mistakes that Gabriel did. Whether that would be good or bad for him had yet to be seen.
“Why would I cast aside my most valuable resource?” asked Milena with a raised brow at Darius. The hint of a smirk flickering on the edges of her thin and pale lips.
Pretense discarded, she gave an airy wave of her hand.
“You and I have been at this game on opposite ends for far too long, Vasilescu. If you wish to speak outside the metaphor -- I will give you the answer you have sought since the moment you returned from your last hunting trip.” Her icy gaze affixed itself onto Darius’ expression. She wanted to see every reaction, every emotion, every bottled-up drop come crashing forward.
“My husband, Gabriel Albescu, plotted to unseat your claim to the Throne the moment you were born. I won’t say you were not the fool to leave Court while His Highness, may his soul be without tether, lay ill of age. In fact, it was possibly the single most absurd and idiotic thing someone in your position could do. Yes, Gabriel was the last to see Petyr before he died and, yes, he convinced the delusional man that you had perished on your journey and to turn to the Throne over to him in his last moments.
Yes, he knew you would be unable to return and dispute the decree by blood-right. He knew you would arrive too late, the Coronation already in place, and have to accept him on the Throne. And, before you ask,” she held up a finger to her lips to silence him, “y e s, it was Gabriel who sped along his King’s death to ensure no one would ever know.”
Milena had never been one to gain satisfaction in revealing the truths of others. She had been in the business of them for the majority of her life and had come to think of them as nothing more than currency. A currency of which she would always hold the majority. There was no intense emotion behind her confession of Gabriel’s sins. Any feeling would have to be on behalf of Darius.
She had kept this particular secret locked away in her most secure vault for the opportune moment. And the moment had come.
It was irritating though also beyond impressive, if she were being truly honest with herself, that Milena somehow managed to cut to the heart of it, and avoid the question Elise had asked again. She still had no idea what the point of this conversation was, why Milena had decided to expend the time or energy on winning her, but if Milena wanted to talk prophecy, then Elise could content herself with that topic for now.
The answer given was both better and worse than Elise had expected; remarkably level-headed and fair, which was interesting, considering Gabriel had tended more toward blind belief and a sort of demanding, there was room to make something that pleased her of this, but not much. Not half as much as she’d had with Gabriel, which was a pity, though probably a good thing for Milena. Still, it was better than the outright no, Elise had almost expected.
It didn’t necessarily make her inclined to abandon Gabriel, but it did at least make her more interested in playing both sides. After all, if Milena and Gabriel insisted on putting her between them instead of dealing with the fallout of the assassination attempt and the reality of their marriage and new positions then she’d make something of it. It was practically what she was owed for the trouble of putting up with it.
And so she’d start over, again, prove herself the prophet a third time — first herself, then Gabriel, now Milena. However, the idea was exhausting, most of all because she didn’t know when she’d see next or if it would be useful. It could be months. That realization pulled a weary sigh from her, displeased by the notion, wishing for not even close to the first time, that this worked differently. “Well, I suppose, the only place to start is there. Only, there are things you should know now, rules that govern prophecy, for lack of a better way to put it.” It was an odd thing to stand there and realize she was about to lecture Milena on anything, but she didn’t really have another choice; Gabriel and she had done an excellent job making sure Milena—and everyone else—didn’t know and she thought it better Milena go into this with realistic expectations. “First, much as I wish differently, I don’t control the visions. They come as they like on whatever topic they so please, useful or otherwise. Second, details are tricky. There’s a lot I can tell or determine, but a definite time is likely never going to be one of them. The visions don’t work that way, I get something like a gut feeling but nothing like numbers. And third, nothing I prophecy is guaranteed as absolute. Believing that is a fool’s game. The future’s fairly flexible in places where people can make choices.” She paused for half a beat before she added, “If you can live with all that, then perhaps something can be made of it.”
At the parties thrown by the first Bone King in the days of Milena’s youth, she remembered one Lower Caste woman who was brought in for every occasion. Because of her lower status not many in the Court deigned to pay her any mind, but curiosity was something that transcended even the most basal of divisions.
The woman had proclaimed to be a Seer -- this was decades before the Wicked woman ever darkened their doorstep -- and would use the bones of an Upyr’s meal, only if freshly consumed, to divine their future. While Milena, at the time a young thing but still deep in her training to head her family, never dared bring rumour upon the Ivanov House by sitting at the Seer’s table, she did interrogate each of her guests after their “session,” and concluded with certainty that the Lower Caste woman was nothing more than an artist there to entertain as much as the musicians were.
But it had been something she recalled when Gabriel, ever his Uncle’s blood-relative, came into the possession of a true prophetess. Was there something in the Albescu blood that begged to know the future, Milena had asked herself, or were they all madmen? Or, perhaps, were they simply men?
Unlike her predecessors the first Bone Queen was not consumed with knowing the future. She would make it herself.
“I appreciate your candor,” was the first thing Milena said after the Wicked finished her rather breathy explanation of her... uniqueness. And she meant it. “I have always believed the future to be of our own making -- of the choices of not only we as individuals but the choices of those around us. With so many choices and so many possibilities, the concept of divining a s i n g l e outcome seemed preposterous to me. But I see now that you, too, change with the ebb and flow of the proverbial tide.”
Briefly Milena wondered if the woman had ever seen a shore.
“I believe an alliance could be made here. Separate from the obligation you carry to the Court.”
The young upyress merely stood while her queen dismissed the guards, and waited to be addressed before speaking up. She walked closer, in order to speak in a softer voice. The information she had was very confidential. Expression grave, she said, “The lower caste rebellion is gaining strength. They are ready to march up to Sanctuary, to demand asylum, if… you won’t listen they’ll approach the whole Tribunal directly.”
While her queen seemed like calmness personified, Lilita knew that she was anything but calm. For a moment, the spy wondered if she’d get to see a crack in the perfect veneer, and who exactly would be the victim of it.
“But,” Lilita continued after a brief pause, looking a tad less sombre and more pleased, “there’s more good news than bad news, Your Majesty.” The smallest of smiles curved at her lips as she withdrew a folded piece of yellowed paper from a concealed pocket, and offered it to Milena. “We have identified the rebel leaders.”
Confronting the Tribunal would be equally useless to the Lower Caste, as she had a voice in the final decisions made. But no doubt the Keeper, the King, and the Envoy would back anyone who wished to disobey Milena’s desires. No Tribunal was without spite, after all.
In any other time or place, the knowledge her Raven had gathered for her would spell the ends of the so-called Rebel Leaders. Swift, silent, but a definitive message to those who would otherwise question her judgment.
But this time was different. It was not merely because an Ivanov was not upon the Throne... it was because the Ivanov in question was not there to sit on the Throne itself. Literally, rather than metaphorically.
“You’ve outdone yourself, Lilita,” Milena began with a soft praise and a nod of her head; more than the Raven was used to in times like these--times of great tension and uncertainty. But certainty was beginning to show itself. “Thank you for your diligence.
“My alliance with Vasilescu may prove fruitful. While you’ve done good work in getting the names of those Lower Caste who would uprise in such a way, I... already knew of them. From one of Vasilecu’s contacts.”
She gestured for the young woman to sit.
“What would you say is the biggest opposition to my security on the Hollow Throne?”
Ayanna didn’t think much of the callous wave of the Bone Queen’s hand. She was used to her carefully concealed disregard by now. The shelves teeming with books were too alluring for her to spend much time bothering herself with the monarch, anyway.
She had just moved closer to inspect a shelf, when the other woman launched into a lecture. Reluctantly looking away from her object of fancy to the dark-haired lady, Ayanna leaned against the shelf, barely touching the books yet still looking comfortably at rest, as she crossed her arms over her chest.
At the talk of punishment, she couldn’t help but raise a brow. A small smirk lifted the corner of her lips. “I appreciate your… sentiments for the books.” She straightened up and looked seriously at the older woman. “I have been here before. I know the rules, and I observe them sincerely.”
She could’ve brought up Gabriel, but she refrained. There was no need to incite the upyress. “I might seem like a simple minded, common human with a, probably, newfound aspiration to seem cultured after mingling with the Upyr. However, my Baba ensured that I grow up respecting knowledge, not just acquiring it,” the blonde divulged uncharacteristically. She seldom spoke about her past or personal life with others, and rarely with Milena Ivanov. “He had a book of poems from which he used to read to me when I was a child. It was the first book I read when I started learning how to read. I still have that book, and not a single page is missing or torn. Is that enough assurance that I won’t be damaging your books?”
It wasn’t the contents of her impassioned speech that gave Milena pause, but the earnest tone of her voice. Long ago, the Upyr knew that Humans were the records keepers of the world. While their information wasn’t always historically accurate -- as was the dilemma of such short life spans and the victors writing the tales of their victory -- it was still the largest accumulation of the world’s knowledge until the fall.
And it had been some time since the Upyress found a Human with a heart that may have reached somewhere into the depths of space and time and plucked out that same thirst for knowledge that could now wither away with the wandering mortals.
“Books... develop age as easily as mortals,” Milena said, with a profound thoughtfulness to her tone, “they wear, they tear, they are the tragic victims of both fire and ice and whatever is wrought in between. For a book to be untouched is for a book to be unloved.”
She turned to the Keeper and gave her a fitful nod. “Your assurance is noted, and... as a fellow collector of knowledge, I thank you. And I believe you.”
Indulged until the humans within it wither and die. That was where Darius became worried. Yes they depended upon the humans for their sustenance, but if they continued down their previous path then all this would have been for none. How long until they eliminate humans? They needed another solution… “Temporary or not, this is giving them a chance to be a part of change. Otherwise what would have been the point in participating in this in the first place.” Darius censured.
Darius knew that Milena wasn’t Gabriel; he only hoped that the decisions she made were not worse than his. Sanctuary was Gabriel’s step in the right direction, Change needed to happen.
Milena needed to see that.
He waited as Milena began contemplating. Knowing better than to interrupt her thought process from his first meetings like this. Boy can she snap.
“I’ll admit at first I was. But I put it down to you being wiser than Gabriel Milena. So far I’ve been right.”
She gave a slow nod; neither disagreeing nor confirming his thoughts on principle. It was best for those below to never know every motivation of those in seats of power; that was the mistake Gabriel had made, and why her ambitions had outlasted his position on the throne.
“In some regards, yes.”
Milena stood and walked to one of the large bookcases that lined the walls of the former dining room that hosted their advisory meetings. She ran her long fingers over each individual leather spine of a particular shelf. She did not need to search for what she wanted--it was hidden in plain sight.
She continued. “In others, I believe there is... potential between us.” The Queen glanced at him over her shoulder, a thick curtain of ebony hair hiding the look in her eyes from his sight, “A potential squandered between you and Gabriel when he took your place upon the Hollow Throne.”
Though it was never spoken of in public company, the whispers had been numerous from the moment the tides turned. In some form or another everyone in the Upper Class knew that Gabriel Albescu had not been set to succeed his relative until the timely absence of Darius and the equally timely death of the former King.
When the aptly-named and barbarically-constructed “Fighting Pits” had been opened, Milena did not expect to find herself anywhere in the vicinity beyond the inaugural day. It was not only far too close to the Blood District for her to have any desire to be near it, but the very presence of it exuded violence and a lack of refinement that went against her very nature as an Ivanov.
But it did have it’s uses; she would be foolish not to agree on some level. Even in Court there were duels to ensure those parties who were at a disagreement could find some form of resolution without the hunting down and eradication of entire bloodlines.
But those duels were only a semi-public affair. The openness of the Pits, and those looking down upon them, negated that.
If anything, the Pits had one sole use in Milena’s eyes: keeping oneself sharp.
“I have to admit,” Milena called as she looked around the walls that were still being laid in with stone. An afterthought after the inaugural fight. “I did not expect you to be the one to lay claim to my offer of sparring for the sake of it.”
The Queen shed her cloak in the light of dawn and turned to look across the way to General Zolnerowich.
