Chapter 80

Oneself

“Wreathed in fires they stewed, longing for their Queen to return.”

Fragments

Myrell was tossing chopped-up vegetables into a pot of boiling water, carefully measuring each and every piece while controlling the fire of the makeshift fireplace she herself had made, standing just outside her tent. Sash watched her from the side, drinking, a bemused expression on his face. She'd been at it for two hours now, and this was her third attempt at making a stew that was at least… edible. The reason Sash was drinking so relentlessly is that he was her guinea pig, his stomach tossed and turned by a barrage of woefully bad meals.

“… this one… smells nice, at least?” she said, frowning, not quite understanding where she was making a mistake. “Don’t you think?”

“I’m afraid my sense of smell has been beaten and abused to the point it had crawled back into my spine…” Sash replied.

“… shut up. It wasn’t that bad.” She pouted, glaring at him.

“Oh, no, it was worse. Way, way worse.”

“… what am I doing wrong?” she asked with a helpless sigh.

“He hasn’t asked you to cook for him, you know?”

“I know! But… I felt so useless this entire journey,” she said, sitting down next to him and stealing his bottle. “Haven’t you?”

“… whenever he needs something from us, he’ll ask.”

“…” she glanced at him hollowly for a moment, taking a sip. It was bitter, extremely so, but she hardly flinched. “What was it like for you?”

“Hm?”

“Growing up,” she elaborated. “What was it like?”

“…”

“For me… it was precious,” she continued, ignoring his silence. “I had a mother and a father, and even a younger brother. We were poor, but we always had food on our table. My mother taught me how to read when I was eight, saying she will make an administrator of me. I hate… that I’m forgetting most of those memories. Only a few… so, so few, still remain untouched.”

“… what happened?” Sash asked, taking the bottle from her as the two watched the fire in front of their eyes burn.

"… my father sold me to one of the nobles," she said. "And that was the last I heard from my family."

"…" Sash turned silent, sipping the bitter drink that seemed awfully tame compared to the taste in his heart. "I've only ever known this," he said. "The furthest back I can remember… I was eight? Maybe nine? And I was already serving as a bellboy, or as a mascot, or as a plaything. One of my slavers told me that my family's village was burned in a raid and that a traveling carnival saved me and a couple of other children. How true it is… I cannot say."

“… I’m scared, Sash.”

“Scared?”

“… scared of being this happy,” she said. “Each morning I wake… there is uneasiness in my heart. That all of this… will just vanish. That I’ll wake up from the longest dream of my life, and be back in the old reality. That I just made up the Master in my mind, and that someone like him can’t really exist…”

“… it is real,” he said, taking a sip before handing her the bottle. “As real as anything will ever be. But… I know how you feel. He’s changed us, Myrell. For better. Much better.”

“… and that’s why I want to help him, any way that I can,” she said. “But the only thing I can do… he doesn’t want it.”

“…” Sash glanced at her pitifully; she, however much confidence she had gained in the past months, was still as insecure as on the day he met her. She seemed to have built up her entire self-worth around being able to bewitch men, and to be desired by them, however temporary. “There’s more to you than that, Myrell.”

“…”

“… haah,” he sighed, taking the bottle back. “You don’t seem to realize it, but Master hasn’t shown affection toward any woman. Not just you.”

“… he has,” Myrell glanced at him, smiling bitterly. “And even he, chances are, doesn’t realize it. I’ve known those looks, Sash. I’ve been seeing them since I was a little girl.”

“…”

“During one of the decadent parties,” she continued. “I’ve seen how men look at women. There are two gazes, the ones directed at me – the ones full of desire. They want to have me. But… there was nothing beyond it. They knew they would have me. That was all there was to it. They wanted me to warm their beds for the night, and that’s it. And then… there was the way they looked at those women. The bejeweled, beautiful, agonizingly beautiful ones. There was the same desire there, but, beneath it… there was the fire. Those women… wouldn't give themselves over just to anyone who asked. Rather than a desire to have them, it was more akin to a need to conquer them. To win them over, within and without."

“…” she glanced at him once again, smiling.

“Men, at times, are such simple creatures,” she took the bottle back, taking a sip. “When unrestrained, they seem so wise, sagacious, battle-ready, inspiring. Yet, toss a pretty face and a half-naked body at them, and they crumble.”

“… I’d wager it’s the same with women,” Sash said. “Don’t you think so?”

“… I suppose,” she said. “Though, admittedly, we can be on the naïve and dumb end of things. How many times have I heard a story of a woman who sacrificed everything for the man she loved, only to then watch him chase another? We are like this fire,” she looked toward the dying flames. “When we burn, we burn relentlessly. But… we always need fuel. And, when we run out… we wither and wane.”

“… do you love Master?” Sash asked.

“… no,” she shook her head. “Though, I suppose, it is as close to love as you can get.”

“… you never said who he’s shown affection toward.” He noted, taking the bottle and trying to take a sip, realizing it had run dry.

“… one day,” she glanced at him smiling. “You’ll remember this night. When you do, buy me a drink.”

“… ho ho, confident, are we?” Sash chuckled, stretching. “If it were true… I’d be happy. Really, really happy.”

“…”

“He needs it Myrell, more than anyone realizes,” he glanced at her as he got up. “We take what he does for granted, but… he’s become an anchor for so many people. And he weighs all of our hearts on his chest, carrying them. At the end of the day… he’s just one man. One soul. I’ve seen what becomes of those who herald the world all on their own, Myrell. Everybody… everybody needs somebody.”

“He has us.”

“No,” he shook his head. “We have him. What he needs is an equal, someone who will not be sitting in the dark and desperately cooking meals for him in vain hopes he’ll acknowledge her, but will be standing by his side, at all the times, welcoming the fire. If you can’t be someone like that, Myrell, relent. He shouldn’t need to anchor your self-worth in addition to everything else.”

“…” Myrell remained silent, staring emptily into the flames as Sash retreated into the tent. He was right – she knew. She’d grown dependent on him, on the few smiles he'd flash at her every once in a while. Being treated like a human… felt so elusive, she was fearful she would lose him any day.

But jealousy… wasn't the answer. He'd given her all the tools she would ever need, and the rest was up to her. She had to stop seeking her self-worth in the value she had for him. She knew… that wasn't what he wanted. Or what he needed. She had long since developed a feeling that he didn't need obedient slaves, people who would mutely do as told regardless of the consequences. What he needed were the people like Asandra, or even like Quickett – those who knew what they wanted, and weren't afraid to chase after it engorged in madness. The same people who wouldn't be fearful of pointing out his hypocrisies, his lies, his shortcomings. The same people who would face him squarely, but also the same people who had dreams beyond him.

That was what she was missing, she knew. She wasn’t her own. She had no sense of self, no sense of what she wanted, what would fulfill her. She wasn't much of an individual, she realized, past her worth to him. Who was she outside of being Noah's slave? A crippled girl who'd just retreat back to the streets and continue to sell herself as she had for years now. What worth were all the relentless teachings that he had beaten into her… if she doesn't use them to forge herself anew?

She may never be enough to stand by his side, to be his equal, but she can be more. More than this. Rather than a slave… she knew she could be a friend. Someone who may not share in with all his burdens, but will be there when he needs her. However, even beyond him, she steeled her resolve, she had to find herself. Who was she in the midst of all of this? And who will she be, when all of this comes to pass?