The Sythe

Three days ago my life had changed forever.

Three days ago the skies had been choked with smoke and ash, filled with the sounds of battle and agony as men and women lay dying, swords clashing and the horrible whine of arrows as they rained from the sky.

Three days ago my hands had been bathed with the blood of my enemies and loved ones.

I squint as I look up, following the movement of the birds above, the sky clear with nary a cloud in sight. The breeze softly blows through the too long grasses and flowers, carrying the sweet scent of summer with it as it passes me by.

Three days ago I had been worthless, until I wasn’t.

Until I watched the only friend I ever had ever had fall to her knees, an arrow through her chest.

The memory of it burns through me, the way the dirt and blood had been caked into my skin from the long hours on the front line. Cutting the way to the occupied city, trying to get close enough for the mages to use what little power remained in them. All while those with power sat and waited, waited for a path lined with the bodies of those they deemed worthless.

I pluck a blade of grass, shredding the fibers as I stare blankly across the field I had grown up in, where I had learned to ride and fight. All things my father had said were un-ladylike. All things he was planning to celebrate tonight into tomorrow.

Victory.

My sister had already told me his intentions, to claim me as the lost heir, explaining away my fifteen-year absence as a kidnapping they had been too ashamed to admit when I was younger. When I had been sent to the training camps. If I had no power, I would not lead.

The kingdom needs a strong leader.

I snort as I rip out another blade of grass, inspecting it before tearing the fibers apart in this one too.

I had resented him for it. Hated him. He had thrown me away and I had used that to fuel me. To be faster, better, than all of my companions and peers. I needed to be smarter, because maybe he would realize what he had lost in the pursuit of his precious power. His legacy.

I don’t startle when my sister sits in the grass beside me, her skirts billowing and flaring before she can smooth them out. Always the perfect lady. The prim and proper princess. I barely look at her, continuing my careful shredding of the blade of grass.

“Have you come to ask me to hear him out?” I ask, my voice flat and toneless. The exhaustion from battle still weighing in my body and mind. The horrible moment that made me worthy of such consideration of my father was a personal hell for me to endure as I slid to a stop, carefully catching her falling body. The way her blood had soaked through and stained my leathers. The way her words had cut off as she tried to say goodbye, the knowledge she would not leave the field reflected in her eyes as the light had winked out of them forever.

I blink as I realize Wren had spoken and I had missed it, her exasperated sigh like salt in a wound. I blink again, allowing my own feelings to simmer through. I watch as she blanches at whatever look is on my face, as she nervously fiddles with the hem of her dress.

“I simply asked that you think about it.” Her voice trembles slightly as she repeats herself, her eyes looking anywhere but me.

“I will consider it, though my answer will remain the same. I am leaving. I don’t want to be paraded around, adored by people who forgot I even existed in the first place. He abandoned me, Wren. Or did you forget?” I hadn’t meant for my voice to rise; I only realized it when her eyes had widened as my volume increased. “I’m sorry.” I huff at her, plucking another blade of grass and ripping it in half. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

“It’s quite alright, I’m sure you have a lot of feelings about...” she gestures vaguely around us, “...everything.” She swallows nervously, soft, manicured fingers grabbing a hold of mine. I try not to look, the differences between us so stark.

Where her hands were soft and clean, mine were rough and calloused with traces of blood and dirt still around the nails. The poor chamber maid had tried her best. Probably stained. I had whispered, numb and exhausted.

I stare blankly at where her fingers grip mine, memories playing on loop in my mind, some good and some bad. Most of them were bad.

“It wasn’t just his fault, you know.” Wren says gently, looking across the field. She rubs the pad of her thumb over my split knuckles, frowning softly as she encounters the scabs and scars there. “He did try to bring you home after, they just…couldn’t find you.”

“He had them change my name in the rolls. The whole point was to stay out of sight, unnoticed.” I wince as she scrapes a fresh wound, throwing me an apologetic look as she does.

“I know. He told us.” she sighs. “Hannah stopped him, reminding him of your…condition.”

“I was born powerless. It isn’t a condition, Wren, just a state of being. There was nothing wrong with me then, and there is nothing wrong with me now. I am no different.” I struggle with my rising irritation. Trying desperately to remind myself it wasn’t her fault, that she was an innocent bystander that father had yet again thrown in the middle. This wasn’t her fight, yet she would try. She would try to reason with me because it is what father wanted, what she felt was right. What she felt would make us family again.

“I know, I know. But Sy, think of it! We could go back to how it was before; the heir doesn’t need to take the throne anytime soon and we can just…” she lets out an explosive sigh as she considers her words. “We can just be, we can be happy and go for rides like we used to.”

I can hear the desperation in her voice, the desire to have her family whole once again. As it was before someone had gotten into fathers' ear and turned him against me.

“And what about Hannah?” I ask, watching as Wren stills from the corner of my eye. “Do I have to forgive her too? How much groveling will it take to make sure I keep my bed this time?” The words are harsh and cutting, and my heart hurts to see Wren flinch as I fling them at her, her hands trembling slightly as she snatches them back into her own lap. I swallow, halfway reaching for her as she turns her head to watch the sun beginning to set. “I..”

She holds up a hand, stopping me. “No. It was fair. I haven’t considered how much you might resent us for everything. I was just-” she trails off again, playing with the fraying hem of her skirt. “I was just excited that you might come home.”

I rest my hand gently on her shoulder, choosing my words carefully. She looked so small and fragile, her shoulders bowed in and her head down. I didn’t want to hurt her any further. “I’m not the same girl who left, Wren. I can’t be her again. Whoever she was, she was gone the moment father rode out of the gates.” I fight the knot of emotion rising in my throat.

“I know.” she sniffles, dashing a hand under her eyes to wipe away the tears. I feel my heart shatter as she stands in a hurry, dusting off her dress and scattering bits of grass and flowers that had gotten caught in it. “It’s almost time, Sybilla.” Her voice is stronger, though it wavers just enough that I know she is burying her emotions under the cold mask of indifference. Preparing for what the evening will bring.

“Please consider forgiving him.” she says without looking back.

My stomach churns as I move to stand up, the field before me changing rapidly into a blood-soaked hellscape. I blink and the grass and flowers ripple in the wind again, undisturbed by the terrors that haunt my mind.

With any luck, it always would be.

“I will try.” I whisper.

-|-

I follow Wren to the festivities, meandering through the crowded walkways and stalls that had been set up, the vendors hawking their wares. I decline any and all offerings as I squeeze through the people, trying to keep up with Wren as she makes her way to the dais at the center of the square.

Father always loved the adoration of his people, and none loved him more than the populace of the Castle. People untouched by war or famine, people he would probably sell out if his royal advisor Hannah asked him to.

I eye her as I pass, already standing beside the throne that had been dragged from who-knows-where. Already preening. I can’t help but wonder if she knows I am to be reclaimed as the heir, though judging by the way she sneers at me, probably not. I fall in line beside my sister, not for the first time missing the rough shoulder that would never crash into mine again as we fell in line or stood shoulder to shoulder against approaching enemies. I sigh softly, swallowing the thought as my father steps up onto the dais, hands held wide open in greeting to the crowd of people gathered below.

“Welcome!” his voice booms over the square. “Today, we celebrate the return of my missing daughter, Lady Sybilla.” He turns and smiles at us, and my heart twists with too many emotions to track at once. Fear, anger, sorrow. “My firstborn daughter has come home! At long last, our heir is back!” He claps his hands, reveling in the delight as the crowd erupts in cheers.

“She led the army that vanquished the occupying armies in the great city of Whithon.” He grabs my shoulder and pulls me forward, and I find myself suddenly numb to the world around me. The booming words and cheers from the crowd reduced to noise, and the sights blurry as I lose my focus.

It all happened so fast.

Three days ago I was nothing more than a soldier in my father’s army, paving the way for his mages. Three days ago I lost the only friend I had ever known, watching her bleed out in my arms. Three days ago I had manifested the very thing that would have kept me from the front lines and the label worthless.

Three days ago I had burned an entire city to ash.

I had screamed and vowed revenge for my fallen, and where I had walked, fire burned so hot it had melted the stone.

Three days ago.

I don’t remember grabbing my knife or twisting my father around to face the shocked and horrified crowd. The crowd that had just been cheering was suddenly gasping with fear as their beloved king was being held at knifepoint by his acclaimed beloved daughter. A daughter they had forgotten about until now.

A daughter they had unwittingly celebrated each year during the spring, when my sister had long given up protesting it wasn’t her birthday.

My face twists as the knife digs deeper into his throat, a sick part of me relishing the fear that rolls off of him. So much fear I can almost taste it.

“Sybilla...” he cries softly, his voice full of confusion.

“I’m sorry father. I can’t let you do this again.” I swallow, feeling the dormant anger rising again. Images of hands covered in blood fill my mind, cold nights, the taunting and teasing that turned into straight up abuse over the years. “I can’t forget, and I won’t forgive.”

The blade slides so easily, cutting through skin and throat as I release my hold on him. I barely have to turn before Hannah is moving, but I had already guessed what she might do. The knife flies through the air, end over end before the hilt slams into her back.

Damn. I had never been very good with throwing blades. No matter.

I yank the fallen blade from the dais as I stride toward where she had fallen prone on the floor.

“No please!” she cries out as she throws her hands up as if to defend herself. I grip the front of her fine dress, yanking her enough that her torso hovers over the dais as I point the knife in her face. I barely notice the fire that circles us, keeping the guards at bay.

“I just have one question.” I grind out.

“Wh-what is it?” she says between sobs, tears running down her face.

“Why?” I don’t have to elaborate, she knows what I mean. I know she does as her wide eyes open and focus on my face.

The tears still run freely down her face as she answers, “I thought if I could get close to someone with power, with influence, that I could save my people.” she whispers, her face turning an odd shade of red.

“And did you?” I hiss.

“No.” Her eyes clench shut with shame.

“What a fucking waste.”

“No wait!” she cries out even as the blade pierces her chest.

I sink down with it as it plunges through her body and into the dais below, my cheek nearly resting on her shoulder as I do. Close enough to hear her whispered apologies as she takes her final breath.

“What have you done!” Wren screams.

I blink, letting my cheek fall onto the dead woman's shoulder. The woman who had ruined our lives for a wasted effort. Her people left starving while she lived in luxury, always looking for the advantage. She had taken my father down with her, and the kingdom was poised to fall over the edge after him.

“What I had to.” I whisper.

Three days ago I had been nothing more than a faceless soldier, fighting for her kingdom. Tomorrow I will be their Queen, but tonight…tonight I would be the daughter who had done an unimaginable thing. The daughter who let her pain and anger decide the future.

My sister's voice echoes in my head as the screams and shouts below become nothing more than background noise, an awful buzzing in my ear.

Please…

I can’t forget the hell he put us through, and I know I wouldn’t have been able to forgive him, not in the end.

After all, forgiveness had never really been in my nature.