Ashborn 332: Reforging Bonds (Maiya) (Patreon)

Maiya leaned down and ruffled Neel’s neck, which the bandy thoroughly enjoyed. It was an unconscious habit. She truly was dreading this conversation, but she’d put it off for far too long already. To move forward, today had to happen.

Maiya walked down the third-story hall of her manor, greeting the various staff as she went. In what felt like no time at all, she’d grown accustomed to the treatment. Compared to the adulation and reverence the cultists piled upon her, a few butlers and handmaids were like a breath of fresh air.

After handing Neel off to an attendant, Maiya made her way down the stairs alone, to the room in which her two friends awaited.

Both rose from their seats to greet her.

“Yamal,” Maiya said with a warm smile and a nod. “Bheem,” she added, her smile turning tight. “Care to follow me? Refreshments have been prepared in the garden. We have… much to discuss.”

The two followed without a word, no doubt thinking the same. While they’d held a handful of meetings over the past weeks, they had all been strictly business, and with the two running around Kin’jal making preparations, there had been little time for more… personal chats.

At least, that was what Maiya told herself. She hadn’t strictly needed to send them—others could have been trusted with the task—but perhaps it was Maiya’s subconscious at work. If they were away, she needn’t deal with the strained feelings and the maelstrom of pent-up emotions they were all dealing with.

The manor’s grounds, while not large, were a grand affair. Immaculately maintained, with trimmed hedges with beautiful shrubs, roses, and other floral arrangements forming intricate patterns.

And, like the rest of Kin’jali garden art, it gave off a similar impression to the royal castle grounds. Put-on for the sake of airs. Had she had the time, Maiya would have changed them, adding sculptures that had meaning, personalizing it to her taste.

Alas, it was what it was. Beautiful and sterile, and yet still the best place to have this conversation.

White trellises led to an open veranda in the center of the garden, where a round table and three chairs had been arranged. Two handmaidens awaited with a cart full of tea, biscuits, and sweets, which they served the moment the trio had taken their seats.

They departed the moment their jobs were done, taking polite bows before wheeling the cart away.

Maiya eyed her two friends, taking a sip of her tea. Though she knew the tea must have been steeped to perfection, she barely tasted it. Her mind was on the words she’d say, on how the conversation would flow.

She’d rehearsed this endlessly, but now that she was here, she understood that a pre-prepared speech would get her nowhere. This had to come from the heart. No sugar coating. No lies. Just the honest truth.

“Let me cut to the heart of the matter,” Maiya said, meeting both Yamal and Bheem’s gazes. “By now, you both know that I am someone who has gained Princess Ira’s favor. All of this,” she swept her hand across  the garden, “proves it. Yet until now, I have kept the details of my identity from you. My motivation, my goals, my past. Princess Ira has given me permission to bring you two into the fold. Truly and completely. For with what we are about to undertake, nothing short of the complete truth will suffice. Yet before that, there is something I must say. Something I should have done long ago.”

Maiya had their full attention, and while Yamal sipped his tea, Bheem stared into Maiya’s eyes, as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered. Did he want to kill her? Of course he did—that was a stupid question. He must resent her for causing the death of his dear brother. Even bringing him here without guard could have been considered reckless on her part.

Still, Maiya believed. That the bond they shared could be restored. That things could go back to normal. But it had to start with her.

Maiya rose from her chair, walked to Bheem… and knelt. 

“Bheem,” she said, gazing into his eyes. “I have wronged you. I have wronged you in the most unforgivable way. I robbed you of your brother, and for that, I regret everything. I regret it ended that way, even if it was necessary.”

She searched Bheem’s face for any reaction, but there was none. He regarded her with an expression of  complete impassivity, as if his face had been etched from stone. Was she getting through to him? Was he cursing her in his head right now?

It didn’t matter. Maiya would say her peace.

“I can tell you, here and now, that he did what he did… Because he loved you. He knew that without a named successor, once he died—and make no mistake, the madness would have killed him shortly after—the mantle of the Blessed Chosen would have transferred to you. His next of kin. Chosen by… By those who claim to control Fate. The deities the Children of Ash worship. The delirium that broke him would have plagued you. It would have crippled you, and then, just like your brother, you would have died.”

Bheem’s face was no longer an expressionless mask. His eyes had widened, and his lips were slightly parted.

“You didn’t know,” Maiya muttered. “I suppose you couldn’t have known. Bheem, your brother sacrificed himself to protect you. Rather than see his beloved brother die, he wished to bear the burden alone. When he realized this was impossible, when he saw that I was to succeed him, he ensured it was me who received the mantle. Not you.”

“I do not understand,” Yamal said. “If these deities are indeed real, how did they pick you? And why?”

Maiya shook her head. “I only wish I knew. All I know about them is what I learned from Bheem’s brother in his final moments. But it seemed they favored me. Had I not existed, the Blessed Chosen was convinced the mantle would pass to you, Bheem.”

Bheem sniffled, his face contorted in pain.

“I will be honest, Bheem. I admire your brother. I respect him for the sacrifice he made. I pity him for his insanity, and I recognize he was not of sound mind. Yet, I would have done everything in my power to kill him, regardless. He… tried to have me assassinated. Several times, in fact,” Maiya muttered. 

“What?” Yamal cried. “When? How did we not know of this?”

Maiya gave him a pained smile. “Towards the end. In secret, of course. That isn’t all. He murdered a handmaiden girl in cold-blood. She couldn’t have been over seventeen. I… Cannot forgive him for that, regardless of his state of mind.”

Bheem’s look of pain had turned into anguish by now. With closed eyes, he silently wept.

“I’m sorry, Bheem. But I felt you needed to know. I felt you deserved to know. That is the truth behind your brother’s actions. The whole truth.”

The three sat that way in silence for a long while, with Bheem weeping, and Maiya bearing witness to it on her knees while Yamal rubbed the giant man’s back.

Finally, Bheem regained himself. He stood and grasped Maiya’s arms.

He pulled her up. Every instinct Maiya had screamed at her to defend herself. To move away from this giant who could crush her.

She resisted. She fought down her instinct and instead looked up at the man as she drew close.

She forced herself not to move, even as the man reached out with his great arms to grab her.

“Bheem! Stop!” Yamal cried, shooting up from his chair. “What are you—”

And then Bheem’s arms wrapped around Maiya… And embraced her. In a hug.

For a long while, Maiya didn’t know what to do. The motion was so sudden—so unexpected—for the first time in a very long time, she was at a loss for what to do.

As it turned out, it hardly mattered. In the embrace of the great bear of a man, there was little she could’ve done, short of activating her magic.

And so she allowed the giant to hold her, even as he wept.

When they finally broke away, she found her own eyes had turned moist, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “I… I guess this means we’re friends?”

Bheem nodded firmly.

Maiya sat back in her chair, feeling nearly as relieved as she did on that day when the voices attacking her head faded. Suddenly, divulging secrets about matters  that would shape the very future of the realm felt comparatively trivial.

Maiya took a long breath, and got started.

— — 

“I was born in Hiranya at the village of Brij,” she began. “The daughter of a priest in a backwater that most Hiranyans couldn’t name. Imperial knights raided our village, searching for an Ashborn. My dear friend. Long story short, we fled and were rescued by a man by the name of Riyan Savar.”

“Savar…” Yamal muttered. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Because he used to be a Hiranyan General,” Maiya said. “He had another name—The Butcher. Keep him in mind, as he’ll be important later. Anyway, he trained me in the ways of magic and sent me to infiltrate Kin’jal as a handmaiden.”

“The Butcher’s famous for his hatred of Kin’jal,” Yamal said, sipping his tea. “Hardly surprising he’d resort to such measures.”

“He wanted a spy in Kin’jal,” Maiya continued. “I took the exam, passed, and rose within the ranks of the Handmaidens.”

“How does a Hiranyan spy end up in Princess Ira’s confidence?” Yamal asked, scrutinizing Maiya’s face. “How are you even alive?”

Maiya smiled wryly. “Turned out Princess Ira knew all along. She gave me an offer. Serve her—honestly and completely—and she’d spare my life.”

“Not an offer you could very well refuse,” Yamal quipped.

“Nor one I wanted to. For the first time in my life, I had everything I could ever want. So I cast off my shackles and joined up with Ira. I fought at the Boundary. I learned more skills, and before I knew it, I was leading squads of elite Balarian Warriors.”

Maiya gazed off into the distance as she narrated her tale. So little had happened for so much of her life. To think all of this had transpired in just a single year… Even now, she could hardly believe it. 

“I earned Ira’s trust, and she made me her right hand. Her most trusted confidante. The scalpel to cut through all that blocked her goal.”

“Her goal… Which is?”

Maiya scanned their surroundings. This was the real reason she’d wanted to have this discussion out in the middle of a garden—it made spying exceedingly difficult. Not that there would be any. Every one of her handmaids was hand picked by Ira. And as Maiya knew firsthand, Ira was an excellent judge of character.

“Because Princess Ira wishes to depose Imperator Andros Kin’jal and take the throne for herself. Not for glory, but to reshape the very face of Kin’jal. To quench their insatiable thirst for conquest. Once, and for all.”

There was a long silence, and it was Bheem who responded first. He scribbled something down on his pad and slid it over to Maiya, who read it aloud for Yamal’s sake.

“‘This involves the Butcher. Doesn’t it?’”

Maiya couldn’t help but smile at how astute the giant was. “Exactly. For you see, Riyan Savar leads a band of rebels against Sai as we speak.”

“The current Saian King is an ally to Andros. By deposing that regime, he robs Andros of an ally. You intend to destabilize Andros’ power-base?”

A savage smile crept onto Maiya’s face. “Oh, no. Nothing so simple. The Princess intends to launch coups in both Sai and Hiranya.”

“In both… I do not understand. What could she gain from this madness?”

“Because there is no one alive as hungry for conquest as Imperator Andros. He’ll see an opportunity. He’ll send Kin’jal’s might to conquer those countries.”

Both Yamal’s and Bheem’s eyes widened in comprehension. Comprehension and shock. 

“Leaving Sonam exposed.”

“Exposed and vulnerable,” Maiya said. “Sonam will never fall to an invading force. It is a fortress within a fortress. But a coup from within? That’s another matter entirely. And as the first step of this plan, we need to link up with Savar. We need to convince him to join us. There’s just one problem. He’s rejected any and all invitations to meet.”

Yamal and Bheem looked at each other, eyes widening.

“Which means we need a plan to infiltrate his rebel base in Sai. And we have precious little time to do it.”