ARTIZEA
ARTIZEA STIRRED BESIDE RHYSSAND, feeling as though she were being hunted. Her face scrunched as she grew uneasy. She thought of getting up but decided against that, not wanting to move just yet. Still, she was curious about what might be interrupting the quiet moment of peace. It was at that moment that she felt the throne's unease, as if it were calling to her in distress, causing her to shoot up.
Rhyssand startled, awoken by her movements, blinked. "What is the matter?" he groggily asked.
Artizea strained to hear horses nearby, coming closer to his location. "Something is wrong… and someone is coming," she whispered. "Quickly get dressed!"
Rhyssand bolted upright, realization hitting him like a blade to the chest. "Tiz—" Rhyssand whispered hurriedly.
Arthur's voice cut through the clearing stillness, sharp and urgent. "Artizea! Shit!" he cursed, throwing his head away as they reached for their clothes.
Both of them shot to their feet, scrambling to put on clothes.
"Arizea—" Rhyssand continued briskly, worry coating.
Before Artizea could ask Rhyssand anything, Arthur dismounted Stolas, his face red with frustration, anger, and panic. He did not spare Rhyssand a glance; his entire focus was on his sister, her eyes wide with confusion.
"What's wrong ?" she asked.
"Artizea, there is something I need to tell you," Rhyssand began.
"Rhys—a minute—"
"There is no time to explain anyway, thanks to him."
"Good gods in hell, someone tell me something!"
"Father is in the arena," Arthur said, "Fighting Ishtar. She's challenged him publicly."
"What?!" Artizea hissed.
"She called for the Rite of Challenge," he continued, his hands clenched into fists. "He's holding his ground. He told me to find you and look where you are?" He gestured angrily at her. "Out here, with him!"
Rhyssand stepped toward her, his face hardening. "Let me explain—"
"The cunt you will—" Arthur snapped, "You and your mother have done enough!" He stepped closer, and his hand went to the hilt of his sword. "I gave you a chance."
"Arthur, stop—!" Artizea yelled.
"Look!" Arthur pointed ahead. "Look at what he has done."
Her gaze widened as she took in the sight of celestial forces storming the palace, her kingdom, her home. She then shifted her gaze, landing on Rhyssand, "You knew this was coming?" she asked in a trembling voice, in disbelief.
Rhyssand's face turned pale. "Artizea—"
She said again, her tone sharper, angrier. "Anywhere, Anyplace, Answer me."
"I did…"
She snapped her head toward the castle was in disarray. The banners were at half-mast, and the sounds of mourning filled the halls.
Rhyssand stepped closer, "I tried to warn you, to help you—"
"Back the fuck up!" Arthur cursed, his fury erupting.
"Arthur enough—"
"NO." Arthur snapped, rounding on her. It was if his father was here. "His mother tried to kill ours—and now she's trying to take Father, and then our people—our home!"
"What are you talking about?" Artizea demanded, confused. Her eyes darted between him and Rhyssand.
"Eric was no god," Arthur spat, "but he had more humanity than you could ever hope to learn from his memories—"
Rhyssand froze.
"What do you mean, memories—?" Artizea asked hesitantly.
"So you didn't tell her everything," Arthur spat at Rhyssand.
"Tell me what!" she pressed, her heartbeat roaring in her ears.
"Ask him—" Arthur said, shaking with fury. "Ask him how long he's been using them. Ask him what part of Eric Quin he stole."
Rhyssand closed his eyes, jaw trembling. "Arthur," he warned softly, but it was too late.
"She deserves the truth!" Arthur hissed. "Tell her or I will…"
"Rhys…" Artizea tried.
But Rhyssand looked away from her confused face, knowing he could not stomach watching her heart break once more.
Arthur laughed hoarsely, broken, "Fine. Fuck it, I'll say it." He pointed at Rhyssand, hand trembling with rage, "This bastard—" his voice cracked, "Or should I say… Eric Fucking Quin—"
Artizea's heart stopped. "…What?" She looked at Rhyssand, who held his head down in shame, unable to defend himself.
"Yep," Arthur spat. "I knew something was off—the minute he accepted that money. Eric would never take a bribe. He was my friend. He loved my sister. Unlike you."
Artizea felt her knees weaken. She dropped to the floor, breath leaving her chest.
"Maddie told me everything," Arthur pressed on, voice breaking. "She told me how you two met. How you wandered the city with him. And I thought—how the hell could Eric, who missed his own sister's birthday, suddenly have time to stroll around the capital with mine?"
Artizea clutched the floor. "He's alive…?"
Arthur shook his head sharply. "I hoped…But Cesealia found a letter…" His eyes went glossy as he took the letter he carried everywhere with him and showed it to her.
Dear Arthur…I hope you find this before you lose your shit, and I hope you stay true to your vow, even though I have broken mine—to protect your sister from harm. I failed her, Arthur. For that, I must stay true to the knights' ancestors.Artizea is one of a kind and will be an amazing queen. You are right, she does not deserve to be stained by my name or by what I have done. But I will not do so by my own hand, for they are already filled with treason. I have taken the money and built a false vice—a gambling habit with a sprinkling of alcoholism, to which you know I despise both; however, this plan demands it.And so I must enact a code of the North. If you are the Arthur Pendragon I know—the brother who will take my life if it comes to it.I thank you for that mercy, Brother.Please, show Cesealia how much I love her. And please… for the love of the gods… tell her you do too, both of them.Tell Tizea how much I wish for her to live, the last dawnrite, and every rite before that.—Eric
Artizea's tears spilled in slow motion. She turned to Rhyssand, trembling. "Tell me when you became him."
Rhyssand inhaled, then exhaled like a man about to walk into his own execution. "The night of his dismissal," he said quietly.
"Oh my god…" she whispered.
Arthur nodded, bitter, "Since we're already burning bridges—" voice barely holding. "Here's the cherry on top." He shuddered. "Our births were planned because of him. Because of his mother. I was never meant to be born after you, Tiz."
Artizea's face drained of color. "What…?"
A tear slid down Arthur's cheek, and then another. "I—I-I was meant to kill our mother." The words shook out of him like a wound tearing open. "In birth. Everyone said we were miracles…no. I was supposed to be born first and kill you both. That's why I've spent my whole life trying to make it right," he said, voice trembling as he dropped his head, tears falling freely. "By protecting you. No matter what. Always. I am sorry if you can't stand it, but I have to. I-i have to—"
Artizea reached for him, her own breath unsteady. "How do you know this?" She whispered, pulling him into her arms.
"Mother made me swear to keep it secret." Arthur whispered, "But I cannot keep such a thing from you and watch you trust a man like him who knew every word I just said and still refused to tell you! For all we know," he said, voice sharp with grief, "Everything is going exactly how they planned it…"
"You have it all wrong—" Rhyssand cut in, stepping forward.
"Silence!" Artizea groaned; she felt as though her world was crashing down. She had believed the words that came out of his mouth, and worse, she had believed he was on her side. But as the full weight of the betrayal sank in, the pain cut deeper than anything she had ever felt before. Against her better judgment, she had begun to forgive him, but now, she saw the truth. The cold, true truth. With tears in her eyes, her voice was sharp, "How could you do this—" she said, her voice trembling with emotion, "Why!"
Rhyssand's mouth opened, but no words came out.
"Answer me, damn you!"
Arthur cut her off. "We need to go. Artizea, now," he said, wiping his face quickly. 'We've wasted too much time already."
Artizea hesitated, turning her back at Rhyssand and the forest.
Rhyssand watched her go once more; his one step forward seemed to be taking 500 steps back.
BY THE TIME THEY REACHED THE GATES, the air was thick with smoke.
"The king has fallen!"
Artizea drew her blade, eyes shadowed by horror, and the words landed like a stone in her chest. Her legs moved before her brain could catch up. Ishtar had won. Gilgamesh, the great king—her father—had fallen, and the city was already in a disarray. Celestial soldiers- armored in silver so polished it glowed- clashed with Babyloniyan guards. The civilians, scattered across the ground, were the corpses of horses, their riders crushed beneath them or draped over children and women, shielding them even in death. Houses and carts were burning, screams echoing within the walls as parents threw their children into alleyways below, windows collapsing before they could follow behind them.
Arthur roared, plunging into a wave of celestial troops blocking a group of children from escaping into a school building, the only shelter in this corner of the neighborhood. Artizea followed, sword dancing, slicing through the armor with such force that some celestials were thrown back into their comrades with force.
It was then she heard the ringing of the throne; her eyes flashed as she saw Ishtar stepping toward it.
"Arthur! She is in the throne room—" she wailed.
They burst into the throne room. Torches guttered. Dust hung in the air like a memory. There, beneath the carved lions and coronets, Ishtar stood with easy arrogance, the spear that had been her father's planted in the marble beside her. She stepped toward the throne like a woman approaching an old lover, fingers outstretched.
"I remember first coming here," she said softly, "When you both dismissed me, I swore vengeance. And now—now I have it."
Artizea and Arthur halted in the doorway.
Ishtar's eyes flicked to them—cool, cruel. "Ah. You're still alive."
Artizea's jaw knotted. She saw then: Ishtar was holding her father's spear—not plucked from the dead king's hand, but taken from the place of honor. "That is not yours," Artizea said, simple as a bell.
Ishtar's smile widened. "On the contrary," she purred. "Your father's lands belong to me."
She crossed the floor in slow, deliberate steps and laid a palm on the throne's gilded armrest. She expected the thrill of triumph, the pulse of power beneath her fingers. For a heartbeat, she closed her eyes—then her face soured.
"What is this…" she murmured, voice losing its silk. She pressed harder; the gold was cold. She felt nothing. No crown's answer, no whisper of subjects, no echo of the king who had ruled it. Only silence, a silence that was not hers to command.
Artizea stepped forward. "The throne belongs to the people of this land," she said, each word a blade. "To every farmer who plows the fields at dawn, to every mother who rocks her child, to every smith who sharpens the world into shape. You will not claim this realm without first winning their hearts—and by the looks of it, you have none to give, you are not worthy."
Ishtar's lips thinned. A flicker of something like fury—then calculation—passed over her. "Hearts are soft things," she sneered. "Easily broken, like humans."
With a motion practiced and quiet, Ishtar's hand dipped, causing a knight to twist and drop dead. He crumpled, blood blossoming black where it met the stone.
"No." Artizea moved before she could think. Her blade flashed, a spear of light lanced outward, and another caught one of the king's captains in the throat before she could reach him in time.
Arthur roared. "You monster!"
Artizea lunged for the spear planted in the throne-room floor. She yanked it free from the marble and, with a single desperate twist, wrested Gilgamesh's weapon from Ishtar's grasp. The celestial recoiled, its light fractured by the violence of the act.
Ishtar's eyes flashed—then she smiled that same sickly smile, dangerous and small. She tilted her head as if at a private amusement.
"Fine," she said, voice smooth as glass. "If you cannot love me, then I will kill you all."
She flicked her cloak; where she had stood, there was a ripple of the light, and she was gone—torn from the room as if the air itself had swallowed her.
For a long moment, no one moved. Then Arthur sheathed his anger in a single ragged breath and stepped forward, the floor trembling beneath him.
Arthur spat on the flagstones, "I've had enough of these freaks."
Artizea stood with the spear in her hand, the king's weapon warm with history. She looked at the ruin and then at Arthur, her face a mask of things learned too young. Around them, the ruin of the city once more.
"Ring the bell…" she commanded.