>
>
> In the feast’s silence ‘Claret’ gaits softly
>
> Fakes at sorrow then builds up a sigh
>
> In dance’s steps her scent catches yer eye
>
> Whispers o’ morrow, her laughter… oh so courtly
>
>
>
> Hoary eclogues may well whisper epiphany
>
> When Aurora’s squally frigid tints shroud a bilk,
>
> Smelling o’ wild yarrow & Goddess’ milk
>
> Shall drip over her Daughter’s gathered honey
>
>
>
> (…)
>
> Thy breath alike a delicate gale
>
> Hides in dawn’s breeze ‘n twilight’s quail
>
> For yer like no other
>
> Sheer bodice ‘n wicked touch of Oras dwale
>
> Blatantly concealed tease behind a veil
>
> Thy Goddess has a lover
>
>
>
>
>
> No other
>
> (Goddess has a lover)
>
> Sir Dominique Valwarin,
>
> The Carmine Bard.
>
> Born 45 NC in Jelin, the Crabs (Duchy of Tollor)
>
> – Died 109 NC in Eplas, Altarinport (Duchy of Raoz)
>
> (Here the famed song in full including its 2nd less celebrated stanza)
>
>
>
> ----------------------------------------
>
> -Yarrow. Somewhat medicinal plant carried by Iliad’s hero Achilles to treat soldiers’ wounds.
>
> -Dwale. Dangerous concoction. Usually containing white poppy seeds, henbane, mandrake when used as a controversial anesthetic or with the addition of ‘deadly Nightshade’ (Belladona) as highly effective poison for livestock and humans. In Lorian Mythology it is hinted Naossis brought a vial of it with her (or something similar) in order to poison her father Abrakas in the event she failed to seduce him. In the Imperial version (from Abrakas priests) of the same incident the concoction is to be used benignly to lower Abrakas’ inhibitions. The Temple’s assassins (Naossis) are rumored to have used it since antiquity to get rid of their enemies.
>
>
>
> -Bilk. Cheat, deceive, evade or defraud.
>
> -Eclogue. Artistically coarse verses, a bucolic poem or song. Made famous by the Roman poet Publius Vergilius Maro (commonly known by the moniker Virgil)
>
>
-
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Lucius Alden,
‘Bloody Tiger’
Lord Lucius Aldenus the third,
Praetor Maximus,
Legatus ‘Omnis Legionis’
King Lucius III
Scorned Hearts
Part IV
-Milk & Honey-
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
> Young Alistair chuckled –a warmth-inducing sound- upon hearing his sister Vacia cry and the little girl stopped as if shamed to silence to look at her brother. Aw, she looks at you sweetie, Monica thought and smiled at her daughter. She signed for Licinia to take them at the small corner table. The large desk near the two large windows of her quarters occupied by Percy’s nicely wrapped up wooden boxes and the closed wicker basket.
>
> “Your grace,” Percy said with another bow of the head after he finished setting up the mannequin stands. “I have prepared everything to your specifications. If I may open the boxes?”
>
> “Go ahead Mister Percy,” Monica kept her attention on Vita. She didn’t expect to see her again so soon. “Show us your work.”
>
> “I have here the four spring dresses. Each dedicated to one of the main colors while embracing the whole spectrum,” Percy started carefully getting everything out. “Vita help me out here if you please dear.”
>
> “They are lovely your highness,” Licinia commented from the small table taking her eyes from the twins and Monica nodded with a glance at the stiffly watching from the door Sir Flavian Gregor.
>
> “What does Sir Gregor think?” Monica teased and the knight grimaced not expecting the query.
>
> “The colors are vibrant Ma’am,” he replied after clearing his throat.
>
> “The colors are vibrant for spring is the blooming season,” a smiling Monica elucidated with a shake of her head. “But I have a black pair of gloves I want to wear. Mister Percy show us the summer dresses.”
>
> “I stitched a longer hem to the sheer silk you liked your grace,” Percy replied opening another large box with the help of Vita.
>
> “Which color?” Monica asked checking the quality of the first four dresses, now hanging on the stands, one after the other.
>
> “Red, cream, black and white. I brought everything,” Percy said and turned to his assistant. “Here it is. Umm, No it’s too delicate, let me take it out.”
>
> “Is it sufficiently long?” Monica teased. “We don’t want the royal ankles on full display right Sir Gregor?”
>
> “No Ma’am,” the knight replied.
>
> Monica raised the tip of her left shoe and placed it on a small leg rest stool. “There’s a pair of shoes we’d like to check on though alongside that red dress and we dread stepping behind the folding screen.”
>
> “I’ll step outside your grace,” Sir Gregor informed her.
>
> “We’ll appreciate your sacrifice Sir Gregor.”
>
> “Your grace if I may,” Percy started but Monica cut him off with a brisk gesture.
>
> “Just turn around Mister Percy. Stare at my portrait for a while and make chaste thoughts,” she ordered and then stared at Vita’s face. “The girls can sufficiently help us.”
>
>
>
> “Your highness. I humbly beg for your forgiveness,” Percy tried again after some time sounding terribly discomforted. “If it is possible to be excused I would greatly appreciate it. Alas I have a late night appointment forced upon me and Vita assured Master Salonius she can finish up. Of course if my physical presence is required here, I shall dutifully remain without further troubling you grace.”
>
> Oh Goddess.
>
> You’ve troubled us already!
>
> “Who is it for?” Monica asked letting her breath out for Licinia to pull at the strings of her corset.
>
> “Mayor Messor’s daughter is getting married this summer,” Percy elucidated.
>
> “Why the secrecy?” The Queen asked with a sigh. “Is she pregnant?”
>
> It was common knowledge in the palace that the Mayor’s young daughter was sleeping around.
>
> “I couldn’t in good consciousness answer your Grace.”
>
> “What if we ordered you? Would that offer some relief?”
>
> “Then I would be inclined to agree with your grace’s assessment.”
>
> Monica shook her head and then stared at herself in the mirror draped in the silk red dress.
>
> Hmm.
>
> That’s too tight on the boobies. Guess I could always scissor the front for ventilation?
>
> “You are dismissed Mister Percy,” she finally murmured and waited for the manager of ‘Salonius Emporium’ to depart. She had spotted Vita examining her gloves behind her back through the mirror. “That’s tight enough. We can barely breathe,” Monica told Licinia. “Return to the twins.”
>
> “I have my eyes on them your highness,” Licinia assured her.
>
> “That was quiet evident. While commendable you almost broke our poor ribs Licinia,” Monica retorted and turned to Vita. “They are from Wetull.”
>
> “What type of leather ma’am? They look like adventurer’s gloves,” Vita asked making fun of Sir Gregor’s accent. Monica narrowed her eyes.
>
> “It’s the King’s gift,” she informed her former lover and Vita blinked seemingly surprised.
>
> “The dry spell is over?” Vita asked forgoing decorum and tossed the gloves on a sculpted vanity table to step closer. A whiff of vanilla, peppermint and sandalwood teased the Queen’s nostrils.
>
> Monica licked her lightly painted lips nervously keeping sight of Licinia out of the corner of her eye. She tasted bitter cherry on her tongue. “Show me those heeled sandals again,” Monica ordered the smiling Vita hoarsely and grabbed her arm above the elbow. Monica guided the former priestess near the last of the boxes before she released her.
>
> “I didn’t want to make you mad. We’re soulmates,” Vita whispered opening the expensive and decorated box. “Your absence is eating me—”
>
> Stop it.
>
> “Cherish the memories,” Monica hissed suddenly very conscious of their surroundings. “I’m no longer that teenager Vita.”
>
> “You’re lying,” she argued and reached for her hand. “I can sense it in your stare. You are living a nightmare. This isn’t what you dreamed.”
>
> Monica caught Vita’s hand first and dug lacquered nails in the soft inside of the priestess’ wrist just over the veins. “My children are princes’ and dreams never weighted more than duty to a Holt.”
>
> Vita stepped back with a gasp of pain holding her cut wrist.
>
> “You’ll throw your father’s words at me? This is your husband’s indoctrination, don’t you see? His gift has another’s woman’s name written on it,” she hissed sounding hurt and angry. “He’ll never love you like I do, treasure and worship you for hours. Give ye the touch your soul craves. You’re naught but a small cog in a man’s political covenant—”
>
> “I’m the Queen of Regia,” an angry Monica stopped her midsentence barely managing to control her voice. Some of the things Vita had said were hurtful, even mean but also true in a sense. “You’ll show us proper respect.”
>
> “I brought a gift for your birthday,” Vita murmured raspingly and pursed her lips as if in considerable turmoil. Have I hurt her so much? Monica wondered. Vita pointed at the wicker basket. “Goddess’ milk and the daughter’s honey.”
>
> Monica took a deep breath to calm her nerves. The new silk dress constricting despite it been more suitable for summer. Well, you couldn’t tell it is, as she could feel the heat rising in her belly and the flush spreading on her cheeks.
>
> “Is it fresh from a young cow?” She rustled looking at Vita getting the glass bottle out and then reaching for the smaller glass vase with the amber-colored honey.
>
> “Straight from the dairy market and golden thyme honey from the island I had kept for a special occasion,” Vita said and cracked open the glass lid breaking the freshly applied wax seal. “You should taste it,” she added huskily with a side glance.
>
> It was tempting.
>
> The twins chuckled behind her and Licinia’s voice followed breaking the moment.
>
> “It’s getting rather late,” Monica said instead and took a step back. “You should go before it gets too dark to see your way.”
>
> “Our Goddess shall guide me in silence,” Vita replied tensely and placed the lid down next to the opened vase with shaking hands. “To her garden’s crystal clear waters.”
>
> Monica sighed seeing her obvious pain and discomfort. “I’ll talk to the Augusta or Drusilla if I can’t reach her. She’ll take you back again if I insist. Flavia is like a mother to Drusilla. You two were like real sisters. No? You won’t be left alone.”
>
> “Then I bid my farewell to our Queen,” Vita said a little too formally and bowed her blond head deeply.
>
> “Have a serene evening Vita,” Monica replied and watched her for a while until she walked out of the Queen’s quarters. The door left open from Sir Gregor.
>
> “He’s restless,” a flushed Licinia griped approaching with Alistair that pulled at her curls with both hands. The Cartagen maiden had a comely freckled face and light-blue eyes. Monica pursed her mouth and averted her gaze. Have you lost your mind? She cursed herself and reached to pick up Alistair with both arms.
>
> “Look at you,” she told her excited son that went to grab at her more elaborate hairdo. Licinia smiled and went to bring Vacia as well. “Have you ever tasted authentic Valeria honey Ali?” Monica asked the cooing boy and then dipped her index finger in the vase. The gluey liquid cool to the touch. She brought it to her lips and tasted it with closed eyes. “Mm. You can’t fake this.”
>
> A sober Alistair was staring at his mother licking her lips. His dark blue eyes all serious and demanding, it reminded Monica of her father.
>
> “Goddess,” Monica chuckled and carefully sat sideways on the table with the opened boxes. “Let me get my new shoes out of the way and I’ll give you some as well.”
>
>
-
Lucius moved fast after Sir Aesop Sabinus, out in the corridor leading to the throne room, a disheveled but in armour Sir Roman Valgus getting out of the guard’s bedroom joining them and the bells continuous ringing reverberating inside the larger -with more windows open- hall upon entering it.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“What in Tyeus’ spear?” The helmetless Sir Valgus cursed trying to fix his hair with a hand as he followed after the king’s entourage, with the breathing heavy Cyrus Falx trying to keep up with the faster moving half-breeds everyone else had forgotten about.
“The first floor,” Lucius grunted and all but kicked the double side doors open in order to reach the second set of stairs. The much narrower servant stairs leading to the middle of the royal quarters, right at the border between the east and west wings.
The King reached the top just after the now standing undecided at the extending on both directions long semi-dark corridors Sir Sabinus.
“Head east by the Allgods!” Lucius grunted and pushed the confused knight towards the right direction just as a desperate cry reached them from the end of the elongated corridor.
“A DOTTORE!” A hoarse man’s voice decried whilst approaching fast. “The Queen is terribly sick!”
Lucius saw a crazed Cyrus the young running towards them and glanced back at the flushed Faye that had just arrived at the top of the stairs after the glowering Sir Valgus who had drawn his longsword for some reason.
Cyrus next words beating the King’s query. It was like taking a heavy mace to the gut.
“The twins, gods help us!” Cyrus croaked in despair.
What… how? Lucius mind went to the Typhus epidemic.
“Logan is with the boys,” Faye snapped in reply to his voiceless query. “Move yer feet Alden.”
Lucius grunted and went after the hurrying Sir Sabinus and Sir Valgus immediately noticing another royal knight -Sir Antigonus Calvus- standing guard outside Monica’s quarters that were next to Faye’s with the King’s located at the far end of the spacious floor.
“We need a dottore sire!” The devastated Cyrus cried upon reaching them and all but collapsed to his knees.
“Sir Valgus,” Lucius ordered and grabbed the knight’s shoulder to stop him. “Run back down and have the yard’s guards locate Marianus. He’s staying in the Legion camp inside the gardens. Hurry up! You’ll find him with Centurion Sorex. The barrack nearest to the kitchens!”
“Stand up! Pull yourself together! What is this?” He commanded Cyrus the young losing his temper. “Don’t shame yourself in front of yer father and the King!”
Luci my noble firstborn. His late mother said lovingly in his mind stopping Lucius outburst. Promise me. Thou shall face our future sorrows with the dignity befitting thy station and won’t lose thyself in blind vengeance’s black depths. The righteous soul must only seek justice fer wrongs done unto him.
And justice the gods shall deliver.
It is what it is.
A solemn-faced Lucius marched towards Sir Calvus next, the knight also missing parts of his attire. Calvus saluted the king sharply.
“The Queen?” Lucius rustled trying to maintain his composure for the good of the realm, despite his mind being mostly on the health of the kids.
“Inside my liege,” Sir Calvus replied rigidly. “Sir Gregor is with her. Everyone is sick. Even the maid. You better wait for a doctor.”
“I can’t do that Sir Calvus.”
Allgods mercy. She was fine in the morning! What happened?
“I understand sire,” the knight replied and stepped aside.
Lucius gulped down anxiously, glanced at Faye who had run some meters away in order to signal at the distant lit-up figure of Logan Barret that had come out of her own quarters hearing the commotion and spotted out of the corner of his eye the half-breed Leirda standing further back but it was no more than five meters. The half-breed had moved fast. She stared his way in her usual brazen half-querying but also semi-indecipherable manner, while her brother helped the doubled over his knees pale Cyrus Falx -who had probably moved too fast up the stairs for his age- to catch his breath.
Leirda’s earlier prophetic words swirled in Lucius brain like an angry beehive, a numbness spreading from the base of his nape to his spine.
Lucius gave the half-breed a curt nod and then entered Monica’s fully illuminated spacious quarters.
Monica was laid on her bed, clad in a silk red dress. A summer dress with a tight fit. Licinia had collapsed on an armchair with her chin touching her sternum and Sir Gregor had removed his gauntlets in his frantic attempts to revive the twins. They were both next to their mother on the large bed. Lucius stopped almost tripping over his feet, trying to negotiate the lavish boudoir’s illuminated interior with the desperate hellish scene he now faced.
Lucius blinked unable to move further into the room. Faye –who was right behind him- bumped on his right shoulder and pushed the emotionless king out of the way in her rush to reach inside. Lucius watched as if in a blurry dream with incoherent scenes the redhead run to the bed and stooping over the pale Monica. A furious Sir Sabinus dragging Cyrus the young by the nape and shoving him towards Licinia Diana with a string of loud curses.
His eyes roamed the large room and paused first at the mannequin stands with the many colorful dresses displayed. Then the small vanity table and the gloves he’d gifted Monica on one side, the elongated dinner table on the other littered with many open boxes, fancy wrappings, several pairs of shoes and a wicker basket at its corner.
Looking out of place.
A shattered bottle of milk had stained the legs of the table. It had created a white pool and on the pool’s surface thick splotches of golden honey dripped from an upturned small glass vase still on the table.
Splish and splash.
“Blood in her mouth,” Faye hissed and Lucius grunted coming about. “She is drenched in sweat.”
“Sire,” Sir Sabinus had brought little Alistair’s unresponsive body to him. Lucius grabbed his son with both hands, the right moving fast to hold his little head that wobbled freely almost and tried to feel for his breath.
“This isn’t… eh, her neck is stained… black,” a desperate Faye was heard from the bed, the sounds of the palace coming alive outside the queen’s quarters increasing as officials and servants rushed out of their rooms. And beyond the open windows the alarm could be heard from the guards barracks located north of the main complex. “Look for dark spots!” His northern wife yelled and Lucius saw a discoloration under Alistair’s chin.
His brain had stopped working.
“Is it an outbreak?” Lucius asked Sabinus. “Has she visited the market lately?”
“Percy was here sir. He brought everything. The Queen hasn’t left the palace in weeks,” a tensed Sir Gregor informed him.
“Who the hell is this Percy?” Lucius growled unable to understand what was going on. “What are these marks Faye?” He asked his wife and shook the boy once to wake it up but stopped realizing this was futile. Sabinus reached to take Alistair from him.
“She’s not just sick damn it!” Faye cursed and gave Monica a hard slap much to Lucius’ shock. “This darn fool looks paralyzed and unable to breathe!”
Lucius made to step nearer but felt a strong grip move him aside a moment before Leirda’s hand touched his shoulder and then the half-breed walked past him.
“You…” Lucius rustled angrily but then his tone changed. The desperate man seeks miracles in the end whether he’s a cultured logic-grounded noble or an uncouth peasant. “…can you help them?”
Leirda sniffed at the air audibly, smacked her lips whilst examining the room and then blew her nostrils out to clean them one by one using a finger.
“Your grace,” Sir Sabinus protested at the unseemly sight of the gypsy Fish-folk girl but Leirda intervened afore Lucius could agree with the royal knight.
“Boy,” Leirda ordered the laying-low Nard in that indecipherable accent, a hint of Issir Common was noticeable to Lucius’ ear. “These are real flowers. Bring them to the bed.”
“Help my boy first,” Lucius grunted and waved for Sabinus who carried Alistair to clear a spot of the table.
“The boy is dead.” Leirda replied without hesitation and stared at the shocked, still trying to process the information Lucius knowingly.
If I speak you’ll lose the children and if I don’t you’ll lose the wife.
The half-breed was speaking of the karmic scale and the cost of foreknowledge.
The black arts.
Let me be silent for every word has a price.
Lucius was fighting with himself.
“Sir!” Sabinus growled trying to control his temper and failing.
“Go ahead,” Lucius rustled with a strangled voice and Leirda moved fast towards Sir Gregor’s spot on the large bed to get near the unresponsive Vacia. The knight moved away from the princess and the half-breed opened the girl’s nightdress to place a hand on her chest.
“Lucius,” Faye whispered unsure but Lucius turned to the younger Cyrus Falx and asked hoarsely.
“What happened here?”
“The Queen was ready to retire but the twins stopped breathing and she went hysterical according to Licinia,” Cyrus croaked. “Soon after I arrived the Queen started feeling bad as well afore collapsing and then Licinia followed suit your grace. Allgods as my witness I don’t know what happened!”
“Sir Gregor,” Lucius grunted. “Who else was here?”
“A female clerk sir? These are Salonius employees. You don’t think Salonius—”
“The girl breathes,” Leirda announced interrupting him and got up from the bed. “She’ll be… fine, for the most part.”
A relieved Lucius went to check on his coughing daughter while Leirda rounded the large bed to go to Monica. It was at that moment Dottore Marianus arrived. He had heard the bells and had ridden from the gardens immediately to offer assistance.
“Marianus you need to save little Alistair,” Lucius said to the sober military physician with a cracking voice and Marianus headed for the boy without hesitation. Sabinus was still rubbing at his small legs and arms trying to revive him.
“What did they have to eat?” Marianus asked half a minute later, working a finger inside the boy’s mouth and cursing in frustration for the absence of response. He started massaging Alistair’s chest and cast an angry glance at the silent knights. “Are you lads fucking deaf? The boy has been poisoned!” The Dottore roared. “Find what it plaguing was now!”
“Daughter’s Dwale,” Leirda said from Monica’s side without looking at the furious Dottore. “Nightshade in the mix, along henbane, mandrake, crushed white poppy seeds and a jiff of snake poison.”
What? Lucius snapped his head towards the half-breed shocked.
“What snake?” Marianus asked soberly.
“Blue striped coral,” Leirda replied readily. “I need to bleed her. Give me your dagger.” She told Sir Gregor but the knight hesitated.
“Are you also a medic?” Faye asked giving her a dagger before Lucius could intervene.
“Sometimes. I guess that’s a lot of times for you. Hmm,” Leirda gave the redhead a critical onceover. “I’m prickly around women with your complexion and hair color. Please move back.”
“Well, fuck you too bitch.” Faye retorted but gave her the space to work on Monica.
“There is no mention of such a snake on Jelin. Neither in Cartagen Academy’s fauna catalogue nor in Pliny’s ‘Animalia’ and he traveled the continent extensively,” Marianus murmured sounding defeated and rubbed at his sweaty forehead. “Why? That’s overkill.”
“It’s native on… Eplas,” Leirda replied with a small hesitation. “Its poison and toxins lock up the muscles among other things. As for why… well, this is an assassin’s poison medicine… man. There’s no antidote.”
“Sir Gregor,” Lucius grunted feeling his throat hurting and his mouth numb. “Notify the city guard to close the gates. Send a runner immediately and then find Gaeta.”
“Praetor,” Marianus said soberly and stood up. “My sincere condolences sire. Alas, the little prince is gone.”
Leirda hasn’t been wrong once curse her.
“Allgods,” Faye gasped and went to hug Lucius but the King didn’t return his wife’s embrace. Somebody have gotten inside the palace and then poisoned half his family. To mourn them whilst their killers were roaming the city free was to do them a disservice. He’d enough family murdered to allow one more death to go unpunished.
Not out of blind vengeance although Lucius could barely control his rage but out of a sense of justice. He couldn’t leave it again to others or patiently wait for a resolution.
I’m sorry mother.
“What is this?” Marianus asked and Lucius felt the crying Faye shivering, her arms wrapped around his waist and turned to look at the Dottore that had approached Leirda.
“Keep her mouth closed. Don’t let her speak,” she told him and got up. “I’ll see to the girl.”
“What did you give her?” Marianus asked curious but also sounding worried. “You said there is no cure. How did you know?” Monica coughed violently and jerked awake at that point forcing the Dottore to turn his attention on the gasping for air young Queen.
Lucius took a deep breath and let it out slowly whilst Faye ran with a scream of relief towards the revived noblewoman. Then the King’s eyes followed the half-breed who approached the seemingly dead Licinia Diana, cracked her mouth open and poured the contents of a vial deep in the female courtier’s larynx.
“Tsk-tsk general,” Leirda commented without looking at him. “Either you trust me or you don’t.”
“I don’t trust deceivers.” Lucius grunted, “My son is dead and you’re playing games woman?” He added clenching his right fist tight and Leirda pointed an arm towards the bed where the coming about Monica struggled to get free from Dottore Marianus and Faye.
“Unhand me!” The young Queen screamed in protest her voice breaking midsentence. “Let me see my babies!” She cried trying to get out of Marianus’ steely grip. “She killed them! GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME! Goddess!”
Lucius narrowed his eyes.
“Death births more death. It is very difficult to balance,” Leirda whispered and got up letting go of the white as a sheet Licinia’s chin. “If you go in search for vengeance better to prepare two graves general.”
Ah, yes. How does a gypsy soothsayer, a half-breed no less, can turn into a philosopher?
“I’m a father first. Forget about all else,” Lucius retorted raspingly, fighting back tears. It had taken superhuman effort up to that point not to succumb to the grief welling up inside him. “My son was just murdered. He was but a baby. What would you do in my stead woman?”
The half-breed pursed her mouth tightly at first but then her whole face relaxed. Some of her facial characteristics mellowing up somehow. The bridge of her nose thinning, her dark eyes clearing up and the brown curly hair unfurling even losing their color. Endariel started humming a lullaby and Lucius smelled burned incense in the air for a brief moment.
Then the moment was gone and the noise returned.
What was this? Lucius wondered.
“Rare is to find an honest soul, a pure essence so powerful. It deserves an honest answer.” Leirda yielded and Lucius realized the lowly half-breed was much more than he’d originally believed. “I would have done the same.”
Because all other strangeness aside, especially in such a dark day, he now realized what had bothered him from the beginning. What he couldn’t identify since that first encounter. In this moment of immense sorrow and boiling fury, Lucius had a moment of clarity.
For such a young woman and despite all her other real or not talents, Leirda spoke with the astuteness of a very old soul most of the times. All other mysteries could be explained some way or another but as old Roderick use to say ‘can’t really fake experience lad. Time flows over us like blasted water. It shall leave its darn mark even on a rock.’
‘Either yer old as shit,’ Roderick voice droned for one more time. ‘Or you’re an old plaguing turd. Take yer pick.’
“Sir Valgus,” Lucius rustled solemnly. “Saddle the horses. We need to find that girl.”
“Aye sire,” the Knight replied and headed towards the door briskly. The hall outside packed with a curious crowd of servants and officials that quickly dispersed when he marched outside.
Lucius stared at Monica that had collapsed after she’d used all her strength to fight off the much larger Dottore and the silent Faye that was holding her right hand comfortingly. He just couldn’t get himself to look at the lifeless body of Alistair.
He just couldn’t.
“Where is she?” Lucius asked the half-breed evenly without looking her way, hoping for a straight answer but not expecting it.
“The Kraken knows,” Leirda replied opting to remain vague as usual.
-
> The private room sized bathing pool of the Augusta was silent but for the water slowly dripping from the many slim faucets. It was almost lukewarm now. Just enough to be bearable for a while.
>
> Splish and splash, Flavia murmured a little surprised at the silly thought, feeling Brigitte’s fingers massaging the upper part of her shoulders. The rest of the First Idole’s body was submerged under the scented water.
>
> “Sister Hermione sent Brother Bear Crug to Issir’s Eagle,” the Issir Priestess Brigitte whispered to her left ear, tracing the edge of the soft flesh with a tongue. “Sister Tricia believes she saw an ‘Aken’ exiting the Khan’s camp.”
>
> “What is Tricia doing in the Khan’s camp?” Flavia asked with her eyes closed.
>
> “The Prince’s wife invited her to perform. He’s missing on campaign and left her alone with his son. To take a male lover is a death sentence.”
>
> Goddess. The barbarism.
>
> “The witch may be right after all,” Flavia said. “Who was the merchant she met with the other day?”
>
> “Drusilla has Laila and Acqer Crug on this mystery but the witch has disappeared,” Brigitte replied huskily and reached around with both hands to cup Flavia’s submerged breasts. “Let me pleasure the mother.”
>
> But Flavia was too relaxed and worn out from trying to navigate the capital’s politics for a rise so late in the day. Evening. Mmm. “Messor doesn’t want me to perform the wedding,” she told Brigitte and swum away from her hands to the edge of the pool-sized bath dominating the center of the room. Most of the room. “He’ll put a Disciple in charge. They barely talk in ceremonies!”
>
> “They also don’t mind a full oven,” Brigitte retorted a little disappointed she had gotten away from her. “Better optics?”
>
> “Absurdness. The kid is the groom’s,” Flavia hissed annoyed and turned her head hearing commotion from the corridor leading to the front door. “What time is it?” She asked standing up and a young sister entered the Augusta’s private bath room –Flavia had spent a fortune to build it and it was still relatively small for her likes- immediately prostrating herself before the immerging naked from the waters High Priestess.
>
> The scene depicted on the painted walls behind the Augusta.
>
> “Drusilla asks for an audience,” the Lorian girl reported, the use of the Second Idole’s name dictating this was a personal matter.
>
> “Send her in and go away,” Flavia ordered and hearing the squelching footsteps of Brigitte approach behind her she added. “You too daughter.”
>
> Brigitte helped her wear a simple long tunic and left without a word.
>
> The striking blond-haired Priestess entered a moment later.
>
> “Goddess mercy Augusta,” she whispered after bowing her head low.
>
> “You ask for forgiveness afore revealing the sin? Is it that big a transgression or just too insignificant?” Flavia asked with a tired smile.
>
> “Sister Vita wanted to stay the night,” Drusilla informed her. “I allowed her entry in my quarters.”
>
> “You shouldn’t have with the First Idole under this roof,” Flavia scolded the younger Priestess, still Drusilla was over twenty five though. Not a baby anymore and a member of the Temple for years.
>
> “The First Idole is my loving mother as much as my treasured High Priestess,” Drusilla reasoned cutely and Flavia sighed deeply, too tired to argue with her or administer a belated punishment.
>
> Sleep was what Flavia craved the most at that moment and her soft pillows.
>
> Having said that. “You will be punished on the morrow daughter. Twice for the latter. You of all should know better. So bring to me a leather pad to use on your buttocks when I wake,” but some of Drusilla’s words were also true. While the temple had many young girls growing on the Island the Augusta allowed under her wing only a few select of them to raise unless she had a real offspring of her own. To nurture and to teach. To love and help grow. Usually to the temple’s highest positions.
>
> Drusilla and now Brigitte.
>
> Flavia angled her head to the left and looked behind the flushed Drusilla’s shoulder. Vita looked like she had been crying, her usually clear cerulean eyes now dark and hollowed out.
>
> “Little Vita, as I recall you do have a place to stay, paid by dear Salonius,” Flavia started didactically and gasped in surprise afore stopping when Vita prostrated herself on her still drenched naked feet letting out a cry of despair.
>
> Eh.
>
> What is that then? Flavia thought a little puzzled and softly touched the top of the sobbing girl’s head, the High Priestess eyes staying on the second Idole’s face in a quizzing manner. The large internal bath’s fresco painted walls suddenly silent again but for the sound of the dripping faucets.
>
> Splish and splash.