To Bewitch a Devil

Once back in the quiet of his study, Zavian poured himself a glass of wine and laid back in his chair. Usually, death was so good at unwinding him, spreading him out, and undoing every cell in his body. He hated the gloom of its presence, but this time, there was no welcoming of it, nor was there any urgent need for it to quickly pass away with the passage of days.

And that was all because there was barely enough guilt in him to kick-start it, only anger.

Jasmine’s death only revealed her betrayal. She was allowed to be jealous, yes, perhaps even engage in petty things, no problem, but murdering Neera? Pretending to be her friend? Caring for her? All of that? Faking that? It made his blood boil with vengeance just thinking about it.

But vengeance couldn’t be meted out on the dead.

His study door opened, and Azriel stepped in with Neera. Her face was still blank, devoid of any expression.

“Do you need me or should I leave?” Azriel asked.

“You may go, thanks Azriel.”

Azriel glanced at Neera before he exited the room. Silence fell upon them, Neera unmoving. Zavian waiting, for what, he didn’t know.

.....

“How do you feel, Neera?” Zavian asked her for a start.

Neera took in a deep breath. “Quite well, actually. I wanted to get all of that over and done with.”

She walked to the seat opposite him and sat, her eyes sweeping disinterestedly over the books on his shelf.

“I am talking about Jasmine’s death and seeing her that way”, Zavian specified. The late Queen had been shriveled from the fire, her once beautiful body barely recognizable.

“Oh, that one”, Neera crossed her legs, revealing long lean legs under the table. “Answer’s still the same as my previous one.”

“Don’t you feel hurt? Betrayed? Sad?”

“Why should I?”

“She was your friend before she was your enemy.”

“No, she was my enemy right from the very beginning,” Neera tapped at the side of her head with a sardonic tilt of a corner of her lips. “The gift of the psychic powers of walking through the valleys of death revealed that to me.”

Zavian rose from his seat and walked around the table to stand close to Neera. She didn’t look up at him, her eyes still trained on the seat he had just vacated.

Zavian went into a crouch position. “Neera.”

She looked at him then. He took one of her hands, pressed a kiss on her cold skin, and hugged the hand close to his face.

“I am tired of doing what is always expected of me,” Zavian said. “I know I don’t feel the need to mourn because I have never loved Jasmine. I shouldn’t have married her in the first place. So yes, the little guilt I feel is born out of marrying her out of duty, and maybe all this wouldn’t have happened, but I can’t change it. I can only change what I do from now on.”

Zavian looked up at Neera, and her expression remained unchanged. He rose to her face level and pressed a kiss to her lips.

Neera was unresponsive, and as he deepened the kiss, she didn’t pull back but sat as still as a rock. Zavian broke it off and searched her eyes for something, anything. All Neera gave him in return was her characteristic blank stare.

“Neera, what’s wrong? What happened?” Zavian asked, hands tracing her face as if searching for her behind that body.

“Neera,” Zavian whispered. “Please, talk to me.”

Neera’s hands reached up to meet his, and hope sparked in Zavian. Her small hands wrapped around his large ones and his heart tightened as she pulled them away from her face.

“I am Neera, talking to you, and if you don’t understand the words coming out of my mouth all day, I am afraid this is the only language I speak,” she said. “All this questioning is taking a toll on me. I should go and eat something.”

She rose from her chair, and without looking over at Zavian, she left the study. The King stood, and the promise to get her back to the Neera he had once known flamed in him. If he had to go to the end of the world and back to give her everything she required to be herself again, he would.

A thousand times and more.

….

When Penelope stirred, she smiled at the softness beneath her. This was the kind of dream she liked – comfort, peace, the music from the night animals, the cool breeze carried in from the windows. It all felt so real.

When she opened her eyes, she gave out a moan, shutting her eyes back to sleep to return to the dream. But when she moved, she still felt that same silky softness beneath her, and her eyes opened in alarm.

She shot up to sit. Next to her, a shirtless Azriel lay sound asleep.

“No, no, no!” She cut the scream by putting a hand over her mouth. Her hand reached for her hair and she noticed it was loosened from its bun and messy. She looked down at her gown, the front buttons had come undone, she looked to the side, Azriel’s eyes were wide open now.

He raised himself with an arm. “Pen?”

Penelope scrambled off the bed, the bed covers tangling with her legs. She plopped on the ground with a scream and was quick to get back on her feet.

“What happened?” She asked in horror.

“Pen, I need you to calm down.”

“No, no, no”, she looked at her skirt for any signs that she might have made the mistake of sleeping with her Master. Had she been drunk? No, there was no wine involved.