The Reaper of the Eternals

Child, come and meet me! I need love.
When you become you, will you forget me?
Child, I've longed to give birth to you.
Soul, when you are, will you forgive me?

Claire Montenaibre de Hautugur,
Queen of Syrius

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Part 1
The Queen and the Regent

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  "Push, push, your gracious majesty," my midwives repeat over and over in chorus. It's a given in childbirth: I have to push. However, the anesthetic works so well that I can't tell whether I'm pushing or not. Only the monitor screen at the foot of my bed lets me know if my body is doing something or not. Visualizing the push is useless. The whole birth preparation thing was a load of rubbish. The midwives, their smiles and their nonstop complainings irritate me to no end. They must sense it, because they double down with their smiles, and false leniency. My annoyance grows accordingly. It's taking too long! The clock on the opposite wall already marks 9:27. This room is too big, too cold, too white, and too sanitized. I should have had it painted or hung a picture I fancy. The smells irritate me just as much, but the black circle on the floor is a necessity: animal blood is rancid. It bothers me despite the raspberry-scented perfume sprayed on my bed. The music that was supposed to bring me serenity has stopped in a fit of anger: mine...

   So only the voices of the midwives reverberate around the room. Four of them assist me personally. Nyria, in the bed next to mine, seems to be doing a better job than I am. Strangely, she pushes with ease. Her monitor shows perfect regularity. I can't take my eyes off her curve as it peaks. She seems to make fun of my inability. I avoid staring at her. She disturbs me. I've become so used to the creature I've created that I've forgotten her. She reminds me of my father and his stern gaze. She's a lot more like him than I am: her face, her small frame, and those damned eyes. Genetics can be strange ; I took on my mother’s side. Well, I’m a light-skinned black version of my mother. I'm a good head taller than Nyria. My hair is light brown and wavy. Hers could almost be described as frizzy. My face is less rounded, and my eyes, they don’t bear the hallmarks of our lineage. Nyria, on the other hand, is everything a Montenaibre should be.

   Yet I'm the one who rules... somehow. She's calm and able to block out the chaos around us, to ignore her vulnerability. But how? Is it the lack of painkillers? Is it her training as a blessed one ? Or is it her husband by her side? Their relationship seems to have improved lately. How odd, given the backstory of their marriage. I couldn't say how it happened... when it started them bonding while my husband and I are drifting apart. My own husband, meanwhile, is waiting outside the hall despite urging me to be by my side. He wanted to take part in the ceremony, but the deans argued against it. After all, he is an outsider by birth. Reflecting on it, I decided that a birthing room was no place to be for a king consort. I don't want him to have such a memory of me, my fragility. Have I made the right decision? Yet, I granted Nyria's request. Hers? I don't know. Her own husband is next to her. Why did I give in so easily?

   "Push, push, you're almost there, your greatness!" shouts another brunette midwife whose name I can't remember: Émilie? Édith? Who cares? She and the others take turns climbing onto the bed to press vigorously on my belly. It's not painful, because I don't feel anything, but it's extremely unpleasant. Why is nothing happening as I planned?

   I remember my mother telling me when I was a child that my birth had been the happiest day of her life, just after her wedding. I was born without hardship. She had isolated herself with Father behind a screen for complete privacy. My uncle, the Blood Magician, had managed both our births so that they happened at the same time. Émilie is still pressing violently on my belly. I'll have her imprisoned or condemned to death, whatever her name might be. She has the audacity to lecture me again: "The children must be born at the same time for the ceremony to take place." As if I'm stupid and not fully aware of it. She doesn't even have a tenth of my education, and she dares! How arrogant! All my efforts over the last few months have had but one goal: the success of the Shadow Pact ceremony. I'm just at term, thirty-seven weeks to be exact. I could have waited, only next week's festivities are approaching. Being pregnant during renewal is a risk I can afford to take. Nor can I skip the ceremony, given the circumstances. That's why we went into labor around 6 a.m. this morning. Unlike me, Nyria has a good three weeks to go before her due date. Induced labor presents a minor risk. But her baby is coming out! One of Nyria's midwives reports that she can already see the head.

   I yell "Hold him back, hold him back!" while imagining myself pushing more vigorously to expel my own child. I feel nothing. The signal on the screen remains flat. It shows that I'm not pushing. I turn to the head midwife, Velma, who supervises both deliveries. I ask her if she can't administer some kind of medication to speed up my delivery or delay Nyria's. She turns around and cautiously crosses the circle. Then she frantically rummages through several drawers in the long chest of drawers, which is as long as the north wall. Finally, she pulls out two vials. These are injected into our IVs. What incompetents! If, on top of that, I have to tell them everything. I know it'll only save us a few minutes. Fortunately, the drugs aren't harmful. Otherwise, my body would have rejected them. I don't know if it wouldn't have been better if the anesthetic hadn't worked out. At the same time, if it had worked on Nyria instead, it would have been just as problematic. I double down on my efforts to push. However, Vera has the nerve to say: "We can't do it naturally, Your Majesty. It's better to free Princess Nyria. We need her help. We've never had a ceremony like this with a tied Blood Magician. Normally, our guild never takes part in royal births. You told us that if the babies didn't have their first breaths together, then all would be lost. It's out of our hands. Please, my beloved queen."

   What can I do? I've hit a dead end. If I don't free her, my son won't have a Blood Magician. If I free her and she doesn't obey me once more... I turn to the guild deans on my right. They're all there: Myriam Brahim, Igor Cres, Nathaniel Elyor, and Pattie Codd. Since this morning, they have been waiting, standing inside the circle, to fulfill the pact. Four other magicians are gathered inside too. They stand outside the circle, surrounding us. Each incants from a corner of the room. They ensure that no one can witness how the ceremony unfolds. The Shadow Pact is the best-kept secret in all of Syrius. With their backs to me, they seem completely dedicated to their endeavor. I sit down for a moment, then double-check that everything is in place. On the floor, the circle of blood is securely closed. Five refrigerated trunks are stored behind the deans in case we need them again, and next to them are spare iron bracelets.

   Dean Nathaniel holds Tokashi's grimoire firmly, the page of the pact wide open, ready to intervene. I question him with my eyes. He answers my silent question: "Your highness, as long as she has her iron bracelets, she cannot work her magic on you and assist the childbirth. Even with her irons on, if we try to send a spell to accelerate your baby's expulsion, she'll be the vessel, and her child will be born before yours. I realize that, according to your majesty, she has shown rebellious signs lately and she is powerful, but... but we are eight mages, four of whom are deans. The mages' guild of Syrius is the most renowned of all the guilds in all the kingdoms of the continent. Whenever the four of us have sparred with her in jousting parades, Princess Nyria has never beaten us, not once. I can assure you that we can master her, should the need arise. Have faith in your guild: allow her to be set free, I beg you, or your child will not benefit from a powerful bond with his Blood Magician." Trust is a bit of an overrated term, isn't it? They've all sworn allegiance to me, but nothing really holds them to their word.

   I look at Nyria, chained, pushing with all her might between two smiles. I'm sure they're directed at me, challenging me. Her eyes... her damned Montenaibre eyes, I hate them. A midwife has her hands on the child. But if she holds him too long, he may die. The result would be even worse. I would be responsible for the failure of the ceremony. My child would be born without a protector. She's driving me crazy! I look away, lie back, and stare up at the sky through the glass ceiling. It's a luminous blue, unbothered by my torments. The snow has stopped falling. I try to convince myself that the guild mages are extremely powerful. My fears are irrational and unfounded, yet I can't seem to find peace of mind. I'm the only one who knows the truth. They never challenged her when she was in full possession of her powers. They only confronted her when she was transformed. The metamorphosis weakened her a lot: I know that ; they don't. It's one of those spells whose knowledge is known only by the royal line. None of them seemed surprised discovering her appearance when they put her in irons. Maybe they just didn't dare to point it out to me. But I know. She's always been diminished. I've always weakened her. And, despite it, my damn cousin is renowned as one of the most gifted mages of our generation.

  Why now? Why defy me now? How did she get around the pact and stop obeying me blindly? Will my orders be followed to the letter? The only order I would have liked to give her, I can’t. The pact must be a consent or, at least, a non-refusal. It's a thin line. In our history, a few shadows who didn't use the song magic had their tongues cut out so that the next pact could be made. We're modern now, civilized, but is that a good thing? "Your Majesty, we're running out of time!" says Velma again, the head midwife. My thoughts stop dead in their tracks. Damn them! And damn that anesthetist and the overdose! I insisted because of the pain, but that's his job, isn't it? I'll have him killed. Out of choice, I give the mages permission to remove the bracelets holding Nyria's wrists together.

  Myriam crosses the circle to retrieve a pair of glass tongs lying near the trunks, as well as another set of bracelets. She passes around my bed and gets to Nyria’s, blocking my view for a while. She climbs onto her bed. Then she places the spare bracelets on it. I think I hear her murmur something, but it's so quick that I blame it on my imagination. She finally breaks the bracelets that restrain her, one after the other, with a little click. Once the last one is broken, I feel a change in the air. I'm not a blessed one despite this: I think I sense her strength being released. I shout my command as if vociferating it might give it more strength and take over her will. I shout the ritual words that have been passed since before my own birth to serve so many kings and queens of Syrius : "Shadow, comply with your blood! In order to fulfill the Shadow Pact, Tokashi's promise to the Montenaibre, use your magic so that our children share their first breath!" Nyria complies with my wish. Her magic unfolds. Barely a few minutes pass, and our sons are born at the same time. I felt nothing. Her baby enters this world, welcomed by her cry of pain and frustration. Mine, my little prince, arrives with grace. Édith welcomes him into her arms. The cords are magically cut. I didn't give that order. I'm worried. I order Dean Myriam: "Quick! Start the ceremony! Put back her bracelets!" My order reaches her too late.

  In a split second, her child leaves the midwife's arms. He levitates above Nyria's bed. His body is covered in blood. The liquid escapes from the palms of the husband's hands and engulfs him at an incredible speed. From head to toe, he is surrounded by an impressive quantity. Strangely enough, I have time to marvel at the fact that the husband doesn't lose consciousness. The husband, who up to this point didn’t make a sound, didn’t say a word, and was sitting quietly by Nyria's side, staring blankly, opens his eyes. I notice they're deep black. Not dark brown, no, black! Wasn't he blind? He looks at me with an evil sneer, hatred. Why is that? Except for the four deans, all the other guild mages collapse. Nyria treacherously attacks them as they are protecting our secret. They fly across the room, smashing into each other or the walls, falling back inert. Some fall on the circle, breaking it in places. It's all happening so fast, too fast for me to think.

  I finally decree, "Shadow, stop attacking the guild!" She stands up. She rips out her IV and starts laughing insanely. Then she takes the time to perform a mock curtsy before declaiming insolently, "Magnificent Queen Claire, I'm not attacking them! This order is unnecessary." Nyria looks up, back to her child, and completely forgets about me. Dean Myriam, still sitting on her bed, does nothing, as if paralyzed. Yet the bracelets are within her reach. I'm trying to decide what order to give, but my mind refuses to think. Should I force her to put on the bracelets? What use is she to me if she has bracelets all the time?

  As I delay, the wounds on the husband's palms heal. He stands in front of her. He, too, is facing the child. The child is surrounded by a sphere composed of the four elements: fire, earth, wind, and water. The elements form a circle around the child. They graze and glide over him, never hurting him, never canceling each other out. The sphere of the elements, blood... all the roots of magic are gathered around this child. What is she up to this time? What can I do? I order myself unsuccessfully, "Think! Think! " With one voice, Nyria and her husband sing:
— We name you..., son of... and Nyria Montenaibre de Basugur.
— Through my life, I free you from me so that you may be," adds Nyria.
— By my life, I yield myself to you so that you may be," adds her husband at the same time. Other words are sung in a language I don't understand. Yet I speak every language on the continent of the Elders. What have they done? The child falls back into his mother's arms, purified from the sphere and the blood. She embraces him. The whole thing seems to have penetrated his skin. It can't be! I don't understand what has just happened. However, I know without any doubt that my child is more important than anything, more important than me, my perfect little love. He doesn't even cry. Innocent, he just clings to Édith for warmth. So I decide to do what my ancestor Paulin II did: I sacrifice myself for his future. With a bit of fear and a bit of regret, I pronounce the ultimate order, the forbidden one, the one that in another life, as a child, I had sworn to my best friend never to say out loud: "Shadow, comply with your blood! Vanish from this earth, from this world, from my life!" My best friend... How did we get here?

  A swirling white mass appears above us, drowning out the glass ceiling, seeming to catch every ray of light. The room freezes, covered by a deadly wind. Several people scream, cowering in on themselves. I even think I see Dean Myriam unfreeze at last and protest. Slowly, the white mass absorbs Nyria... and the child. I watch in horror as they are both sucked in. A midwife climbs onto the bed and, on tiptoe, reaches out to snatch the child and save him. I'll reward her for her quick thinking. The husband starts moving his fingers with superhuman speed, singing along. I guess he's attacking the mass so that it closes. He's using two gifts: unthinkable! The mass seems to shrink for a while. Nyria's second midwife has the brilliant idea of sneaking behind his back, climbing up noiselessly, and knocking him out with a heavy tray. She hits his head several times with all her weight. Strangely enough, this is enough to make him collapse. How could we not have seen that he was a blessed one too? He's been living at the palace for months. Not once has he shown any signs. The deans have been around him and have not found out about his gift.

  It seems to go on forever, but then the sun breaks through the glass ceiling again. It illuminates the scene, regardless of the chaos. The clock reads only 10:12. Nyria is finally annihilated. I couldn't watch her disappear all the way. She couldn't defend herself against this order. She didn't scream or beg. She did nothing. She just stared at me with a bitter smile. As she died, she looked at me and not at her child. I sacrificed my only asset. The deans were useless. They didn't act. I look back at them angrily. I would have chastised them, but now is not the time. I swallow my blames. Perhaps all is not lost.

  "Now! Begin the ceremony! Quickly! We're long overdue!" Each in his own way, the deans call upon their gift: singing, thinking, or using signs. The bodies of the mages, fainted or dead, I couldn't say, are shipped and stacked at the back of the room against the south wall, behind me. I hope they’re still alive; educated blessed ones at my service are a rare commodity. The husband's body follows the same trajectory after the iron bracelets which were originally intended for Nyria, are put on him. Good, I'll never have to look at him again. Dean Pattie collects blood from the containers and starts to work. After a few minutes, the circle is formed again. At the same time, the midwives take the babies to their respective stations. They clean, measure, and weigh them. I observe their actions without a second thought. Wrapped in blankets, the newborns are presented to me. A midwife hands the other baby to Dean Myriam. Émilie gently places my prince in my arms. I breathe in his scent and smile. I barely take the time to kiss him, to detail him. We'll have plenty of time later. Then they all carefully step over the circle to line up in front of the long chest of drawers.

  I baptize my son Clément de Hautugur, Crown Prince of Syrius. Nathaniel opens Montenaibre’s grimoire, Tokashi's craft again. The other three deans gather around him. They begin to converse in hushed tones.
— Hurry up, I'm telling them off.
— Yes, your benevolent greatness. One moment, please. We don't know what they've done. This is the first time that the ceremony has taken place without the assistance of the Blood Magician," Nathaniel replies.
— Don'worry, Your Majesty," adds Igor. The pact will be made. I'm getting fed up. We've decided that the ceremony would go ahead without Nyria for at least a week now, since I realized that my hold on her was no longer as strong as it used to be and that she wouldn't willingly give up her son. Haven't they had all this time to find a way? My face turns red. I see the surprised look on the midwives' faces. Yes, Nyria lost ; her magic no longer works. No one spontaneously thinks I'm perfect anymore: sweetness incarnate. The deans set to work. They followed the instructions written in the Montenaibre’s grimoire to weave the Shadow Pact between Clément and the child. Did their craft work, despite his parents' intervention? Should we have gone to the vow renewal room to consolidate the power?

  I carefully hand Clément to Dean Nathaniel so that he can check if the pact is well-built. He cuts Clément under the heel, and the other child bleeds instead. Strange, the test worked right away. Just as well, the magic works. The wound on the child's foot closes very quickly, even before anyone else has been able to heal it. We're as surprised by this as we are by the success of the test. When Dean Nathaniel tries to cut Clément again, he encounters a little resistance and is rebuffed. He is astonished. The child is blessed ; we all know that, but, he explains, no blessed one has manifested his untrained gift so early; well, no blessed one since Tokashi. He explains that the prince is lucky to have such a protector. I couldn't care less. The greater this child's magic is, the more powerful my Clément will be as king. If the pact is done and works right away, all the better. But what about me? I put Clément aside on my lap. I snatch the knife and slash my palm. It hurts. I'm bleeding. It's the first time since my youth. Over time, thanks to Nyria's renewals and her magic training, my bond with her grew stronger. The erratic failures of our early years changed into perfection. She is no more. I realize I'm vulnerable. I can be killed. My nerves fail me. My tears flow uncontained.

  Dean Nathaniel tends to me while the other deans magically clear the room of all traces of the ceremony. They turn away so as not to see me cry, while the midwives gape at my decomposition. I promise myself I'll kill them all so they can't tell anyone what happened today. Dean Myriam checks the husband's iron bracelets as he lies on the floor and announces that he is safe. I dry my tears and breathe hard to regain my composure. I'll find a way. In the meantime, these incapable deans will have to watch over me day and night to ensure my protection. I beckon Dean Igor closer and whisper my order in his ear. He claps his hands several times, and the midwives immediately turn to dust. Myriam protests again. It would have been enough to take away their memories or force them into silence. Possibly, but a powerful mage could have undone that. I no longer trust their skills. I won't risk my life, my kingdom, for seven unimportant women.

  When everything is back in place and Dean Pattie has conveyed the bodies of the guild mages through the service door, Dean Igor opens the door to the hall. The guard in front steps aside, and Armand enters. He sweeps his gaze around the room, noting the absence of the midwives and Nyria, yet he doesn't immediately inquire. With composure, as if everything were perfectly normal, he smiles at me as he looks at our son, congratulates me, and places a kiss on my forehead. Only then does he mention Nyria and ask me to explain. Stifling sobs I feel welling up again, I evade the question. I tell him as naturally as possible that I had to get rid of Nyria, and despite this, that everything went well. Our son, Clément, has his Blood Magician. He asks me about the ceremony, but Dean Nathaniel cuts him off, arguing that I need to rest. He and Dean Igor leave with the Montenaibre’s grimoire under their arms, framing the inert body of the chained husband. They also inform me that the other mages are not dead, just knocked out.

  Rosalie entered after Armand and the nameless one, my prince's so-called shadow. I'd almost forgotten the nameless one ; so discreet is he. Will I now have to settle for a pale imitation like Armand? Rosalie waited behind the door for her mistress. She asked for Nyria. Dean Myriam takes her aside and entrusts her with the child, murmuring something. I hear her sobbing. I get angry and threaten to hang her if she continues to pour out her heart. I dismiss them. Dean Myriam quickly ushers her and the child out. Clément makes a little noise that distracts me. I grab the phone hanging from the headboard of my bed to call for other caregivers and nannies to take care of us. They quickly show up. Clément and I are led from the south wing to the west wing, where the royal apartments are located. I am carried from the bed onto a stretcher, then from the stretcher onto my own bed. Armand excuses himself and doesn't tag along. I don't even catch his words. I don't care. The truth is, I want peace and quiet.

   Once comfortably settled, a nurse assists me with the first feed. Clément sucks hard while the nurse measures his milk intake with a lactometer. After half an hour, I ask her how much longer it's going to take. It's not pleasant, and I'm hungry too. I haven't been able to eat breakfast. She turns red, then stammers. At my glare, she bows her head and tells me I haven't had enough colostrum. I don’t get it. She repeats, articulating this time that my milk supply is insufficient to satiate the little prince. I slap her. What have I been doing all this time? I order her to take Clément and breastfeed him. She stares at me, dumbfounded, but finally complies. I order Eloise to serve me something to eat. This should have been the happiest day of my life!