He was taken to a very large room.
He wasn't even sure it counted as a room. It was more like a hall within a hall, its four walls set far apart, its windows cut high up, letting in not sunlight but the dark purple skylight Allen was already starting to get used to. Lamps were lit in the room, their shades dark, like thin panes of colored glass, filtering the light until it was dim and soft. The floor was covered in very thick carpet that felt like sinking into grass underfoot; when Allen's bare foot touched it, it even tickled a little.
He didn't really want to admit it, but this place was far more comfortable than he'd imagined.
Vera walked in front, and once inside she turned the lamps up a little. Vivian supported him like a patient who couldn't walk well, leading him all the way to a long daybed against the wall before letting go. Allen said nothing and slowly lowered himself onto it. His right shoulder still hurt whenever he moved, but it was a little better than before, as if now that it was strapped in place, the bones inside had finally stopped grinding against each other.
"You'll stay here tonight." Vera stood in front of him and wasted no words. "If you need anything, pull the bell at the head of the bed. Someone will come."
"I don't want anything." Allen kept his head down, looking at his one bare foot on the dark carpet. His toes curled without him meaning them to.
Vivian laughed softly beside him and didn't take him up on it. She only poured a cup of water from a small table nearby and held it out to his hand. The cup was like her hands, very slender and very cool, with a faint mist of condensation on its sides. Allen didn't take it. She was in no hurry either; she simply held it there, smiling at him with narrowed eyes, as if waiting for him to surrender.
Allen's throat really was tight with thirst. He hesitated, then took the cup with his left hand after all. The water was very cold, with a faint, indescribable sweetness. He drank slowly, afraid that drinking too fast would make him choke.
"There, much better." Seeing him drink, Vivian's smile deepened. "Be good, and you'll suffer less."
"I'm not here to do what you say." Allen set the cup down and glanced up at her. He knew it was a bit stupid of him to say that. In the state he was in, forget resisting; he couldn't even walk without someone holding him up. But he just didn't want to meekly bow his head. That bit of temper was like a fishbone stuck in his throat: he couldn't swallow it, and he couldn't spit it out.
Vivian didn't get angry. If anything, she laughed even more merrily. "Oh my, so stubborn. That's just the kind Big Sister likes. The really obedient ones are no fun at all."
Vera gave her a look, and only then did Vivian make an "all right, all right" gesture and step aside. Vera walked up to Allen, took a small box out of her sleeve, and set it by his hand. The box was dark blue, its lid carved with a very fine pattern like some kind of leaf.
"Medicine. Have a maid apply it tonight," she said. "The injury to your shoulder isn't minor. Don't move it around yourself."
Allen looked at the box, then at Vera. Her expression was very flat, as if she were giving instructions about the most ordinary thing in the world. This lukewarm sort of care made Allen even more uncomfortable. What did they take him for, exactly? A nuisance? Goods that needed to be stored with care? Or a toy that mustn't be broken? He couldn't tell. Maybe it was none of those.
"Got it." In the end he gave a grudging answer. However stubborn he was, he knew this wasn't the time to act tough. If his injuries weren't treated, he couldn't go anywhere.
Vera nodded and turned toward the door. Vivian didn't move, though, as if she still had something to say. She tilted her head and looked at Allen, her golden eyes like two translucent glass beads in the dim light.
"Rest easy. I'll come tomorrow. It won't hurt too much," she said.
"What won't hurt too much?" Allen asked. He had sharply caught the part of her words that didn't sound quite right.
But Vivian only let out a soft "Mm," as if thinking about how to put it, then winked at him. "You'll find out tomorrow. Good night, you poor little thing."
With that she turned, the hem of her dress trailing over the carpet without a sound. Allen watched the two of them walk out of the room one after the other, and the door closed behind them with a faint click. The room went quiet again, except for the occasional tiny crackle of a lamp wick.
Allen sat for a while before slowly lying down. The daybed was soft, so soft he wasn't used to it. He was still wearing the long-sleeved shirt from the plane, the fabric wrinkled and stained with blood and dust. He closed his eyes and tried to sort through everything that had happened since he woke up, but his mind felt as if it had been filled with paste; the more he stirred it, the thicker it got. The Demon King. Vera. Vivian. The names floated up and sank down in his consciousness like fragments that could never be fitted together.
The next day, he was woken by knocking at the door.
It wasn't knocking. Someone outside was gently shaking a bell, its ringing very faint, as if drifting across a far-off stretch of water. He opened his eyes groggily and saw several people he didn't know standing in the doorway. All of them women. They wore nearly identical long dark dresses, their hair pinned up neatly, their faces lowered, not daring to look his way. Allen instinctively pulled the blanket up over himself, and only then remembered he hadn't changed out of anything last night.
"Please allow us to help you dress," the maid at the front said quietly. Her head was lowered, her voice so soft it was as if she were afraid of startling something.
Allen frowned. "I can do it myself."
The maids exchanged glances and didn't move. After a moment, the maid who had spoken said quietly again, "These are the two Queens' wishes. Your injuries make it difficult. Please let us help you."
Allen wanted to refuse, but lifting his right shoulder made him gasp in pain. All he could do was let them lift him gently off the daybed, strip off that long-sleeved shirt that had become unbelievably filthy, and wipe the blood and dust from his body with warm damp cloths. Their movements were very gentle, as if they were cleaning a piece of fine porcelain. Someone changed him into a clean undershirt, pale gray, the fabric absurdly soft. Someone else brought breakfast, several things he couldn't name that smelled wonderful, but Allen only managed a few bites before pushing them away. His stomach felt stuffed with cotton, with no room for anything.
Around noon, Vera came.
She had changed clothes today; the outfit was still dark, only cut more sharply. Vivian followed behind her, empty-handed, wearing that same smiling look. Allen sat on the daybed, watched them come in, and knew that something was about to happen.
Vera walked up to him and wasted no words. "Come with me. Lord Demon King has something to say to you."
Allen's fingers clenched the blanket without his meaning them to. That man. That face so much like his own. He'd spent all night thinking about it, and the more he thought, the colder he got. Now, hearing he had to go see him again, that ball of cotton rose up and blocked his stomach once more. But he knew there was no avoiding it. A maid had already helped him up and draped a thin outer robe over him. When he stood, his legs were still a little weak, but much better than yesterday.
He was taken to another hall.
It was much bigger than the room he'd slept in last night, and much colder. He recognized this place. It was where he'd woken up yesterday. That ceiling so high it seemed endless, those incantation-like lines carved into the floor and pillars, and those two rows of heavy black candelabra. His footsteps rang out on the stone floor, one after another, as if he were walking at the bottom of a well.
The Demon King was already on the throne. Just like yesterday, his whole body was sunk in shadow, only half of him showing. Allen was led to a spot a few steps below the throne. He didn't look up. He didn't want to see that face. But near his ears, he could already hear voices. They weren't coming from the throne, but from every direction, very soft, as if someone were whispering in every corner of the great hall. Then the whispering stopped.
"Begin," the Demon King said.
Allen was taken aback. Begin what?
Before he could even think, Vera had stepped forward and said something in a language he didn't understand. Her tone was even, as if confirming something with someone. Vivian spoke too, her intonation lighter and softer, as if she were laughing, or haggling over a price. Then the Demon King said something else, his voice very low. Neither woman made another sound. The great hall went silent again, like a stone sinking into deep water.
Allen stood there like an outsider. He could hear every syllable and see their lips moving, yet he couldn't understand any of it. The feeling was awful, utterly awful. It was as if he'd been thrown into a meeting that had nothing to do with him, where three people were deciding his fate, and he couldn't even tell when they were nodding or shaking their heads. All he saw was that Vera's back was very straight, and that Vivian gave a small wave of her hand, as if sighing, or as if saying "fine, then." Then Vera turned to him and spoke in a language he could understand.
"Over the next few days, you will undergo some adjustments. Concerning your body."
Allen's head buzzed. Adjustments. Body. Those two words together made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He thought of Vivian saying "It won't hurt too much" last night. Thought of the Demon King saying to him in the darkness, "Soon you won't ever be afraid again." So this was what they'd all meant. So they'd had it arranged all along. Vera giving him medicine, the maids changing his clothes, him being helped into this hall, all of it had been preparation for this.
He opened his mouth and wanted to run. But his body felt nailed in place. His feet felt filled with lead; he couldn't lift them. Chills ran down his spine in waves. He heard his breathing grow heavier and heavier, as if someone were piling stones on his chest. He didn't want to ask anything anymore. He suddenly felt that asking anything was meaningless. They weren't asking for his consent. They were only informing him. In a language he couldn't understand, they'd said it over and over, and only at the very end had they deigned, as if doling out charity, to translate the conclusion for him alone.
"And what if I don't agree?" Allen raised his head and stared into Vera's eyes.
Vera didn't look away. She looked at Allen, her pale red eyes like a lake frozen over in winter, every emotion hidden beneath the ice. She said nothing. Behind her, Vivian gave a soft sigh, a sigh so light it was like a petal landing on water, yet it made Allen's heart sink all the way to the bottom.
"Don't be like that, Little Sister," Vivian said.
Her voice was very gentle, so gentle it made Allen go cold all over. He was plainly standing among three impossibly powerful beings, yet it felt as if there were no one else in the whole great hall but him.
On the throne, the Demon King slowly rose to his feet. His shadow fell from on high and covered Allen completely.