24. of phantoms & verity

24

of phantoms our father.

I hold the faded, tattered polaroid. An image of a somewhat younger looking Renard standing next to a scrawny looking teen boy who isn't me nor Travois. I can make out through the spottiness of the quality and the fogginess from natural weathering, that whoever this is looks nearly identical to my father at this age.

"Where the fuck did you find this?" I hold up the decolorized photo, twisting it around so that the image faces Troian as if I'm showing it to her for the first time.

Travois snatches it from my hands and I let it slip away, feeling awry having just held it.

"Lucynda and I found ourselves in some kind of secret library. Then we found another secret room from there," Troy starts to explain. "The space didn't look big enough to fit the both of us so I went up and she stayed."

"I get it," I try to cut her off politely using a dismissive hand gesture and watch as she clenches her jaw and tightens her upper lip. "The short version," I deadpan as I watch my brother flip over the photo to see if there is any legibility to the old writing that used to be there, but like me, he's seeing that it's far too faded.

"Right," Troy snaps. "Well, there wasn't much up there but a few old dusty boxes." She starts to pace and my patience can't hold much longer. "It reminded me of something like an attic used for storage. I decided to go through some of the boxes. A lot of them were death certificates of previous Royals of Valor. Most of it wasn't legible. But then, I came across a box of photos, some too faded to see, and others were of people that held no significance to me."

"Troian," I warn her as she rambles off her findings, my patience getting dangerously too thin for my liking.

She sighs in annoyance before continuing, "I almost just called it quits, but then I saw that." She points to the photo that Trav has since placed on top of the desk in my office, having found ourselves here so that Troy can show us her discovery in private.

"What would a tattered, old photo of our father be doing up in some covert attic of the Valor Cove castle?" Trav's question stumps all of us, not ever having heard of him spending any time over at Valor or really even commingling with anyone other than the war he started to get back his wife.

And to my understanding, transferring Societies is as achingly gruesome as trying to become human again. Something that supposedly Ameliana had gone through to escape my father. So there’s no way he was a Valor Nocturne first.

"Rivian…" Troy turns behind her and reaches into a bag I hadn't even noticed her carrying. "There's something else." She pulls out a manilla folder and tosses it on the desk atop the photo. A few papers seem to slide out of it but Travois and I just stare at her, waiting.

"Well…" she nods down to the papers and neither one of us knows what to expect.

I reach for the folder, keeping it flat on the desk as I flip the top flap open. I can't immediately make out what the papers are of, so when I pick up the first one, it's as if someone shoves their fist into my chest and squeezes the air from my lungs.

"What the…" I murmur the words under my breath as Troian sighs and takes a seat, steadying herself.

Travois leans over to look at what I'm holding.

"A death certificate," he breathes.

Ameliana Eloxi.

"Isn't that Viktrum's last name?" Trav points out, noting the name change.

"The rest of the file contains the date of her full blood transfer, a marriage certificate and the death certificate of . . . you guessed it," Troy stands and shoves her hands in her pocket before finishing. "Dominek Eloxi."

"What the fuck is going on?" I look over the paper in my hand, trying to convince myself that this isn't the same Ameliana. Because if this is all true, and she really has been dead for—I look at the date of death box and see that it would have been a year after she ran from this kingdom the second time—nearly ten years which can only mean one thing…

"You lied," I whisper to Travois, feeling the heat of the glare radiating from Troian, who I know is thinking the same thing.

"You lied?" I accuse a little more vociferously, an uncompromising tone gripping the words as I feel my brother back away from me.

"Brother, there are few things I do in my life that may be morally questionable but what reason would I have for lying about something like this?" he asks, but even he sounds unsure of his own defense. "I saw her. She gave me her access and…" His words disappear as his breathing starts to pick up, harsh and quick.

Troy huffs in disbelief, leaning onto the desk and throwing her head back with her eyes closed, letting her hands hold her upright.

I think back to the night I had Amy chained up in my dungeon. Her voice. Her face. The way her heart begged for life as it fluttered against my palm. She was real. But this file…

"I will not defend myself again,” Travois speaks to his twin who is now shooting proverbial daggers at him with her glistening blue eyes. "I know you both find me the less delightfully splendid of us siblings, but I do not have time for artifice. I would not trick anyone by conjuring up some fake image to deceive you with. I-"

"Was compelled," I note. "You had to have been." There's no other way to explain this. Unless something far greater is at play.

But I’m listening to Trav try to defend his case. A case that obviously seems to have no basis given the paper trail of facts we now have in our hands. But he’s not lying, I can tell. He has no reason to. Travois might do a lot of seedy things but he’s always been proud to exist in the promise of his word. He might hold things from us for far longer than necessary if only to ensue maniacal reactions from us all, but he’s not bluffing.

"Could someone really have the strength to compel a Royal to see a whole ass person for years?" Troy questions and she's right. I've never heard of something so farcical but given the unusual circumstances, we are very much in the realm of eternal possibilities.

Whether someone had been compelling his belief in seeing Amy or not, one fact remains…

We've all seen her. We've all heard her. But Lucynda and I . . . we've touched her. Whatever is going on, someone is playing a very dangerous fucking game, and I will find who is causing this mayhem and they will perish for this traitorous act.

I have to think. We can't let these daunting revelations trip us up. And I need both of my siblings to be level-headed, but I need Travois to retrace his steps today. Maybe we can figure out who he's been really spending his time with.

"Travois, I need you to think," I start. "Where have you been today?" I know he wasn't tailing Zharus like I had asked him to, so I wait for his response which comes just as I expected.

"I was…" he furrows his brows, staring at the ground and trying to come up with a memory of where he'd spent most of the day. "I was doing what you had asked," he finally admits and I watch him as he brings his eyes to mine. Then looks at his twin sister who is also aware of the problem behind his statement.

"Travois, someone has been compelling you," I explain. "I don't know how or who. But I was with Zharus most of the day. He's in the Vitrival as we speak." I wait alongside my sister; bated breath and an adrenaline laced heart are the only things audible as we analyze the way he takes the news.

"So…" he fades off, trying to understand what this means for him. "Do not gaslight me, Rivian. I saw him. I watched him as he lay like a pathetic imbecile in the Guard’s Room all day and then he followed everyone else to this meeting. I-" He catches himself, rambling off like a lunatic trying to explain his delusions.

Both Troy and I deflate as we watch his realization unfold. I failed him. Despite our differences and the petty fights we wage between each other, he doesn't deserve to be humiliated like this.

Travois starts to pace angrily around the room, his breathing turns heavy and irate. His reaction is that resembling a loose thread, being pulled tighter and tighter against the seam and with just the right amount of force, it snaps.

"No, there's no way that someone has the capability to screw with my head this much." He sounds delirious, madness caressing his tone as he pulls at his hair. "There's no fucking way!" His shouts reverberate off the walls as he tears a whole row of books from the shelves.

"Trav," Troy tries to calm her brother down but he doesn’t relent and he has every right to go mad.

Someone has been using him as some kind of puppet in their disgusting game and all I know is that it has to be a Royal. No other Nocturne can fathom performing compulsion on a Royal. But if it's not me, nor my sister, and Viktrum, Dominek, and Ameliana are all dead, while my wife is locked away floors below us, then who could it possibly fucking be?

"There has to be someone. Someone who knows something." Troian is nearly pleading with the fucking sky at this point.

Trav kicks his foot at the books that now line the floor around him and scoffs in disbelief. I know he wants to be angry with me and I know he wants to tell me how my selfishness has bested us all. Demised us all. He's right. But he's been fucked with too much to want to try and fuck with someone else. Though I'd deserve it.

Instead, he sits on the couch in front of him, lowers his head and laces his fingers in front of his forehead, rubbing circles around his temples with his thumbs.

"We have to help Lucynda first," he murmurs. "I obviously can't be trusted. Who knows when I've been forced to compulsion or what might trigger it." His awareness holds truth. We can't trust what's been done and what's going to take place.

"We need our queen," he whispers, his statement transfixing. Setting aside his convictions and stubbornness to focus on the need to help someone else; I don't expect sincere sentiments to come from Travois these days, but I guess a good case of mind control can really up the desire to end the war.

He's right. We can't leave Lucynda down there much longer. I just invited the whole Society to a party tomorrow night, I can't have her here alone and at risk of whoever is doing this to get ahold of her.

"Is there anything that you can remember hearing about this curse? Anything at all?" Troian stands and faces me.

I search my brain for anything that might be of use, but I can't say I'm well informed of anything other than the knowledge of the curse's existence and certain symptoms that are caused because of it.

"I don't even know when the last time something like this has occurred," I state, not remembering if I've even been alive when the curse last coursed through anyone's veins.

"Maybe a little visit to that witch might be of us," Trav says to us as he lifts his head, his tone seemingly stern and calm.

His exhaustion is also harrowing, taking over and driving the fear of our undoing into us all. We aren't creatures who affright easily. Lamented allies who just happen to be stalkers of the night and tangible illusions of the day. But we aren't bested and we will manifest the shadows that haunt those and seek the slaughter of anyone who tries to outsmart us. This will be no different.

I think of what I might need to ask of the coven. I know their likeliness to help me once more will be a slim chance. But if anyone knows of a cure, it's Nathairia…

A memory of words immediately floods my mind.

"But maybe if you let someone believe they are worthy of love…" she had said after handing me the herbs to give to Lucynda, "then whatever light they have left might be able to stand a chance against the darkness they were born with."

She didn't just say that to seem charming and all-wise like I had assumed. She was telling me something.

But maybe if you let someone believe they are worthy of love…

I walk toward the desk, throw Troian's findings in my top drawer and lock it with a key before heading toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Troy asks as Travois stands from the chair.

"Come on," I direct them, waiting at the door for them to make their exit with me. "I know how to cure my wife."