Chapter 8: 8. Absurdité

The sunrise peeks over distant hills, speckling the morning clouds with an array of oranges and yellows. Rays of light drift across a landscape deadened by autumn frosts and pass through the glass walls of the solarium onto its white tile floor and floral-printed couches. Miss Helena and Miss Lynn sit at a circular table, sipping espresso and silently enjoying the view, while I kneel underneath and happily accept whatever kind touches or bites of pastry they offer. I can’t help but purr and preen at the attention. Yet despite the peaceful atmosphere, even I recognize the sense of finality surrounding our breakfast—this is the calm before the storm, the last moment of quiet companionship before soldiers come knocking at the gates. The signs haven’t been particularly subtle: the increase in guards around the palace, the cessation of parties and banquets, and the hurried whispers of the few remaining courtiers all tell the story of danger worming its way toward our corner of the world. Something about a revolt in the south with knights or sorcerers or mercenaries—the details inevitably make my eyes glaze over.

What most clearly indicated a change in our circumstances was the activation of the automata. Two days ago, rows upon rows of the machines marched out of the depths of the palace adorned in gleaming armor marked with the royal crest. Since then, they’ve patrolled the halls and ramparts non-stop in accord with their sorcerous programming, making countless guards and servants remarkably uneasy with their eerie presence. I like them. They carry me around when I ask, and I feel a certain kinship with them as a fellow piece of royal property. I even whisper kind words in their ears sometimes or get on my tiptoes to tuck flowers behind their ears in the hope that a distant part of them appreciates the gestures.

“Good day for a ride,” Miss Lynn idly runs a finger along the rim of her coffee cup.

“Indeed,” Miss Helena slips an arm over Miss Lynn’s broad shoulders, scooting Her chair a little closer to Her consort. “Plenty of sun, not too cold. And roads to the northeast are clear. You should arrive at the monastery before sundown.” 

“And the driver?”

“Only my very best for you, my dear. You’ll also have an escort of two automata, just in case.” 

“I still don’t like this,” Miss Lynn blurts out. “Leaving your side when you need me most, it just feels…wrong.” 

“What I need,” Her Majesty begins, Her hand stroking the back of Miss Lynn’s neck. “Is to know that those I care for most are safe. That’s what will give me the strength I need for the coming days.”

“But Vera’s staying!” Miss Lynn’s objection is more a whine than it is an accusation, her voice soft as she leans back into Miss Helena’s affectionate touch. I’m struck by sympathy—I know how it feels to be deprived of my Queen’s presence, and I don’t envy the experience. 

Miss Helena sighs. “An unfortunate necessity, I’m afraid. Vera’s become a sort of symbol for these malcontents, and I imagine they’ll demand to see her.” She reaches down with Her free hand and rests it on top of my head. Through Her touch, the three of us are briefly connected. “Besides, she’s easy to look after. And before you know it, we’ll be together again. All of us.” 

“Promise?”

“Promise.” They share a slow kiss, both women exhaling softly as their lips meet. “The carriage is out front whenever you’re ready. I only ask that you avoid delaying too long, lest the situation outside change.” 

Miss Lynn pulls Her Majesty back in for another kiss, not fully satisfied by the first. 

“I love you, Helena.” 

“I love you too, Lynn.”

Misses Helena and Lynn get up and share a few more goodbyes and loving sentiments in the corner of the room, arms wrapped around each other and mouths whispering into each other’s ears. After a time the priestess looks down at me, uncertain. “Um. Bye, Vera.” 

“Goodbye, Miss Lynn! Safe travels!” I give her a reassuring smile, one that completely fails to work. 

“…right.” Even after a week of frequent play together, the Royal Consort hasn’t particularly warmed to me—my presence seems to make her uneasy somehow. I get the feeling I was pitched to her as an occasional toy rather than as the full-time companion I’ve become. 

Miss Lynn departs in the wake of one last kiss, and then I’m alone with my Queen once more. The sadness in Her eyes blends seamlessly into resolve as She watches Her lover go. “Well, Vera,” She eventually muses, breaking away from Her thoughts and strolling back to the table to finish Her coffee. “Our week of debauchery is over, I’m afraid.” 

“Yes, Miss Helena.” But what a week it was—hours and hours of learning through trial and error how to please Miss Helena: when to tease or flaunt the rules, how Her punishments would inevitably break me, and how best to prove my submission. Days of back talk and bruised thighs, of obeying orders with and without hesitation, and of treasuring the quiet moments when we sat together and She stroked my hair. Days filled with Her love and attention. I couldn’t have asked for anything more. 

“Have you traveled much, Vera?” Her Majesty’s cup clinks against the saucer as She puts it down, a delicate and clear note that dissipates almost instantly.

“No, Miss Helena. I never had the chance.” Mother didn’t like me traveling much, especially once Alice began straying further and further away from home. Whenever I pitched the idea, she’d go into one of her monologues about both of her daughters abandoning her until I finally relented.

Miss Helena nods thoughtfully. Her gaze finds its way back to the rising sun, which has now managed to pull itself on top of the rolling eastern hills. “Anywhere you’d like to go in particular?”

As I kneel quietly and ponder the question, I realize with some surprise that I’ve never considered it before. Even the plans Mother had disrupted were always just a matter of obligation; where I’d ‘liked’ to go was never a factor. I suppose Niol has always been the center of my world. Had always been the center of my world, rather—Miss Helena of course now occupies that position. “I…don’t really know, Your Highness.” 

“Think about it, then. Once I’m done here, I’d like to explore the world again.” My Queen rolls her shoulders back and indulges in a long stretch. Cracks and pops echo from her back, the sounds like those of pebbles hitting carriage wheels.

“That sounds wonderful, Miss Helena.” I can almost picture Her in a shirt, trousers, and a traveler’s cloak, holding my hand and walking me across exotic landscapes. The reverent tone She uses to tell anecdotes or describe Her travels is evidence enough that seeing the world brings Her true joy, and I’d be beyond lucky to watch Her experience it. “Whatever makes you happy!” 

She pauses mid-stretch and turns to me, a wide grin on Her face. “You’ve proven to be a remarkably successful experiment, Vera, do you know that?” Miss Helena flicks her index finger upward and I stand. “To place someone else’s needs and desires above your own…the broken woman I began with three months ago certainly couldn’t have done that.” She caresses my chin lightly, turning my head as if inspecting livestock. 

“So much I’ve been able to fix in such a short time: your arrogance, your trust issues, your fear of intimacy. And who knows what I’ll be able to accomplish with you in the next few decades, what lessons I’ll learn from sculpting and refining you. You’re a very good girl, Vera. My very good girl.” 

I beam up at Her in pure joy, the purpose of my existence having just been affirmed. “Thank you, Miss Helena.”

*****

The next few days are a whirlwind of meetings and formalities as the Duke arrives at Niol. I see little of the ceremonies, instead spending most of my time with Celeste tucked away in various corners of the palace. As a result, life doesn’t change much from our perspective—the halls are busier again, but the hulking mass of the automata deter any possible trouble as well as any of Berinni’s soldiers. At most, we occasionally spot a few Berinnist nobles walking and talking urgently with more familiar royalist courtiers. It’s as if Celeste and I are watching the world change through cracks in doorways and brief glimpses out of windows, doing the best we can to stay occupied and stave off the nerves. We play card games where I constantly cheat and get caught; we tell stories and gossip about various aristocratic love lives and affairs. For a moment it almost seems as though we’ll make it through the entire political storm untouched until the morning a courier arrives and informs me of my impending meeting with Duke Berinni. 

Celeste helps me dress for the event, putting on a corset, garter belt, stockings, and a tiny sparkling red dress. I look like the emcee of a lewd traveling circus, and I twirl in front of the mirror until I get dizzy and Celeste has to keep me from toppling over. 

“Stop being so antsy, Vera,” the lady-in-waiting tells me as she holds me steady and slips on my low heels.

“I am not being antsy!” I am extremely antsy. Blocked memories whisper half-baked plans and opportunities to me, and the burden of multiple conflicting expectations pushes and pulls at my intentions. The combined effect frays at my nerves and leaves me fidgeting uncontrollably. Who am I supposed to be at this meeting? The demure and polite servant? The lewd harem girl? A cheap imitation of my former self? Fears of how to proceed dance in my mind as I watch the light play off of the fabric of my dress.

Celeste snorts. “Right. You’re on your best behavior.” She stands, tucks one last unruly strand of my hair behind my ear, and frowns at me. “Don’t do or say anything foolish today, alright?” 

I don’t even know what that means. Miss Helena purpose-built me to embarrass myself in the court—I’ve no idea how I’m supposed to stop now. I answer in the only way that feels appropriate. “Yes, Miss Celeste.” She wraps me in a big hug, one I eagerly return. “I don’t want to go.” 

“You’ll be fine, Vera.” Three knocks in perfect rhythm signal the arrival of my automata escort. Celeste slowly but surely disentangles herself from my embrace to open the door and gently guide me out into the hall. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“We must continue, Miss,” drones the nearest machine, a perfect specimen with gray hair and brown eyes. I take its hand and allow it to lead me away from my bastion of safety. As we walk through the corridors, I quickly discover that I’m the center of attention—courtiers exchange knowing glances or approving nods when they catch sight of me. The closer we get to the court, the more positive the reactions become, with Berinnists smiling and saluting at me. One even offers a slight bow.

“My Lady,” he says. I stare at him, wide-eyed. 

The automata loops me around to the front of the court, past dozens of its fellow machines surrounding the exterior of the dome. A pair of them step aside to let us pass through the grand arched doors of the main entrance. With a shove, clunk, and swish, my escort pushes them open and grants me passage into the eerily quiet room. No courtiers or clerks sit at the pews; no activity buzzes through the aisles and side passages. Instead, the only inhabitants are a few distant figures watching me approach, and the only movement is my heels clicking against the floor. When devoid of its usual conduct the dome really does resemble a tomb. Gods, it's like I’m being buried alive under tons and tons of open, empty space. Is that what this meeting is about? Some sort of punishment? Did I do something wrong? Panic begins to cloud my senses, especially when I realize a few steps in that the automata has stopped following me; I falter, stumbling when my foot catches on the corner of a pew. I’m alone. I’m all alone and I don’t know what to do. Breath eludes me despite the abundance of air, my gasps barely—

“Come, sweetness.” Ahead, my anchor to this world calls out from Her silver throne. The command immediately steadies my stride and calms my breaths. With it, the uncertainty of the moment becomes a moot point, as obedience takes away the burden of choice. Miss Helena will keep me safe, and I in return will do as she tells me. Nothing else matters. 

As I regain my composure I’m able to see the scene ahead more clearly: a ring of chairs surrounds the throne, occupied by high-ranking royalists and Berinnists alike. Miss Francine sits on Her Majesty’s left, her face inscrutable, while Paolo and Ser Eshe are on the other side of the circle. Directly across from Miss Helena sits the Duke himself, a short man with a round jolly face who peers at me curiously. A gold-stitched cloak rests upon his shoulders, drenched in various medals and accolades.

“You’ve upset her, Berinni.” Miss Helena is the epitome of icy cool, sitting ramrod straight in Her light blue gown. 

The Duke shrugs. “Lady Veronica deserved a proper entrance fitting her station. It wouldn’t do to have her slinking in through the back.” I stop short of the chairs, hesitating until Miss Francine tilts her head toward an empty seat on her left—one not adjacent to Her Majesty. My eyes stay trained on the floor as I walk over to sit. It doesn’t feel right, not being by my Queen’s side. Like I’ve been downgraded somehow. “And might I say, what a pleasure it is to have you, Lady Veronica.” Duke Berinni’s voice is high and nasal, and he often speaks in rushed jumbles of words like an excited child. 

“…my name is Vera,” I mumble without much thought. The Berinnists grumble in dissatisfaction at my response; I peek up to see Paolo staring at Miss Helena with fury in his eyes. 

The Duke merely tuts. “Does she even remember who she was, Queen Helena? Or did you take that from her as well?”

“She remembers bits and pieces.”

“Damned sorcery makes everything more complicated…” Berinni rubs his eyes, then pushes back his mostly-receded hair. He addresses me loudly and slowly as if speaking to a child. “Well, Vera, you used to be a noblewoman named Lady Veronica of House Tiern. But then, your house was illegally disbanded by—“

The elder Lannith, a royalist noble, cuts him off. “—as discussed previously, Her Majesty is well within Her rights to—“

“—illegally disbanded by Queen Helena.” The Duke pushes forward, ignoring Lannith’s objection. “This injustice, along with the various perverse changes She inflicted upon you, so incensed the gentry that we began mustering our power to address it…” With each and every sentence, I slide down a little lower in my chair. I can vaguely remember what he’s talking about—I know that I had power and a title before receiving Her Majesty’s gifts—but any time I try to recall specific details, Miss Helena’s love overwhelms my conscious thinking. Gods, I wish I was closer to Her. Close enough that She could run Her fingers through my hair, gently pressing away at my worries…

“…happy to announce that we’ve negotiated the reinstatement of House Tiern!” 

The other Berinnist nobles nod rapidly in affirmation, murmuring their assent.

“Hear hear!”

“Justice!”

“Long live House Tiern!”

Duke Berinni grins triumphantly, his fingers absently running over one of his medals as if to polish it. “We’ve taken the liberty of inviting your exiled kin back to Arlunn to reclaim their rightful place. My associates and I are willing and able to provide generous loans for rebuilding your families’ fortunes; let it be known that we are always concerned with the interests of the gentry as a whole.”

“Hear hear!”

“Justice is done!”

“For glory and Arlunn!”

Everyone looks at me expectantly. I blink. “...um.” Did he say…? “Is Alice coming back?”

You are reading story Shadow of the Sun at novel35.com

“She declined our invitation, I’m afraid.” I wince, somehow managing to shrink down further into the hard wooden seat.

Miss Helena clears Her throat. “However.” I fixate on Her, hoping for more to clarify how I should think and feel, but She only offers a single word—one still powerful enough to suck the celebratory joy out of the room by itself.

“However,” Duke Berinni echoes, leaning back and crossing his meaty arms. “You did attempt to overthrow the crown outside of the proper channels.” He gestures at his companions, and I notice Ser Eshe’s eyes flick over to meet mine for a split second. They sit beside an older man wearing similar garb and an identical stony expression. 

“You acted not on behalf of the sovereignty of the Arlunni people, but for your own benefit. Therefore, while I do not condone the Queen’s method of punishment—”

“—for shame!”

“Barbaric and perverse!”

“Hear hear—”

“—I have decided to uphold it.” The other nobles trail off in embarrassment. To the Duke’s left, Paolo scoffs and clenches his jaw, his glare casting molten fury at royalists and Berinnists alike. “Frankly, Lady Veronica, I believe we’ll all end up with fewer knives in our backs if you stay this way.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief, then bow my head. “Oh, good! Thank you, my lord! I’d like to stay with Miss Helena very much.” Out of the corner of my eye I can see Her Majesty’s smug smile, and Her happiness brings one to my own face as well. A slight worry crosses my mind, though, and I move to quickly address it. “And could I possibly still be Vera and not become a noblewoman again? I’d much prefer that.”

Excruciating silence follows; the kind of silence that wrings comfort out of a room and leaves behind the desiccated husk of a conversation. I couldn’t have done anything wrong though, because Miss Helena is smiling wider than ever. “It appears Vera’s found a calling higher than even that of the gentry.”

“Ci pa farcie insulta!” Paolo shouts, his face bright red and his brown curls quivering with passion. “Surely we will not tolerate such debasement?” 

Berinni taps his smooth chin in thought, eyes focused on nowhere in particular. “Calm yourself, Viscount. I’m sure our Queen knows better than to purposefully antagonize those with whom She negotiates.” His last few words are pointed barbs, but I barely notice them at all; Paolo’s display has grabbed my attention and pulled me back to—

The evening was young, with the last gasps of sunlight filtering their way through the trees onto our riverside alcove. I clutched my knees to my chest and gritted my teeth, staring at the intricate patterns of the picnic blanket to avoid dwelling on the hurricane of sorrow and grief tearing a hole in my chest. Red, white, and green plaid. I wondered if the colors had any significance. All the while, twigs and stones crackled beneath Paolo’s boots as he paced near the water’s edge.

“Is this about my father? Because I can convince him,” he said, tossing his hands in the air for emphasis as if in fervent prayer.

My voice was quiet but firm, my lines cemented by a thousand miserable rehearsals. “It’s not about him.” I daintily picked up a spoon from a patch of reeds within my reach. Food scraps and silverware had landed all over the place, sent flying by my partner’s initial reaction to the news of my rejection.

“And even without his approval, pe fira, you don’t have to listen to him! He cannot stop us!” 

“Paolo. This isn’t about your father. He doesn’t even know I’m doing this.” That got him to stop, if for no other reason than sheer bafflement. Burbling water and distant birdsong thrummed in the air, no longer overpowered by the loud crunching of his footsteps. 

“He doesn’t?” Paolo sounded confused and guarded like he was expecting to be hurt more but didn’t know why or how. 

I couldn’t manage eye contact with him, picking at a discarded orange rind instead. “No. This is my decision.”

Miss Helena’s love surges forward in my mind, attempting to blot out my memory. But watching Paolo become upset in the present serves as a potent reminder of the past—I’ve lived this before, and the associated emotions are too powerful to be restrained.

“But…I…wha…? Why? Gods, Veronica, only last month we spoke of marriage! What possibly could have…” He trailed off, then took a deep breath and sat beside me on the blanket. We both attempted to regain our composure as we looked out onto the lazily flowing waters. It was a tributary to the Niol river proper, a final peaceful stop before joining the coursing heart of the kingdom. Poetic, perhaps. I was too busy fending off the misery to notice. 

Paolo calmed himself down long before I could. “Have you been promised to another?”

I haven’t—Berinni is allowing me to stay with Miss Helena.

I shook my head. I didn’t want to talk; words would probably bring tears in their wake, and I needed to control myself.

“Have you fallen out of love?” 

No; I love Her dearly.

“No! Gods, no.” I let out a choked sob, my earlier suspicion proven correct. Paolo wrapped an arm around me and pulled me close. Fool that I was, I let him, sobbing into his shoulder even as I clenched my fists in determination. 

“What is it, then?” Paolo whispered. I shook my head again, not ready to hear myself speak the ugly truth. “Come now, pe fira. We can work through this together.” 

“I cn’t,” I mumbled into his tunic. It smelled like him, an earthy scent mixed with hints of sea breeze and woodsmoke. It was a smell I wanted to remember. 

“You can. You’re strong, Veronica.” 

“Dn’t wnna be strong.” The admission triggered surface-level disgust and a deeper sense of relief, with the former far more evident than the latter.

Miss Helena doesn’t want me to be strong…the affirmation triggers surface-level relief and a deeper sense of discontent, with the latter becoming harder and harder to ignore.

“Then just be you.”

At that, my emotional pain bloomed into eerie numbness, allowing me to pull away and voice what had been haunting me. “...that’s the problem.”

Paolo’s brown eyes were a font of kindness and concern, one that could not fill the empty void they faced. He searched my face for answers but seemed dissatisfied with what he found. “What do you mean?”

I took a shaky breath. "I know who I am, know who I’m becoming. If we stay together, I am going to use you, Paolo. I won’t be able to stop myself.”

My enforced love for Miss Helena blooms into a calming numbness, one that allows me to pull away and realize what’s been haunting me. 

I know Her; know who She really is. She uses people. She’s using me. 

While the strands of Her sorcery are far too strong for me to immediately unravel, I find slack in their constricting knots—enough to continue remembering even as Ser Eshe stands and quietly escorts Paolo from the court.

“What do you mean, ‘use’ me?” Paolo’s eyes recoiled, but his body managed to remain steady.

I shut my eyes tight. “Everything is political, Paolo.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” 

“On my path, it does. And I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you that way.” 

“Veronica…” Paolo’s shoulders and jaw tightened and slackened as his rational and emotional selves fought for control. It was a battle I’d seen many times before, and one he’d made remarkable progress with. I was so proud of him, and that hurt too. Everything was so fucked. “…you buried your mother last month. Perhaps this is not the best time to make sweeping life changes.” From a coarser man, the words may have reeked with condescension. From Paolo, though, they were soft and laced with genuine empathy. 

But they made me furious nonetheless. 

“You have no right!” I scrambled backward to put distance between myself and him, like a wounded animal escaping a predator. “No right to tell me how to live my life, no right to tell me what I’m feeling!

“Okay, okay, scusi, scusi. I’m sorry.” Paolo raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just worried about you. After the past few weeks…”

He was veering close to dangerous territory once more, and I knew making a clean break would be the best method of keeping him away. “Then stop it. I’m no longer yours to worry about.” Just as I’d sought out the dusty corners of Tiern manor to hide when I was a girl, so too did my mind now retreat from my body and the world to somewhere that felt safe. I ascended up and away from my flesh, taking in an overhead view of the riverbank and witnessing myself doing what had to be done. “I do not need your help, Viscount, for I do not need you. And besides, it is not your place to pry into the affairs of myself or my family. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s long past time I departed.” My body stood on shaky legs and took rigid steps toward the path, methodically placing one foot in front of the other. I vaguely sensed the warmth of tears on its cheeks, and its vision of the surrounding forest blurred into mush.

My body turned its neck to point its face toward the Viscount. “Adocco. Until we meet once more,” slipped out from between its lips, my voice carrying a rapidly fading ember of what we’d once shared.

Paolo hung his head. “Adocco, pe fira.”

I try once more to escape myself and retreat into that distant corner of my mind, overwhelmed by the painful memory and the crushing pressure of Miss Helena’s sorcery. But in the process, I come to a horrifying revelation.

I’m already there. 

I’ve been there for weeks, in fact. Forced inside my own head with magic, left to stumble through the world as an incomplete woman. I vaguely recall Helena’s words from when I awoke:

“Not less. Cuter. More affectionate. Simpler, perhaps, but only just so.”

Bullshit. I am Lady Veronica Tiern, and there is no simplifying me. I will not allow myself to slip into ‘Vera’ forever, no matter how good it feels; I will gladly descend from my safe haven and suffer so long it’s the real me doing the suffering. 

There is no salvation in surrender, no catharsis. The struggle is all I have.

Triumphant declarations aside, coming back to myself after weeks of magically-enforced semi-consciousness is like swimming through a lake of molasses. For the rest of the meeting, I’m only able to focus on physical sensations in the hopes of grounding myself in my body. I pay attention to how the chair feels against my legs and back, how the stale air smells of ink, and how assorted voices in the room echo through the air. Progress is slow—Helena’s sorcery tempts me at every turn, and more than once I succumb and find myself staring into space and daydreaming about Her again. But by the time She and Berinni adjourn for a private conversation, I have enough presence of mind to remember who I am and what I’m doing. Even movement is under my control as I stand and walk out the front entrance with the rest of the nobles, most of whom gossip about what a fucking fool I just made of myself. I blush, unable to stop recalling a deluge of lewd memories from my time as Vera. There’s no rebuilding your reputation from something like that. Best not to focus on the past, though. I try to blink away as much of the lingering mental fog as I can and survey the room, hoping for some sense of direction after nearly a month of aimlessly drifting. Gods, what am I going to do? Perhaps I can fake submission for a time, but I’m still under the thumb of a powerful sorceress who I’m still very much in love with. Of the few paths available to me, most end in the return of Vera and a magically extended lifetime of coital service. I pointedly ignore how exciting that option still sounds.

“Vera?” Miss Fra…Lady Francine calls out from nearby, leaving a gaggle of royalists to join me. “Come. I’ve got you for the rest of the afternoon.” I start to follow her, then remember the revulsion on her face when she saw how far I’d fallen as Vera. An inkling of a plan forms in my mind. Francine is a snake, true, but perhaps she can be my snake.

I grip her arm tightly as soon as we leave the crowded lobby. She does a triple take, glancing at me first in confusion, then in surprise at my decisive motion, and then in devious delight as she catches a glimpse of the newfound clarity in my eyes. Having no other real choice, I utter my most hated phrase:

 “I need your help.” 

You can find story with these keywords: Shadow of the Sun, Read Shadow of the Sun, Shadow of the Sun novel, Shadow of the Sun book, Shadow of the Sun story, Shadow of the Sun full, Shadow of the Sun Latest Chapter