Day five. No welcome message to be seen.
Ari rubbed the sleep from her eyes and waited for a quest completion notification. She thought it’d come last night, when she’d allowed Mildred to say her goodbyes to Madame Lucretia, when she’d delivered her to Sir Edwin, hair damp and re-braided, story smooth and reshaped, sanding away all corners of colluding with the other attendants and all references to another world.
It should have come to mark a milestone. Something as solid as concrete should have fallen out of the sky to tell her that she’d achieved something, that she’d selected the right path. But the bustle in the pantry and the servant’s hall was the only thing that greeted her.
How could she live through these moments when the only measure was time?
*
She braved another visit to La Petite Mort, guards up against Rose’s piercing stares, and gained an agreement from Madame Lucretia for the purchase of Master Keatings’s bathhouse, but not a reveal of Madame Lucretia’s real name back in their original world: a reveal that might unravel the barely cordial relationship they’d established.
Still, the notification didn’t come.
She begged Natty for a fraction of her skill with words. Together, they crafted all their responses to the children’s wishes, even to Isabel, 8, Bleche, next to the Frog Bridge.
Still, the notification didn’t come.
She spent a sunny afternoon, bleeding into evening, playing with the winged contraption that Natty was starting to build into a new jester’s hat with fifty percent more showbiz.
Still, the notification didn’t come. Perhaps it never would, leaving her in a liminal space that she could make a home: where she didn’t have to let Mildred’s comment lead her to peel back layers behind Hesperus’s words, where she could lie to herself for as long as she wanted.
*
She was in the courtyard, letting Sir Beren praise her for how much she’d progressed in a single lesson on swordsmanship, when a royal messenger tumbled through the gates.
‘A summon from His Majesty, the King!’
~That would come through the cardinal, remember?~
The messenger cleared his throat and straightened his belt. ‘As it is soon to be Midwinter, His Majesty wishes to partake in the celebratory atmosphere by announcing the prize for his Great Tournament!’
She waited, wondering if there’d be gold, titles, or both, but the messenger knelt in silence. ‘Well?’
‘You are summoned to the announcement, my lady.’
Even with the lack of modern technology, this could have been a message instead of a meeting. She gripped her Tasrine sword tighter. The previous face-to-face with Leolin hadn’t exactly gone well.
‘I presume I have also been summoned.’
She jumped at Duke Aquilon’s voice. He hadn’t been anywhere in their vicinity, had he? Yet here he was, not a hair out of place, not a bead of sweat upon his forehead.
‘O… Of course, Your Grace. Of course! Any knights wishing to take part in the tournament may also attend. Please gather the relevant parties in this manor, and I shall lead the way.’
Gather they did. Claribel’s chambermaids flitted around, mopping her brows, decorating her neck with gems too precious to weather a training session. By the time she arrived at the gates with a freshly-pinned gown in an inky, purplish blue that was completely different from the other cobalt blue gown she’d worn to the other summoning, she–
~Auricula purple. You’re good at plants, aren’t you. Get it right.~
…in an auricula purple, named after the flowers from the Primula genus, also known as mountain cowslips, which were not particularly toxic to human beings, therefore of little interest, she took her place next to Duke Aquilon, trailed by Sir Beren, Sir Dagon and her guards.
This time, no crowd streamed towards the City Square with them. They went past people busy nailing mistletoe over their doors. One lady wrestled her pig out of their path, past the place that Tristram’s body once laid, answering to the curse that had consumed him, waiting for someone to untangle the mystery, yearning for the river to claim him.
This time, there were no whispers among the royal guards at the palace gate. They simply gave a salute that looks sloppy compared to the discipline that’d been instilled into the attendants and guards at La Petite Mort.
A wooden stage had been set up next to the gardens where she’d found Sir Aurelius entangled with Lady Jehanne. He was present today, standing bolt-straight next to the stage along with a troop of royal guards that he led, his golden breastplate gleaming under the sun, and his green and white cape fluttering in the wind, held together with golden clasps. Now that Ari could see him up close again in bright daylight, she couldn’t help but lament that it was a proper waste to plaster a face like that onto a backstabbing sort of man.
She scanned the seated nobles for a sign of Lady Jehanne, but couldn’t look past a lady with an updo more shocking that it made the winged contraption that Natty had been working on look like child’s play. More braids than any human head could grow pointed skywards, moulded into a mountain of blonde locks. A red liquid that looked far too much like real blood streamed from the top of that mountain, where only the hilt of a sword peeked through. Rows of diamonds glistened through the mountain of hair, some stained by blood, just like the red silks near the neck of her gown, but the lady didn’t seem to care.
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When she met Ari’s gaze, she merely rolled her eyes and clicked at the man next to her, because anything more vigorous would probably send the whole mountain toppling.
The man made his way in front of them and bowed. ‘Your Grace, my lady, good sirs, Lady Oriana wishes to bid you good day, and to recommend that no one takes a seat behind her, as their view will be heavily restricted by her hair.’
‘I can see that with my own two eyes,’ said Duke Aquilon. ‘What is it supposed to mean?’
The man merely shrugged and returned to Lady Oriana’s side.
‘The things that that child would do for attention…’ he muttered.
‘It is a representation of Susu, I believe,’ said Claribel, just loud enough for Lady Oriana to hear as they took a seat opposite from her. ‘“You shall know the next Child, for they will be the one to draw Levia’s sun-forged Sword of Justice from the bleeding stone.” I believe Lady Oriana wishes to remind us that although the dames cannot participate in the Great Tournament due to His Majesty’s belief that they are not fit for fighting, Susu, the Child of War, was a dame.’
The smallest of smiles played across Lady Oriana’s lips, all human this time.
Before she could ask Claribel how she’d understood Lady Oriana’s meaning so well, Sir Edwin eased himself into the seat next to hers, leading Sir Beren out of his way, and whispered, ‘Before you hear it from anyone else, you should know that she’s escaped.’
She didn’t need to ask who.
‘Looks like Tristram had been right to approach her to arrange Malory’s escape. His Majesty is… not pleased. That’s why there’s a slight delay to his announcement today. If I ever think upon myself that the wait is not filled with enough excitement without a bard, I shall take another glance at Lady Oriana’s… do we call that her hair or her sword? The temptation to be the one to pull it from the supposed stone is too great to resist. I am glad that I am seated too far from her to give in to my worst instincts. Let me try and follow up on one of my better instincts instead. My lady, do you believe your part in Tristram’s murder to be over, now that you’ve delivered the culprit to me?’
Here it was. The budding shoots that promised her days of mindless training sessions with Sir Beren and Sir Dagon withered, because it was winter after all.
‘I am the coroner. It’s not over until I know who gets the gold.’ Sir Edwin lowered his voice further, until she had to lean in to catch his words. ‘Though I have kept the original item out of harm’s way, there is still a record of “Lady Claribel’s Certificate of Marriage” being logged as an item found on the body. Someone needs to explain that. Ideally you. Soon. After which I shall gladly hand the title, the land and the gold to Lord Coell. I’m sure he’d be very pleased to think upon it and share those thoughts with the world. I look forward to a treatise on how little money matters in the human world, for it is an illusion.’
Of course. That was what she’d forgotten. Finding the murderer was never truly the end goal. Distributing the money was never simply the aftermath. But how had Claribel forgotten it too?
Claribel wasn’t even looking at them, wasn’t even listening to their conversation. Her gaze remained transfixed in Lady Oriana’s direction: understandable, except her focus seemed too far away, like her thoughts, buried in another world.
Only a blast from a line of over-long trumpets – the word buisines popped into her mind – snapped Claribel out of her reverie. ‘Their Majesties, The King and The Queen!’
Leolin stomped onto the stage, leaving Rosalind scrambling to keep up in her heavy, gold-embroidered velvet gown. A court jester trailed behind, juggling seven leather balls as she ran, trying to lighten the mood that the king had dragged into the gardens.
‘If only your dear fool was here instead,’ Sir Edwin leaned over to lament.
‘That’s enough, Nichola,’ Leolin hissed, making the balls tumble, one by one. Two landed in front of Lady Oriana.
With a swoosh, she drew the bloodied sword from her head and skewered them. The fake blood splattered as her braids tumbled down, dripping down her face and the clothes of several lords unlucky enough to be sitting near her.
‘Lady Oriana!’
‘My apologies,’ she said, dabbing her own face with a reddening silk handkerchief. A line smeared across her lips, like smudged lipstick. ‘House Auster shall pay for a replacement for all clothing that I have soiled. It can’t be helped that I have a reflex to strike whenever I am exposed to a pair of balls.’
‘Is this… real blood?’ said a young lord with dark, green-tinted curls and a doublet to match, both splattered with red.
‘Ugh. As disappointing to you as it must be, I must let you know that it is not mine. I simply collected some when we sawed off a pig’s head this morning. A wonderful way to start the day, if you ask me. Highly recommended.’
Perhaps shock was a good cure for anger, for there was hardly a trace of it left in Leolin’s voice when he cleared his throat and cried, ‘I hereby announce the prize for winning the greatest tournament that Ventinon, no, the world will ever see, which shall hereby be known as King Leolin’s Great Tournament!’
‘No matter how many crowns he’s promising this year, I’m not going to take part,’ Sir Edwin whispered again. ‘I stand with the dames, as Lady Oriana is so… dramatically reminding us. My convictions are worth more than gold.’
Leolin clapped his hands together, sending a troop of royal guards to surround the stage, swords drawn. Sir Aurelius took his position right next to the king, ready to strike down anyone who dared take a step towards him as the announcement rang out.
‘The prize shall be an untouched Eye of Una!’
With a flourish, Rosalind drew out a green silken parcel. She unwrapped it layer by layer, letting the green give way to silver, then gold. Finally, it peeled back to reveal an eye-sized gem. Dazzling was the only way to describe it, as if it was eating up then shooting out light from the sun and stars, but it was no diamond. The world seemed to warp around it, making its edges ripple.
Ari understood now why the announcement had to be in person. She didn’t need a prompt to fall from the sky to remember that this item was magic. This item could grant her a wish, could give her her own body back, and it wasn’t even a journey away.
~But how?~ Claribel was firmly back in this world now. ~I thought the only one still untouched and unwished-upon that had been reaped from Lady Una was in the hands of the Pope.~
~Yes… It has to be. Just look at it.~
‘Right. I shall be taking part after all,’ said Sir Edwin. ‘Don’t know what I was thinking before. Better go train. My lady, considering our close relations over Tristram’s tragic case, do you think you could help me perfect some wind mage techniques?’
~What shall we do? We can’t enter the tournament, and I doubt that the victor would be willing to gift it to us. Not even if it’s Sir Beren or Sir Dagon.~
===Connecting to Multiplayer Mode===
===Free For All: In this mode, you will go head-to-head with others to achieve the Quest Objective. First one wins.===
~This… This has never happened before.~
===Quest Objective: to obtain [Leolin’s Eye of Una]===
The buisines blasted another tune, this time joined by a crash of cymbals and drums, as a soaring choir streamed into the garden and weaved together a familiar tune:
‘O Fortuna
velut luna
statu variabilis,
semper crescis
aut decrescis…’