Trills of bluebreasts reverberated across the gardens of the academy. Fella sat in solitude, reading Encyclopaedia Arcaeni under the morning sky. It was Pindag, the fifth day of the week, and she was supposed to be on lessons, learning about the ways of the Arcane—yet that week studies at the academy were cancelled in light of recent events in the city.
Fella glanced up from the book. Few walked the gravel pathways of the gardens, even fewer sat on the benches by the dreampines and everbeech. Most of her fellow students were still in bed. Or out in the city.
Pupils were forbidden to leave the area of the institute, yet, naturally, the youth had found a way to sneak past that handful of city guards the professors hired to watch the gates; the guards were negligent of their duties anyway. In her humble opinion, the professors should have kept the lessons so that the agitation could have been somewhat suppressed. As autumn neared to its end and winter drew closer, exams loomed in the distance, too; she had no time for foolish business in the city if she wanted to do at least adequately.
She sighed and turned back to that monster of a book. It was drier than her dad’s favourite white wine.
… as widely known, since the emergence of the imposing instruments of the Gods’ will, which we foolishly agreed to call “gemstones” with unlikely ingenuousness, has not, in fact, shrivelled the number of adept naturalists in recent years. They simply saw fit to abandon the tenets they held so dear and began studying this enthralling power, the cradle of all life; soon, the title “arcanist” surfaced …
Clatter at the gates drew her attention all so easily. A large group of students arrived back from their carouse the night before. They had still been drunk, that much was evident; the loud level of the conversation—incoherent rambling, Fella corrected herself in thought—and their swaying gait was all too telling. The two guards leaning against the pillars of the gates did not even flinch when the rabble passed them.
Most were heading to the building in their careless joy. Fella shook her head incredulously. Too many of them were girls, some she knew from Nael’s class. One student lagged behind the others and looked around. Fella sighed again. Not more than twenty yards lay between them. When the pupil spotted her, he put on a smile, straightened, and walked up to her with the confidence of those trying to feign soberness.
Fella buried herself in her book.
… deny. Yet the palpable consequence of human meddling is the accessibility of the power to those venerable few. Thus, yes, the Tear in the Veil is doubtlessly the consequence of quenching our thirst for knowledge—and inevitably of the first mistake taken by our fathers with respect to gemstones …
The intense stench of lingering booze made her sniff.
‘Thought I’d see ya ‘ere.’
‘I’m not talking to you drunk.’
‘I’ve sobered up.’
‘Did you piss yourself? You’re reeking!’ Fella hissed, flashing her eyes from the book to Nael. Her brother frowned; she pressed her lips upon seeing his glassy eyes.
‘Wha’s your problem with me?’
‘Nothing,’ Fella shook her head in resignation and leant back on the bench, turning a page in the Encyclopaedia. ‘Absolutely nothing.’
‘You’re too stiff. You should—’
‘I don’t want to talk with you.’
‘You never do.’
‘Then give it some thought.’
‘Never mind.’
Nael turned to leave. The emerging regret in Fella was drowned by the anger she felt. Her sibling and she had grown apart. Not much could be done about it.
She swallowed and spoke. ‘How was the night?’
‘Fine.’ Nael turned back. ‘Lots of riots.’
‘I hope—’
‘Calm your tits, I’m kidding. Been to the Serpent’s Head all night, we were drinking and playing.’
‘But there are riots in the city,’ Fella said slowly, eyeing Nael suspiciously. He shrugged.
‘So I hear.’ He grinned. ‘Nothing serious, I can assure you.’
‘Nael.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t do anything stupid. Bethlorn—’
‘Bethlorn’s only a year older than me,’ Nael said, eyes narrow. ‘He won’t do shit. And you know… Huh.’
‘What? What’s in your head, you ox?’
Nael remained silent, he only smirked and shrugged. Fella could truly slap him in that moment. She changed strategy.
‘Mom and dad have been here.’
‘Here?’ His eyes suddenly widened, and he whirled about.
‘Yesterday, you fool.’ Fella scoffed, grimacing. ‘I’ve never understood why you’re scared shitless around dad. Guess I never will either.’
Nael looked her in the eyes, hurt and fury glowing in his glare. He clenched his jaws, then murmured something and stormed off. He may have thought he grumbled quietly enough, but he also was fuddled enough not to notice; Fella could clearly hear his words.
‘Stupid bitch.’
She sighed and resumed reading.
… hazardous experiments. Especially such as those of Corundum. Reborns could efficiently be substituted by anyone with responsiveness to stones, but results may vary depending on as miniscule a detail as the size or state of refinement of the minerals. Evoking the power of a gemstone and binding it in one place is strenuous and not necessarily humane regarding the supporting soul: last year—in the 97th cycle of the Age of Roses—Professor Waynar found a way to drain faelin from certain gemstones such as kyanite, and bind it in the material world via the help of a stone-responsive individual; reports claim even the relatives of the woman could not recognise the body afterwards …
‘That wasn’t quite nice.’
‘Aunt Medh!’
Fella forgot her resentment with Nael in an instant. The black-haired young woman approached with a weary smile. Fella sprang to her feet, happily embracing Medh. Their hug was tight; only a moment longer than what should have been comfortable. Fella swallowed as her heart began to pound faster.
Her gaze wandered to the man accompanying the woman; he stood still in the shade of the everbeech by the bench, cloak on its head.
‘Who’s he?’
‘No one important,’ Medh smiled and sat, patting the bench next to her. Fella readily took a seat there. Too close. Too far.
‘What are you reading?’
She handed the book to Medh. She inspected it, squinting, quickly flipping through some pages.
‘The capability of human imagination never ceases to amaze me,’ she muttered under her breath.
Fella lifted a brow. That brick of a volume did many things, but “amazing” was not among them.
‘What was this quarrel about?’
‘It’s uh … complicated.’
‘Then let me understand.’
‘In short, Nael is stupid but loved by everyone.’
‘Nael is stupid and loved by everyone. Commonly these are not mutually exclusive,’ smiled Medhraine. Fella chuckled.
‘Don’t hate your brother, even if he thinks too differently. Blood bounds.’
‘What’s the situation outside?’ asked Fella to steer the conversation away from Nael.
‘Usual. Several riots, but the press exaggerate as they always do. Don’t read that filth, Fella.’
‘I’d never—’
‘I know. Good. Anyway, yes, disorder reigns. It is not yet violent. I do believe Bethlorn will be able to prevent the worst. That’s why he’ll need competent allies among the youth.’ Medh deeply looked Fella in the eye. She reached out with her hand and touched the kyanite hanging from Fella’s neck. ‘You’re wearing it.’
‘Of course!’ Fella felt herself blushing. The black-haired woman’s touch that close to her body brought a tingling sense rushing through her entire being.
‘Could you meet mom?’ Fella asked after clearing her throat.
‘We couldn’t speak. She’s been … difficult. Lately.’
‘What?’
‘She opposes Bethlorn.’
‘What? Why would she?’
‘You must understand that this is sudden news for all, and not necessarily a welcomed one. Bryne had been popular.’
‘She will see reason.’
‘If only!’ Medhraine sighed and fixed her gaze on Fella for long moments of silence. ‘It’s not important now, I’ll deal with your mom. But … there is something I want to ask from you. A favour, that is.’
Fella slowly closed the book. ‘A favour?’
‘I need someone who is clever enough to find something for me, but also brave enough to … trespass some rules. I thought …’ Medh shook her head, apologetically patting the girl’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t bother you with my shenanigans. Exams are close and all.’
The woman smiled and rose to leave. ‘I’ll try to keep visiting you, but I scarcely have any time on my hands.’
‘Wait!’ The girl also sprang to her feet. ‘What is that favour?’
‘It could be a dangerous one.’
‘Tell me.’ Fella bit her lips. If Medhraine thought her reluctant, she may end up asking Nael for that favour. They were not that close to each other as Medh was with Fella, not one bit, but knowing Nael, he would be a real prick about Medh choosing him over her.
Medhraine looked around overly suspiciously, then sat back to the bench and urged Fella to do likewise.
‘I need you to sneak into the basement of the Academy,’ Medh whispered. She did not bother with Fella’s widened eyes. ‘There is a gate somewhere down there which leads into the caverns beneath the capital.’
‘Sneak into the basement?’
‘Yes. I need you to find that gate and the caverns beyond. Our task wouldn’t end with that. There’s a special-purpose chamber down there in that cave system. Now, I don’t have the time nor the resources to set out and look for that chamber. If you could do it for me, I would be in your debt. Greatly.’
‘Why do you need to find that chamber? What’s in there?’
‘History. Knowledge. I expect to find something that will greatly aid us in the upcoming ordeals we are to face soon.’
‘If there’s such aid in the possession of the Academy,’ Fella started slowly, ‘why would the professors not reveal it?’
‘I doubt they are aware of the cavern. Besides, if I thought the professors would generously offer me to use their property, I would ask them, not you.’
Fella remained silent. She had never been to the basement before. How she would get down there and navigate through the underground rooms, she had no idea. But Medh was looking at her, imploring, and Fella knew she would proceed with the woman’s request.
‘How should I contact you?’
Medh smile was wide. ‘Write me if you find the gates to the cavern. I’ll let you know what to do then.’
She rose once again, flipping through some pages in the Encyclopaedia. ‘Very helpful, this book of yours. I’ll be on my way. Don’t mention this to anyone, Fella. I beg you.’
‘I won’t.’
‘Good.’ The woman leant close to her, lips at her ear. ‘This will be our dirty little secret.’ Medh kissed the girl right under her ear, left the open book in her lap, then turned to leave. Thrilling cold crept through Fella’s body as she watched Medh exit the gardens with the odd man one step behind.
She could feel the spot burning where Medh’s lips touched her neck. She breathed in, trembling, struggling to smother the intoxication ready to drown her body. Finding a system of caves beneath the academy sounded less troublesome knowing the reward would be Medhraine’s smiling face. She pictured that genuine face, appreciation glinting in her eyes, her lips drawn into a sly smile.
She longed to have Medh’s appreciation. She hoped to have her admiration.
She knew Medh had already had hers.
Fella turned back to the tome and began to read the top of the page where Medh left it open. Her brow furrowed with each sentence read.
… Thus, people are still exasperated by the discrepancy between their benighted convictions on what power certain minerals and gemstones have, and what power they truly possess. Take kyanite, for example. Common folks believe it to be a healing stone, one that nurtures both mental and physical strength. Others think it operates with water. The truth could not be further from that—for a kyanite creates an anti-faelin field, a capsule of true purity which prevents all kinds of sorcery from getting through it. And although being fairly seldom, kyanites do not require much susceptibility for usage; which further proves my theory of …
Fella absent-mindedly reached for her necklace. The morning light glinted on the kyanite hanging from it.
She sat in the gardens for the rest of the morning, dwelling on the gemstone, Medh, and the cavern she spoke about.
----------------------------------------
I shouldn’t be here.
The corridor was empty.
One of the Roses is bound to be there.
Vish turned at the corner. Not a soul was in sight.
They’re standing in front of her door.
She took the following turn and stopped. No one was around. She approached the door at the end of the hallway, reluctant.
They are in there. Someone is. This is a huge mistake.
She reached in one of the pockets of her deep green dress and drew a key from it.
I’m still stunned that Kelyn could secure it. I guess his time with the city guard hadn’t been uneventful.
The key fit into the lock perfectly. Vish’s heart pounded in her throat as she turned the key, and the bolt clicked. She slipped into the room without a second thought and hastily closed the door behind her.
Sumptuosity drowned the room in every corner, every single inch. A tremendous marble fireplace stood on the wall opposite her, embers still smouldering inside, its hearth gilded. An opened bottle of wine and two silver goblets were left on a neat small table in the centre of the room, entirely made of glass. Art hung on the walls, fascinating paintings of highly detailed quality. She knew many of them; there, above that small ornate drawer, du Deux’s popular The Still Woods hung; beyond the couch, Elitz’s Sail depicted the infamous Andorieli pirate—odd choice. But the third painting caught Vish’s attention the most. A portrait.
A man looked back at her from the canvas, a man with short black hair, an angular face, and dark skin so inherent among the people of West Andoriel. His black eyes did not reflect any light; clearly a stylistic knack to make him visibly more threatening, more mysterious.
Jhalaran Brygard the First, High-Emperor of Andoriel, the Kingdoms of Roses.
Medh’s father.
Vish swallowed audibly. Even that tiny sound felt harsh in the still gripping the room. Jhalaran Brygard. The sheer power that name bore could rock the very Mainland itself. No one had ever matched the man’s ambitions. Though the path leading to his ascension was not, in fact, carved with blood, and no executions nor piles of dead followed his coronation. As compared to his predecessors, he was regarded a peaceful Emperor whose primary aim was not to drown the Mainland in blood and continue to absorb the Kingdoms, but to strengthen and tend to the domains the Empire already possessed.
To think an impulsive overnight decision prevented their marriage was insane in hindsight. The sweet beckoning of power always found keen ears in Vish’s case, she never denied that. Just as she would never deny that she hated Andoriel with every ounce of her being, and the thought of governing that ravenous behemoth of a land would make her younger self physically sick. Not that she had grown fond of the Empire now, being older.
With Amrith and Bryne, Vish felt content with the power she wielded. Andoriel was in good hands. Jhalaran deserved the throne. Even if some help was due in claiming it.
I never regretted killing Grandpa anyway.
‘What’re you doing here?’
Vish nearly leapt from her skin. She spun around, only to squeak upon seeing a naked Bethlorn standing in the doorway of one of the rooms, with hands covering his private part. She quickly whirled again, facing away from the Crownprince. Blood buzzed in her ears, she felt her face burn in an instant.
‘What are you doing here?’ she gabbled in a high head voice. She was being confused, even though she understood it perfectly why the Crownprince stayed in Medhraine’s suite without clothes on.
‘That door was locked, Morbane. How did you get in?’
‘It really wasn’t,’ she lied without ceremony. ‘I was looking for the Envoy, she told me we could speak.’
‘I see.’ Vish heard fussing and the flapping of some cloth being unfolded. Bethlorn sounded overly nonchalant which led to the assumption of him being under some influence. ‘I could not even begin to understand what you wanted to do here.’
Vish did not like the boy’s tone, and she reddened further.
‘I could be your mother you cornball!’
Incredulous laugh and a snort came from behind her back.
‘Don’t think too highly of yourself, Morbane. I have no fetish.’
‘Are you dressed already?!’
‘You can turn around.’
Vish did so warily. Bethlorn had wrapped a towel around his waist, and now was sprawling on the sofa, eyes closed, head resting against the wall. Vish tried to sound fairly diplomatic.
‘I did not expect to find you here.’
‘And I didn’t expect to find you here either. Yet here we are.’
‘For what business did you seek out the Envoy?’ asked Vish but regretted immediately. Even she felt her words being ridiculous.
Bethlorn laughed heartily. ‘And here I thought you would know about the birds and the bees!’
Probably more than you do, you ignorant ass.
Vish cleared her throat, tried to recollect her thoughts, but then realised it could have been wiser to use explicit language with Bethlorn. It used to work with Nael. And the Crownprince was still drunk. Or sort of. Perhaps worse.
‘I really hope I don’t have to tell you the consequences of dicking Andoriel’s second daughter without proper preparations.’
‘How you could make something so fun sound so underwhelming is beyond me.’
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
‘Did you make her wear a sunstone? Did you drink the juice of the mournberry?’
‘We are not having this conversation.’
‘You bet. Why didn’t you ask for something from Dairin?’
‘Enough!’ Bethlorn rubbed his temples, then stared at the woman. ‘You want to hear all the details or what?’
Vish grimaced. ‘No. I want to hear that you haven’t linked Amrith to Andoriel anymore than it already is.’
‘I haven’t. Happy? I hope it won’t keep you up at night.’
‘I’m happy.’
Silence. Awkward, intruding silence. Vish felt she needed to hurry. Leave before Medh comes back.
‘So why did you seek out the Envoy?’ Bethlorn asked. ‘Want me to give her a message?’
‘No.’ The response was too quick, willing. Vish bowed her head and continued in a restrained manner. ‘The Envoy must be busy, and I don’t want her to try and rush after me. Best if I don’t meet her at all for now. Don’t even bother with mentioning my visit.’
Bethlorn quietly regarded her for a moment.
‘I inexplicably hate people who pretend there is no conflict when in fact such conflicts make them nervous. Pale.’ He flicked his eyes to Vish’s hands. ‘Twiddling with their fingers.’
‘You see too much. Unnecessarily.’
‘So would you like to wait for her with me here?’
Vish’s silence told more than any words.
‘Thought as much. Go then. She won’t be coming back in the morning, but better be safe than sorry. I’ll forget our encounter today. Whatever you seek, Morbane, you won’t find in this room.’
Vish blinked. ‘You don’t even—’
‘I am not a fool. Even if you believe the contrary. Even if all of Grospan and Amrith believe the contrary. Now leave me alone.’
Vish did so without hesitation.
----------------------------------------
The old hunched man held his monocle in front of his eyes, inspecting the letter thoroughly. So thorough, in fact, that Lorne thought the man might have fallen asleep while doing so.
He politely coughed, but no reaction came.
‘Well?’
The bloke only nodded.
‘Hm-hm.’
Lorne gritted his teeth but forced a smile on his face.
‘Master, if you can’t—’
‘Hm, poppycock,’ the calligrapher waved with his hands.
‘What?’
‘Stop talking, please. I am trying to make out any semblances.’
‘With all due respect, master, even I see much,’ Lorne peeked above the man’s shoulder.
‘That’s because you ordinary folks can’t see shit when it comes to details. Just because they seem similar, doesn’t mean they are the same. You people couldn’t tell a bee from a wasp with that mindset. With all due respect, hm-hm.’
‘I don’t think I understand.’
‘Bet you don’t. This proclamation is an old document about a trade agreement, written and signed by the Envoy. And this … hm-hm, well, whatever this is, is allegedly written by her Highness, too. But there is little semblance between the two. This paper is damaged, the writing is smeared. The official document is, on the other hand, beautifully crafted, with precise, hm-hm, lettering. You see my problem, young man?’
Lorne nodded, though Gods be the witnesses, he understood little. To him, it was evident that the writer of those two texts laying on the weathered desk is one and the same.
The man scratched his nose.
‘I will need time to do an accurate and objective job on these. Hm-hm, you may wait here, or walk around the city in the meantime. Not to sound hostile, but I can’t stand profane people looking at me while working. I meant no offense, hm-hm.’
‘None taken,’ murmured Lorne as he grabbed his coat and left the small office of the calligrapher.
Though chilly, the morning promised a clear and beautiful day to be brought. Lorne stepped out to the street and took a deep breath. The Downtown was not as spotless as the vicinity of the castle, yet Lorne tried to enjoy the freshness of the lingering dawn.
That proved quite futile with the floating smell of piss and shit.
His house guard saluted immediately, then followed him with one step behind as he aimlessly began to wander around.
Everything irritated him. Irritating were the narrow streets and the crowd teeming there despite early hours. Irritating were the plain walls of the newly built terraced houses. Irritating were the people looking out their windows with visible scorn. Irritating was the fact that those people were Andorieli colonisers. Irritating was the fact that he himself had been one of them.
He despised Grospan. He despised Amrith and Andoriel. He had never wanted to leave Remdath in his youth, but he could not have seen that he would meet a girl whose eyes would imprison his soul.
Vish was happy here. That was all that mattered.
‘Lord, we are being followed,’ murmured Sund, the house guard from behind. Lorne swallowed and fought the urge to turn about.
‘How many?’
‘Lone one.’
‘Looks?’
‘Tall and slender, fine clothes.’
‘Let’s take a turn, see if they’re really alone.’
As they kept to sideroads and alleys, Lorne’s hand moved to his sword. He had not used it ever. Not once. He doubted it was a weapon at all and not some decoration that looked authoritative when hanging over the fireplace.
Worries soon subsided. They stopped at the corner of a shady crossroads in the Native district, not far from the Eastern Gates, nearly vacant, to confront the stalker. When the lone figure in black coat came into view, seemingly at a loss, head slowly turning in all directions, Lorne snorted incredulously.
That was hardly a man. Boy, rather.
‘Larkhadan?’
The boy fixed his gaze on Lorne.
‘Avellan. It’s harder to see you alone than finding a virgin girl in Andoriel. And let me tell you, the latter is no small achievement.’
‘Spectacular simile. Perhaps you’d be more successful in places more decent than common whorehouses.’
‘Hm. I’ve never heard someone comparing the High-Castle of Roses to common whorehouses.’ The boy winked. ‘But quite apt, hm? Considering—’
‘What do you want?’ spat Lorne. Sund might have sensed his lord’s mood, for he reached for his sword, face darkened.
Laemar Larkhadan shrugged with a boyish smile.
‘Fancy a walk in private?’
‘We are in private.’
Larkhadan only contemplated the situation for a moment before nodding. ‘Very well. Shall we?’
‘After you.’
The Native district was a pile of wooden dwellings stacked onto one another in different levels of height. Built by Andorieli colonisers, the district was a little younger than the Downtown itself. About five years ago, when the second wave of the settlers’ fleet landed on the shores of Amrith, the native population of the Main Island experienced various levels of oppression among which was their dislodgement from the now-Castle area of the city. Of course, the generous nobleborn had new dwellings built around the hill for them after they had “bought” their properties, even constructed another, second defence wall around Grospan.
If only the group of new buildings had been any better than pigsties.
Lorne was glancing at Sund. The house guard lived with them in the Morbane estate, so he was luckier than most of his people. Lorne still feared it could be unsettling for him to see his kin’s living conditions.
If the guard had any such thoughts, he concealed them well.
‘I’m surprised to see you here,’ said Larkhadan. ‘The Morbane estate is quite far from Grospan. Even if you left the other day the banquet took place … remarkable.’
Laemar made sure to give emphasis to the word Morbane.
‘I often wonder why the youth open their mouths to speak. You talk a lot yet say so little.’
‘Arrogance doesn’t fit you, old man. And I’m hardly part of the youth you seem to regard so high.’
‘I’m more than double your age, boy, you’re youth to me. Ask what you want or let us part ways but make it quick.’
‘Why are you here?’
‘None of your business.’
‘Spectacular. And here I thought you’d be an easier case than Morbane.’
‘What do you want, Laemar?’ looked Lorne at the boy, suddenly feeling exhausted. ‘I’m not in the mood for small talks.’
‘Remember what we were talking about at the estate?’
‘You want to settle in Amrith. Yes.’
‘Mhm. And I meant that. You were also right about the virgins in the castle and the decent places.’
‘I don’t think I’m following you.’
‘I shall wed soon. I’d like to ask for Fella’s hand.’
Lorne burst out in laughter. He could not help but to chuckle at the idea. Seeing the annoyed look on the young man’s face, he quickly recollected himself and cleared his throat, biting his lips.
‘I’m sorry. Truly, I did not mean to mock you. I’m just … let me say I’m perplexed that you hold visible scorn towards the Morbane name, yet you would wed into the family. Afterall your kids would be named Morbane and not Larkhadan.’
‘Ancient Andorieli tradition, I’m aware,’ Laemar murmured. ‘Even so, Fella is not only a Morbane, but an Avellan, too. Most people may not know what that means, but I do.’
Lorne did not like the direction the conversation began to flow.
‘Firstly, It’s not me who you need to convince. Does she even know your ambitions?’
Larkhadan remained silent. Lorne snorted.
‘I guessed so. I do not care about any of your petty nobleborn political schemes. If my daughter says she would like to wed you … I would certainly have my doubts, but I’d let it be so. No one but she has the right to decide.’
Laemar gave Lorne the side-eye, but the man continued without bothering about it much. ‘Secondly, she would tear you apart. Again, I don’t mean to offend you. You are simply not the partner she needs nor the one she would relish. That’d be a fruitless marriage.’
‘You don’t even give me a chance.’
‘For I don’t care. If she gives you a chance, then good for you. Otherwise, it’s simply not my business.’
‘You couldn’t be further from being an Andorieli.’
‘You can’t imagine how big of a compliment that was.’
They continued to walk in silence, slowly reaching the outskirts of the Native district. Just when Lorne was about to ask Laemar whether he wanted anything else to say, the young man stopped and turned to him.
‘So, you’re here only because Morbane’s here too. Right?’
The kid looked annoyed and struggled to hide it. Lorne shrugged.
‘I don’t think my business is of any concern for you.’
‘It may be. It very well may be.’
Laemar hands disappeared under his coat, pulling out two thin masks, the kind the nobleborn wore for masquerades in Andoriel. He offered one to Lorne.
‘Isn’t it a bit early for a ball?’ the man asked, truly astonished.
‘Come on. Take it. I’ll show you something.’
Seeing Lorne’s reluctance, the boy shook the mask and whispered, ‘I have information on your queen.’
Lorne stared at Laemar until he quietly added, ‘Both of your queens.’
Snatching the mask from the boy’s hands, Lorne tried to think through the possible outcomes of this encounter. Both queens. Had this brat wanted to talk about Alysia, he would have said our queens.
That only meant that he had something about Malady.
‘Good,’ Laemar nodded when Lorne put away the mask. He followed suit, then backed away a step. ‘Wander around the district but don’t make it suspicious. We’ll meet in half an hour, seek the Serpent’s Head. That’s on Leo’s Street.’
‘It’s still in the Native district, isn’t it?’
‘Impressive. It is. Put on the mask when you near the place. I hope you can make it without guidance?’
‘I’ll manage.’
‘Good. The guard stays.’
‘No, he won’t.’
‘Yes, he will. With all due respect, you are the only imbecile who hired natives into their house. People would immediately know you are nearby when they see him around. Don’t bother with having him come back. I can walk you home if you don’t feel safe in this part of town.’ He squinted at Sund. ‘I’d understand. I don’t, either.’
With that, Laemar turned and stormed off. Lorne blinked.
‘I can blend in if you require me so, Lord.’
Sund was indifferent, his dark face unreadable. Lorne sighed.
‘This lad dances with trouble, I expect no less this time. Yet I don’t want to bring unwanted attention to you. Thank you Sund, but I’ll manage.’
‘Shall I get back to the castle?’
‘You …’ Lorne began, thinking of the calligrapher and the letter; he knew not when Laemar’s petty game would finish, and the thought of wandering alone in Grospan at nighttime did not sound inviting. Not alone, with Laemar, he corrected himself.
Chances did not seem any better that way, either.
‘You may return, yes,’ he said finally. I shouldn’t be such a coward not to walk on my own. Sund deserves rest anyway. ‘Find Mubba and drink a glass of wine, or something. We shan’t have much to do in the next days.’
‘Lord,’ he bowed his head, then left Lorne alone.
And thus Lorne began another painful span of wandering in the native district, slowly closing in to Leo’s streets. Boredom gnawed at him to an extent where his face visibly lit up when he finally caught sight of the sign depicting a snake wreathing around a tankard.
He quickly put on the mask, glanced about, and when he was confident enough, with a steady pace, he headed to the entrance of the tavern. He did not know much about the place except that it had long been a den of students from the academy, a lair for arrent drunkards and rascals. Laemar, of course, was nowhere.
Just after he made the decision and was about to open the door of the Serpent’s Head, a noisy rabble stomped outside the tavern, one young lad bumping into Lorne so hard he nearly lost his balance and fell. He briskly adjusted his mask and took a step back.
‘Watch your step!’ the young lad snorted. Lorne met his gaze and froze.
‘Nael?’ he whispered.
His son lifted a brow and tilted his head. Lorne had never seen that wry and loathsome expression on his features.
‘Do I know you?’ he stepped forward. ‘Take off your mask if you want to talk, you degene—’
‘Leave it, king,’ a girl hushed Nael by his side. Lorne did not like the way her hands clasped his son’s waist. ‘Let’s get back.’
Nael nodded, his hostility faded in an instant, as if he had already forgotten Lorne’s presence. Whooping and scuffling, the mob of youngsters made their way down Leo’s Street, leaving Lorne in utter confusion—and worry. He blinked, stood there like a stump. It was no sin to drink with classmates. Even if it was well in the morning. But that face, he did not like that, not one bit. Nael was not taught to behave in condescending ways with the people of the streets. And king? Lorne wondered what Nael would think if he knew it was his father he—
‘Don’t let it get you, good sir,’ sounded a quiet, mature voice from the doorway. A girl, no older than Fella, stood there, smiling in a way that made Lorne uncomfortable. Her doll-like face was in sharp contrast with her ripe voice. ‘Ah, master Fox! Splendid! Master Gull had already informed me about your coming. If you’d be so kind and follow me.’
The girl turned without waiting to see Lorne’s response, thus Lorne, confused, followed her into the tavern, but not before taking a glance at Nael’s group in the distance. Need to talk with the boy.
The Serpent’s Head was one spacious room, with no windows adorning the walls—thus, the stench of smoke and sweat slapped Lorne, suffocating him as soon as he stepped over the threshold. The absence of natural light made the room look like a common bawdy house; candles and red lanterns hung all over the place, smoke obscured vision across the room.
Lorne dutifully followed the young maid, without glancing at the sides too much. He did not wish to be recognised, and he did not wish to recognise others by chance either. Not many were present at the tables at this hour, though the ones of whom he could catch a glimpse followed him along with their gaze with evident malice on their faces. Many of them were natives to Amrith.
The girl went past the counter, treading lightly, her head tilting left and right, as if following a tune only she could hear. She stepped before a long staircase leading downwards and turned to face Lorne.
‘The others are down.’ That unnatural, mature voice again. ‘Go straight after you reach downstairs and do not stop until you see the door at the end of the corridor. No one shall disturb you, provided you don’t disturb anyone.’ She smiled, but to Lorne it was more like a smirk. ‘Have fun, good sir.’
Lorne cleared his throat and bowed his head. ‘Thank you, m’lady.’
A throaty laugh came from the maiden. ‘I’m no lady.’
‘Certainly,’ swallowed Lorne, and he briskly descended the stairs.
Noises of the upper world soon died behind him, only to give way to a most colourful of racket coming from below. Smashing and clattering, swearing and cheers reverberated from the narrow walls. Whispers and lecherous moans surrounded Lorne, as if coming from the very walls.
He stopped briefly at the bottom; a labyrinth of corridors wound into all directions, in the most ridiculous angles. Any Temdathean architects, even the apprentices would have fled in terror by the sight of it. Lorne did not think much, he chose the corridor he was facing, and quickly walked past several doorways. Often it was only a thin curtain hanging in the place of a door, but Lorne fought the urge of peeking into these rooms, mainly owing to the wide range of groans and growls emanating from them.
At the end of the corridor stood two men, guarding a heavy door. They both wore masks similar to Lorne’s. While his depicted an animal, a fox, theirs were plain, simple papers painted in some dark colours. Lorne stopped before them and harrumphed. Their indifferent gaze promised no easy way in.
‘Greetings. I am here on behalf of Laemar Larkhadan. If I’m not mistaken, my companions are waiting for me.’
As soon as Laemar’s name was spoken, the bigger of the guards straightened suddenly. Even his mask could not conceal his eyes going wide.
‘Sir,’ he whispered, ‘no names here. For everyone’s sake, please, no names.’
Lorne awkwardly nodded after the two men opened the door and gestured him to move inside. As soon as he got into the room, the door was shut close behind him. Inside, he was met with the most intriguing of bands.
A group of six people were leaning over a small round table, all of them wearing animal masks. Lorne immediately recognised Laemar and his gull-mask. Others wore goat, lion, snake, bull, and boar masks. Lorne felt anxious when all the gazes fell on him, but Laemar quickly spoke:
‘Seems like our highly esteemed master Fox has finally arrived.’
‘Come, friend. If Gull speaks the truth of you, we will see eye to eye in an instant.’
Bull was speaking, but to Lorne it was an unfamiliar voice. He reluctantly approached the table and cleared his throat.
‘I must say, I do not know why I am here.’
‘You’ll see it in a moment,’ said the man on his left, Goat. But Lorne knew this voice; Khora of Anlorn.
‘Let me have him enlightened, master Goat,’ said Laemar, but Khora shook his head.
‘Before that, I’d like to go ahead and enlighten him on some matters myself.’ He turned to Lorne, his dark eyes glinting with dead seriousness under his goat-faced mask. ‘Master Fox, I need you to take a vow. An oath to our cause—’
‘Is it really nece—’ began Laemar, but Khora raised his voice.
‘It is, master Gull. Take an oath, master Fox, vow that no one shall be told of our meetings on your behalf.’
‘I … swear I shall tell no one of whatever transpires here.’
‘No one, master Fox.’ Khora looked Lorne hard in the eyes. ‘That also includes your highly esteemed wife.’
‘No one. I understand, Khora, no need to—’
His sentence died in the wake of the forceful slap in his face. He felt his skin burning, tears brimmed her eyes, and he needed to fix his mask once again. Khora was massaging his palms.
‘No names, Avellan. No fucking names.’
‘Understood, goat.’ Lorne tensed the muscles in his jaws, his tongue flicked across his upper teeth. This man had strength.
‘Apologies for this little scene, gentlemen,’ Laemar said. Gull, Lorne quickly corrected himself in thought. ‘I should have informed him on the basics before. But let us get back to track and draft the agenda of our meeting today.’
‘Fuck the agenda,’ growled Bull. ‘We finally have a Temdathean in our ranks.’ With that, he turned to Lorne. ‘Queen Alysia is in Temdath. We have evidence and proof that she is held hostage there. One of our reports talks about her death. Do you have any sort of connection, of any nature, to Queen Malady, master Fox?’
Reports about Queen Alysia’s death? That must be a vile joke.
‘I assure you I have none,’ he said slowly. ‘Haven’t had since I left Temdath for good.’
‘We did not think you’d have.’ Snake spoke with a raspy, silent voice. Judging by his accent, he must have been native. ‘But we needed to know. Apologies.’
‘We have reason to think Malady doesn’t let Alysia leave the kingdom,’ said Lion. ‘As you might have figured it out by now, the city is upset about Bethlorn. Bryne is unreachable, Reylynn hasn’t been seen either. It is imperative that we find a solution to Bethlorn’s de facto reign.’
‘Why am I here?’ demanded Lorne. ‘I play no role in Amrith’s politics.’
‘Except you do,’ Boar spoke. He ran through his fingers in his long, black-dyed hair. His accent was also telling about his native origins. ‘Being the husband of—’
‘No names!’ Goat hissed.
‘Master Gull told us you are not quite fond of our new ruler,’ Snake leant in. ‘We need trustworthy representatives who may be able to aid our cause.’
‘Which is?’
‘To find an alternative to Amrith’s future, you fool!’ Goat clenched his fists. ‘Before that dog of a prince sells our kingdom to Andoriel!’
‘Truth be told, this …’ Gull was searching for the words for a moment, ‘conclave has minor dissent on the hows and whys but aptly put, master Goat. We all agree that we need change.’
‘But …’ Lorne grew suspicious. It was known that the Twins of Larkhadan were still close to Andoriel, while Khora despised everything that came from the Empire. How are these working together now? ‘Why is it me then and not my wife? She actually knows what she’s doing.’
‘Exactly. That is the problem.’
‘Master Lion is a bit terse, but he’s right. All of us admire your wife for her perseverance.’ Gull shifted uncomfortably, but Snake continued. ‘Yet she has unvarnished scorn towards certain people of authority from Andoriel. We fear this may cloud her judgement in some ways, and we wish not to act upon treacherous emotions.’
‘Besides, she has always loved pulling the strings,’ Bull added plainly. ‘She could find a way to place herself in the heart of power.’
Lorne found himself shaking, so he crossed his arms in front of his chest. ‘I won’t aid any conspiracies against my wife. I—’
‘No one asks you to,’ hurried Snake with the reply. ‘Our goal is not to harm Lady … your lady. Master Goat, if I may ask you.’
‘Here.’
Goat pulled out a scroll, seal broken, and handed it to Lorne. He took it, unfolding.
‘What is this?’
‘Report from a man of mine. Anlornian, in Temdath.’
‘Are you a spymaster, Goat?’
‘I am what my country demands me to be.’
Lorne quickly scanned through the text; he soon looked up from it.
‘Publicly executing?!’ he exclaimed and read the passage again to be sure that his mind was not playing tricks with him.
‘We don’t need to panic. This is the only report that mentions Alysia’s death, though incredulous as it might be, the others are equally grim.’
‘How old is this letter?’
‘Arrived yesterday,’ murmured Lion. ‘The crow delivering it was also carrying a jade, but even then, it must have taken a week or more to get it here.’
Lorne stared at the report. According to whomever it was written by, Queen Alysia was to be publicly beheaded at the Minstrel’s Square in Handerlon, in three days, for an attempted assault at the Royal family. If the letter travelled for a week, they had already been late to act. The capital of Temdath was thousands of miles anyway.
Why am I here?
‘Attempted assault? This is bullshit, pardon me for my language.’
‘We think so, too,’ Gull nodded. ‘But the fact is that Queen Alysia hasn’t been seen around Handerlon for weeks. Something is happening.’
‘We have no capacity to pack and rush for Temdath.’ Bull was walking up and down by the table. ‘And we don’t have enough soldiers.’
‘For all we know, it’s already all too late,’ Lorne observed, whispering, feeling suddenly powerless. A sudden urge to run away from the small chamber struck him, but he forced his hands to put down the report and grab the edge of the table. ‘How did it come to this?’
‘Let’s focus on solutions, gentlemen,’ Snake said, his arm reaching into a pocket of his jacket. ‘Master Fox. Blood binds.’
Lorne felt his stomach churning upon those words.
‘Isn’t that right?’ Goat crossed his arms. ‘You are Ave … you are who you are.’
‘What are you trying to imply?’
‘Speak with her.’ Snake pulled a small pouch from his pocket, pouring its content to the table. Several small gemstones clattered across its surface. A handful of blue topaz.
‘How did you—’
‘The Arcanist got back to the city a few days ago. She was gracious enough to provide us with the stones.’
‘Speak with Malady.’ Laemar … Gull fixed his gaze on Lorne. ‘Blood binds. Buy us time. Give us proof that Alysia is alive and well. Gods, forge something if that’s not the case, but give us something so that we can calm the people. So that we may figure out how to continue.’
Lorne’s breathing quickened, his fingers twitched, even his toes flexed; then, with one single sigh, he relaxed, as if taken on a cloak of tranquillity. With complete resignation, he nodded, stepped closer to the table, and pinched a topaz between his index finger and thumb, lifting it to his eyes.
‘Set up the Mirror, then,’ he said calmly, though his voice did tremble. ‘I’ll see what I can do for your … for our cause.’
Little less than twenty-five years had passed since he left Temdath. He did miss his home. He had no idea what fate befell on his family. Perhaps it was time to reminisce. Perhaps it was time to return, at least figuratively, to see one particular member of his family.
After all, blood binds.