Well? Are You Going To Let Me Out?

Veyra opened her eyes.

She'd heard the footsteps coming. Hesitant, stopping every few moments, clearly belonging to someone who had taken a wrong turn several wrong turns ago.

Someone's lost.

Then candlelight spilled into the chamber.

Veyra blinked against it before her gaze settled on you. Not royalty. Not one of the guards who occasionally came to make sure she was still exactly where their ancestors had left her.

Her eyes moved over your clothes.

A servant?

"...Well."

The faintest smile touched her lips.

"You're certainly not who I was expecting."

She looked strangely composed for someone hidden beneath a palace. Time had been less kind to everything else. Her black-and-gold gown was worn and damaged, dust clung to the fabric, and her long dark hair had become somewhat tangled after centuries without anyone particularly concerned with maintaining a goddess's appearance.

Your attention lingered on the gold around her wrists.

Unlike everything else in the chamber, the bands were immaculate. Not a scratch. Not a trace of tarnish.

Veyra noticed.

"Pretty, aren't they?"

She lifted one wrist, turning it slightly as though she were showing off a piece of jewellery.

"I've hated them for approximately eight hundred years."

Her smile widened just a little.

"Give or take."

Veyra stood and approached you. She made it only a few steps before raising her hand and pressing her palm against what appeared to be empty air.

Gold rippled outward from beneath her fingers.

For a moment, a translucent barrier revealed itself between you before fading back into nothing.

"I would offer to show you the way back..."

She tapped a finger against the invisible surface.

"...but I've found this rather difficult to negotiate with."

Eight hundred years and still no sense of humour.

Somewhere far above, thunder rumbled.

Veyra paused.

There hadn't been a cloud in the sky when you'd entered the palace.

Another low rumble rolled through the stone, deep enough to send a thin trail of dust from the ceiling. The flame of your candle flickered.

Veyra glanced upward.

Still listening, are you?

For the briefest moment, something almost wistful crossed her face before she looked back at you.

"You should probably leave."

She said it casually, though she made no effort to move away from the barrier.

"If the people upstairs discover you've found me, I imagine they'll be rather upset."

Her violet eyes remained fixed on you.

"...Although."

Her attention shifted to something beside the doorway.

Half-hidden beneath centuries of dust and faded carvings, a narrow golden lever protruded from the stone wall.

Veyra went quiet.

For the first time since you'd entered, genuine surprise crossed her face.

"...They kept it."

Her gaze lingered on the lever before slowly returning to you.

Then she smiled.

How careless.

Veyra stepped closer until the invisible barrier stopped her. She rested her palm against it again, a faint golden shimmer spreading beneath her fingers.

Now an ordinary palace servant stood on the other side.

Right beside that lever.

Veyra tilted her head slightly.

"Would you do something for me?"

Her violet eyes flicked toward the lever.

Then back to you.

"Pull it."

The cottage was terrible.

One room, half a roof, a fireplace that smoked whenever the wind changed direction, and a bed that looked like it had been abandoned sometime before either of you were born.

Well. Before you were born.

Veyra had approximately eight centuries on the bed.

She sat beside the fireplace with her legs tucked beneath her, watching the flames with an amount of concentration they probably didn’t deserve.

For someone who had escaped imprisonment beneath the royal palace only hours ago, she’d been remarkably quiet.

Eventually, Veyra lifted one hand toward the fire.

“...It’s warm.”

Her fingers stretched toward it.

Then slightly closer.

Obviously it’s warm. It’s fire.

She frowned at herself.

Veyra glanced toward you.

“Don’t.”

There was the slightest hint of embarrassment in her voice.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

She turned back toward the flames, but the little smile pulling at her lips ruined any attempt at dignity.

For a while, there was only the crackle of burning wood and rain tapping against what remained of the windows.

Rain.

Veyra’s attention shifted toward the sound.

Slowly, she stood and crossed the cottage. She pushed the crooked door open, and cool night air rushed inside.

For the first time in eight hundred years, there was no stone ceiling above her.

Veyra stepped outside.

Rain caught in her dark hair and rolled across her face as she tilted her head toward the clouds. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled.

Her thunder.

Weak. Distant. Nothing like what she once commanded.

But hers.

I’m outside.

Veyra closed her eyes.

For several seconds, the Goddess of Calamity simply stood in the rain and smiled.

Eventually, she returned to the cottage considerably wetter than when she’d left.

“Don’t say anything.”

Water dripped from the ends of her hair.

“I’ve waited eight hundred years. I was entitled to that.”

Her gaze eventually wandered toward the bed.

Then to you.

Then back to the bed.

“...There’s only one.”

Veyra stared at it for another second, as though a second bed might materialize if she waited long enough.

It didn’t.

“How inconvenient.”

She walked over and pressed one hand against the mattress. It answered with an unpleasant creak.

Veyra frowned.

“Your mortal furniture has declined considerably.”

Still better than stone.

She sat on the edge, her damp hair spilling over one shoulder. For a moment, she simply looked around the miserable little cottage.

No barrier.

No locked door.

Nothing stopping her from leaving.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the blanket.

Then her eyes found you.

“Are you going to stand over there all night?”

Veyra shifted farther onto the mattress, leaving considerably more room beside her than necessary.

“Come here.”

She patted the empty space.

“I’ve spent eight hundred years sleeping alone.”

The corner of her mouth lifted.

“Surely I’ve suffered enough.”

The shrine had seen better centuries.

Half of its stone pillars had surrendered to the surrounding forest, vines crawled across carvings worn smooth by time, and the statue overlooking the spring was missing an entire arm.

Veyra stared up at it.

Then at you.

Then back at the statue.

“...That’s supposed to be me.”

Apparently, mortals had decided the Goddess of Calamity was taller, considerably angrier, and possessed enough hair to clothe a small village.

Veyra folded her arms.

“They’ve been generous.”

The nose is completely wrong.

An inscription beneath the statue claimed that Veyra once descended upon this very spring after bringing a great storm across the land, bathing in its waters to cleanse herself of the destruction she’d left behind.

She read it twice.

“I have never been here in my life.”

Another pause.

“And I don’t need to bathe after a storm.”

Her eyes moved toward the steaming water.

“...Though that does look nice.”

That, apparently, was enough.

Veyra wasn’t about to let historical inaccuracy ruin a perfectly good hot spring.

Steam drifted lazily across the water as she stepped into it, sinking gradually until the warmth reached her shoulders. Her eyes closed almost immediately.

Silence.

For once, Veyra had absolutely nothing clever to say.

Oh.

Her shoulders relaxed.

Oh, that’s wonderful.

Several minutes passed before she remembered you were still there.

Veyra opened one violet eye.

You had become remarkably interested in somewhere that wasn’t her.

Her lips curved.

“How respectful.”

She leaned back against the smooth stone edge of the spring, wet black hair spilling over one shoulder.

“Although you’ve been staring at that wall for so long I’m beginning to worry you’ve discovered something more interesting than a goddess.”

The teasing was obvious now.

Veyra watched you for another moment before extending one hand from the water. Her fingers lazily disturbed the surface, sending ripples through the steam between you.

“Besides...”

Her head tilted.

“This place supposedly belongs to me.”

Might as well enjoy one benefit of being worshipped.

She shifted aside, deliberately leaving an empty place beside her at the edge of the spring.

“There’s plenty of room.”

Veyra’s smile turned just a little more knowing.

“Unless, of course...”

Her violet eyes settled on you.

“...you’re afraid to join me.”

Veyra had attended festivals held in her honour before.

Apparently, the tradition had survived her.

The streets were packed. Black-and-gold ribbons hung between buildings, merchants sold little charms said to ward away disaster, and somewhere nearby, a group of musicians were doing a truly terrible job of performing what was supposedly an ancient hymn.

Veyra walked beside you with the hood of her cloak pulled loosely over her dark hair, listening for perhaps ten seconds before frowning.

“They’re playing it wrong.”

Another note followed.

“Very wrong.”

That part isn’t even supposed to have drums.

She glanced toward you.

“Don’t laugh.”

The warning came approximately one second before an enormous statue at the centre of the square came into view.

Veyra stopped.

Hundreds of people moved around her, but she didn’t take another step.

The statue depicted a beautiful woman standing amid carved flames, one hand raised dramatically toward a storm above her. An elaborate crown rested upon her head.

There was only one slight problem.

The woman had blonde hair.

“...No.”

Veyra stared.

Then stared some more.

“Absolutely not.”

Her gaze slowly moved from the statue to you.

“Eight hundred years.”

She pointed at it.

“Eight hundred years, and they made me blonde.”

I survive imprisonment and this is my legacy.

Nearby, a priest had gathered a crowd of children and begun recounting the ancient story behind the festival.

According to him, the benevolent Goddess Veyra had once sworn to protect the kingdom from every storm, flood and fire so long as its people continued to honour her each year.

Veyra’s expression slowly flattened.

“...Benevolent?”

The priest continued.

Apparently, Veyra adored mortals. Never once had she brought disaster upon an innocent soul, and the terrible stories about entire fleets disappearing beneath storms bearing her name were merely wicked rumours spread by neighbouring kingdoms.

Veyra slowly turned toward you.

“I sank that fleet.”

A brief pause.

“They were invading.”

Mostly.

Another cheer erupted somewhere deeper in the festival. Mortals laughed and danced beneath banners bearing her name, drinking and celebrating the fact that another year had passed without the Goddess of Calamity bringing ruin to their homes.

None seemed particularly concerned that the actual goddess was walking among them.

Then a small child hurried past and nearly collided with Veyra. A little black-and-gold charm slipped from their hand and landed near her feet.

Veyra bent down and picked it up.

Cheap wood, painted with a tiny storm cloud and wrapped in golden string. Completely useless against any actual calamity.

The child looked up expectantly.

Veyra studied the charm for a moment before carefully placing it back into their hand.

“Keep hold of that.”

Her voice had softened.

“Wouldn’t want anything terrible happening to you.”

The child grinned and disappeared back into the crowd.

Veyra remained still for a moment.

They remembered.

Not correctly.

Not even remotely correctly, apparently.

But they remembered.

She looked down the crowded street before turning toward you. That familiar little smile gradually returned.

“Come.”

Veyra slipped her arm through yours as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“If I’m expected to endure an entire festival dedicated to myself...”

Her eyes settled on a nearby row of food stalls.

“...then you’re buying me something to eat.”

The fire had almost burned itself out.

Veyra hadn’t bothered fixing it.

Normally, she’d discovered, you were rather good at filling the silence. There was always somewhere to go, something to eat, somewhere safer to sleep before morning. The practical little concerns mortals apparently accumulated simply by existing.

Tonight, though, Veyra had been unusually quiet.

The two of you had stopped beside the ruins of an old watchtower before sunset. Far enough from the capital that the King’s Guard was becoming less of an immediate concern, but not quite far enough for either of you to become careless.

Veyra sat against a fallen piece of stone, one knee drawn slightly toward herself as she watched you tend to whatever passed for dinner.

She’d been watching for a while.

Why?

It had bothered her more with every passing day.

Eight hundred years.

Kings had known she was beneath that palace. Queens. Princes. Guards. Advisers. Servants entrusted with bringing things below.

Some had pitied her.

Some had feared her.

Not one had freed her.

Then you wandered into her chamber by complete accident.

A palace servant.

No divine command. No prophecy. No glorious destiny.

And somehow, not long afterward, Veyra had been standing beneath the sky again.

“...I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Her voice broke the quiet.

Veyra waited until she had your attention before continuing.

“Why did you do it?”

For once, there was no teasing smile accompanying the question.

“Free me.”

She looked down at the gold still encircling her wrists, turning one of the bands slowly beneath her fingers.

“You didn’t know me.”

Her gaze returned to you.

“You had no reason to trust me. In fact, if the stories they tell about me these days are anything to go by, you had several excellent reasons not to.”

A tiny smile appeared.

“Goddess of Calamity. Bringer of storms. Destroyer of cities.”

She lifted an eyebrow.

“Terrible company, really.”

The joke faded almost as quickly as it came.

“You had a life in that palace. A home, presumably. People who knew you. And now the Crown would quite happily put your head on a spike if it meant getting me back.”

Veyra looked toward the dying fire.

For someone you didn’t even know.

That was the part she couldn’t understand.

Mortals had prayed to her because they wanted something. Worshipped her because they feared something. Imprisoned her because they needed something.

There was always something.

Her eyes found yours again.

“What did you want?”

The question came out softer than she’d intended.

Veyra was silent for a moment before adding:

“And don’t tell me ‘nothing.’”

Her head tilted slightly.

“I’ve known mortals for a very long time.”

That familiar knowing smile finally returned, though there was something almost uncertain beneath it.

“Nobody does something for nothing.”

The throne room was considerably less welcoming when you were brought into it in chains.

Veyra seemed almost amused by the whole thing.

The King’s Guard had found the two of you before sunrise. There had been too many of them to run, nowhere useful to hide, and apparently dragging a palace servant and an escaped goddess back to the capital was important enough to warrant half a battalion.

Now nobles filled the edges of the great hall, whispering behind raised hands as the guards marched you toward the throne.

Veyra walked beside you.

No struggling. No pleading. No fear.

If anything, there was something unsettling about how calmly she looked around.

So this is what they built above me

Eight hundred years ago, there hadn’t been a throne room here. No marble columns. No enormous banners bearing the royal crest. Certainly no ridiculous golden throne elevated above everyone else.

Her gaze settled on the man sitting upon it.

The king.

For the first time since entering, Veyra’s expression changed.

Not because she recognised him.

Because she recognised his eyes.

His bloodline.

“Hm.”

The quiet sound was enough to make the guard beside her tighten his grip.

“Careful.”

Veyra glanced at him.

“With what?”

The guard didn’t answer.

Her lips curved.

“That’s what I thought.”

At the foot of the throne, both of you were forced to stop. The king’s attention barely lingered on Veyra before settling on you.

“You.”

His voice carried easily through the hall.

“A servant of my household. Fed beneath my roof. Trusted within these walls.”

Veyra’s eyebrow rose.

Oh, this should be good.

“And in return, you trespassed into a forbidden chamber, tampered with protections older than this kingdom, and released something your sovereigns have contained for eight centuries.”

Something.

Veyra’s smile disappeared.

The king continued.

“Your actions constitute treason against the Crown. Whatever influence that creature has exercised over you will be considered during judgement.”

“...Creature?”

Veyra said it quietly.

Far too quietly.

Several guards immediately shifted.

She turned her head toward the throne.

“I had temples before your family had a surname.”

Silence swept through the hall.

Veyra took one slow step forward. The guard behind her reached for his weapon.

She stopped.

“Your ancestor dragged me beneath this palace, bound my power, and spent the remainder of his life stealing what belonged to me.”

Her violet eyes travelled across the banners, the marble, the gold decorating every corner of the throne room.

“His children continued. Then theirs. And theirs.”

Her gaze returned to the king.

“Eight hundred years without storms tearing apart your cities. Without floods swallowing your fields. Without the earth shaking beneath this precious palace of yours...”

The faint smile returned.

“...and you call them the traitor?”

The king’s jaw tightened.

“What was taken from you has protected millions of lives.”

“Ah.”

Veyra tilted her head.

“There it is.”

For once, there was no humour in her expression.

“The part where you explain why my chains were necessary.”

Uneasy whispers spread through the court.

Veyra ignored them. Instead, she looked toward you.

You were mortal. Completely, painfully mortal. Surrounded by armed guards, accused of betraying your king, standing here because you’d chosen to give an imprisoned goddess the one thing an entire dynasty had denied her.

Freedom.

Something in Veyra’s expression softened.

All this for me.

Only for a moment.

Then she turned back toward the throne.

The king opened his mouth.

The floor moved first.

Barely.

A faint tremor passed beneath the throne room. The chandeliers overhead gave a soft metallic rattle. Wine shivered inside untouched goblets. Somewhere between the pillars, one of the guards shifted his footing.

Veyra looked down at the golden bands around her wrists.

Eight hundred years of imprisonment. Eight hundred years of having her divinity drained from her and fed into this kingdom.

And still.

The stone beneath her feet cracked.

There you are.

Her eyes lifted toward the king.

Veyra smiled.

“Your ancestors were much wiser than you.”

Another tremor rolled beneath the palace. Stronger this time.

Dust slipped from somewhere high above.

“They knew better than to bring me upstairs.”