After his orb disappeared into the darkness above, Simon sat just where his doppelgänger had been a mont before and waited. Instead of reflecting on that strange disconnect between the man and his aura or even the irony that he was sitting exactly where the other man had been sitting a few minutes before, Simon only looked up and watched the volcano, willing the eruption to stop.
Intellectually, he felt certain that it would work, but so dark part of his mind whispered that he’d have to fight Brogan one more ti. If that monster appears over the lip again, I’ll go, he told himself. If I have to do it again, I will.
Still, despite the fact that Simon didn’t fear death, so part of him dreaded fighting that battle again. The idea of falling and waking up nearly paralyzed was certainly one of his less pleasant pit experiences, and this ti, if he found himself falling again, he was much more likely to simply end it and start over.
While he waited, though, the lava never splashed over the rim, and eventually, the rumbling beca less frequent and less powerful. It was darker by that point, so it was impossible to tell how much less smoke there really was, but Simon hadn’t seen any flying magma bombs in a while, and most of the fires that had sprung up in the city seed to have been put out.
That was about the ti the guards arrived for him. Simon had expected that, but he’d waited anyway, as he’d been unwilling to abandon his watch half-done. Still, by the ti they approached close enough to see that he was more than a figure, he’d already stowed his armor, dawned his toga, and was busy sketching the fulminating scene.
It was a weak cover, but it should do, and given that a word over power was only ever seconds from his lips, he could easily cut all of them down if he had to. “Do you have anything to do with this?” the guard captain asked. “You don’t seem like you’re from around here.”
“I’m not,” Simon agreed. “I’m just an artist in the employ of the Strigeon family. Ask anyone. They’ll vouch for .”
“An artist? What business does an artist have with a volcano?” the man asked, obviously confused.
“It was a rare and beautiful phenonon,” Simon explained. “I’ve heard of such things but never expected to see it. If the thing erupted completely… Well, I think I’d be dead no matter where I am in the city, so I thought I’d co for a closer look, and now it seems like my hike was wasted. I don’t think it will erupt now.”
“Just the sa, you’ll have to co with us,” the captain said. “We have orders to bring anyone suspicious back for questioning.”
“Suspicious?” Simon bristled, feigning outrage. “On whose authority.”
“The Queen’s Vizier,” the man responded. It ca so quickly that Simon had to fight to keep from smiling. The man was an idiot.
He’d seen this coming from the mont he’d seen the guards coming this way. With the orb gone, he had nothing suspicious on him. Any incriminating notes were written in his mirror, and the queen didn’t seem to have anyone in her employ who would see the marks on his armor as anything but decorative.
Simon put up a little more of a fight after that, but only for appearance’s sake. He knew the score and invoked the na of his patron and important friends but ultimately went willingly enough. It would waste an hour or two of his life, but it would also get him in the palace without violence or magic, and the sooner he did that, the sooner he could fight a troll and get back down to levels that really mattered.
Despite the fact that Simon was being marched through the street by twenty n, almost no one noticed. They were too busy celebrating the turn of events. The volcano had stopped, and everyone was overjoyed by that.
That didn’t change when he got to the palace, either. Most of the servants and guards were celebrating just as much as the nobility, and Simon didn’t reach anyone sober or sensible until he was brought to an audience chamber, where the Vizier sat pensively waiting for news.
The guards explained what had happened and where they’d found him. That got Simon a lecture and plenty of questions, but he brushed them aside as the man went through a few of Simons stranger possessions, like his dowsing rod and a purse brimming with silver and gold.
The closest the aging advisor got to pinning Simon down was when he went through his gear and asked, “If you’re just an artist, then why’d you bring a sword and armor to the volcano. What good would that do? Did you expect to fight it?”
“Even a foreigner like has heard the tale of Bro… of the titan imprisoned in that mountain,” Simon answered indifferently. “If today was to be my last day, why not go out fighting?”
That baffled the old man, who looked at him with undisguised contempt. Simon was aware of how stupid it sounded, but then, that’s what he was going for with the character he’d been playing here for the last year. This Simon was no hero. He was just a self-indulgent artist.
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Unfortunately, that’s not what Elthena heard because she picked that mont to co out of hiding and join the conversion from where she’d been sitting behind a curtain. If he’d had his sight, he would have seen her, but even without it, he suspected she was listening from sowhere.
He’d even steeled himself for her appearance, but it did no good. When the Vizier said, “You majesty, please, this man had nothing to do with saving our fair city,” he didn’t even react. Simon couldn’t move. He was frozen by lifetis of mories that flashed through his mind.
“Oh, there’s more to this one than ets the eye,” she said confidently. “What of the ball of light that citizens claid they saw before the eruption, or the rings of light after?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Simon lied smoothly. “I didn’t get there until shortly before your n found . I scarcely had ti to draw a single illustration. If I’d been there since that first mont, I’d have a dozen pictures to show you.”
She looked unconvinced. “And how would you commorate this event then? If you were granted a royal commission to morialize it.”
“What event?” Simon asked. “The volcano almost erupted, no more than that. If anything, perhaps you could make a large shrine to placate it in the future. Perhaps it was just feeling lonely?”
“Lonely, is it?” she asked with a flash of sothing in her eyes. “I sympathize. Join for dinner, Simon of Brin, and we shall speak of lonely volcanos, art, and other interesting topics.”
In his heart, Simon knew that he shouldn’t. He knew that he should make his excuses and leave, but he couldn’t. The idea of one last al with the woman he’d loved and the mischief in her eyes was too much to bear.
This ti, she didn’t call him the hero of Ionar and didn’t accuse him of slaying Brogan, but she clearly knew sothing was amiss, and as the two dined later that evening and during the fifth course, after two glasses of wine and an hour of pleasant company she ambushed him about it.
“You did sothing to stop that volcano, didn’t you,” she said as they dined alone in her private dining room.
“What makes you say that?” Simon said, not as willing to lie to her as he’d been to lie to the Vizier.
“Your story is too strange, for one, and you’re much too calm besides,” she said. “Look around. My servants are very well trained, but they can’t stop looking out the windows, waiting for the rumbling to start again. You don’t give them a second thought… Because you know this is over, and only the person that stopped it could possibly know that.”
She always was a smart one, Simon told himself. That was half the reason I fell in love with her.
“And what if I did?” he asked finally, after letting the question linger long enough that it might as well have been an admission on his own.
“Well, then I’d want to know how you did it and, more importantly, how you knew that it was going to happen,” she asked, reaching across the table to take one of his hands and both of hers. “It might happen again soday and—”
“It won’t,” Simon promised her. “I’ve made sure of it. That volcano will never erupt again. You have my word on that. As to the details… Well, they say magic damns the soul, and yours seems much too beautiful to damn.”
“Oh my,” she said, taking his attempt to minimize his efforts as flirtation.
Simon didn’t an them that way, at least at first, but as the conversation and the drinking continued, he started to. When she insisted on celebrating his secret victory over the forces of fire and darkness, that celebration turned out to be rather more private than he expected. He was thoroughly drunk and in wonderful spirits by the ti they left that dining room, and what started with an unexpected kiss on the balcony overlooking Ionar quickly led back to her room.
When Simon fell into the queen's bed, he was as surprised as anyone, and as she kissed him, and each of them helped the other to remove their clothes, it was easy to believe that the intervening century of lifetis hadn’t happened at all. Once they were naked, though, they weren’t even a dream or a mory because Simon didn’t think about them.
Instead, all he thought about was how beautiful Elthena was as they lost themselves in each other's arms. It was only hours later when he was completely spent, that thought returned.
The queen nuzzled beside him and murmured, “What a mighty hero you are… I think there might yet be a place for you in my court,” before drifting off to sleep. Even after that, though, Simon could not join her. As much as he might have wanted to, his mind slowly ca awake as the twin poisons of lust and drunkenness left his system. Those thoughts, in turn, forced him to lay there reflecting on the day. No matter how much he tried to let the darkness claim his drunken, tired mind, though, it always returned to this sa mont.
I shouldn’t be doing this, he decided. I shouldn’t be here.
He felt more than just the guilt for being with a woman who didn’t know him when he’d rejected Zoa in the sa way. For that, at least, he could bla the alcohol. No matter how pretty Elthena was, he would not have done this sober. The real danger, though, was that he’d stay and make the sa mistakes all over again, spending yet another lifeti trying to chase ghosts.
He couldn’t. He was done with that part of his life.
Reluctantly, Simon dressed in the dark and then returned to the dark throne room, where he found the portal and slipped away to the darkness of the next level. He had nothing to feel sha about, but he felt like he’d made a mistake. Despite the fact that he still loved the Queen in so way and even still wanted to marry her, he knew he’d never get that life back, and as the portal closed behind him, he slamd the book on that chapter of his life.
It was only then, as he stood there, that he realized he wasn’t exactly where he expected to be. Where is the bridge troll? He asked himself as he looked around.
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