“Oh, what are we going to do with her?” Levia heard her father say and then add a heavy sigh.
How ironic it was that she heard that phrase at the exact moment she started eavesdropping on their conversation. While there were obviously guards stationed all around the meeting room, there weren’t any above it—meaning, in one of the many closet rooms of the castle.
It was only about a year ago that Levia had discovered this spot and the small hole that just so happened to carry the wind and voices coming from the room below it. Perhaps it was an old spyhole, created in the days of some past king? Whatever the case, she used it many times before.
Hearing that her father was about to have an important-seeming meeting, thirteen-years-old Levia knew she had to find out they were talking about. Of course, there were many meeting rooms and not all of them could be eavesdropped on like this, but this time she was lucky.
It was incredibly easy to get rid of her tutor; she simply lied that another tutor had come earlier while she’d postponed that other tutor’s lesson in advance. Her prank would come to light soon enough and she would pay for it, but that would be hours from now. It was a simple yet effective plan, all so she could spy on her dear father, King Mekuriel-N.
“You simply must wed her already, Your Majesty,” said a stern voice.
Levia recognized it as belonging to Lord Qumisson, her father’s cousin and close advisor. Yes, she had the feeling that he would be part of that meeting. She could feel he was full of an emotion she could only describe as greed, so he was probably trying to hint at his own son, as usual.
“You know well,” said Mekuriel, “that I was referring to her unruly behavior.”
“Which is why I was suggesting a reme—“
“She is not unlike you at that age, if I may say, Your Majesty.” This interjecting voice, then, belonged to Lord Ranker Shammings. He was radiating amusement, so Levia could imagine a mischievous smile under that characteristic frazzled mustache of his.
“Enough with the jokes, my friend. This is supposed to be a serious talk,” her father said.
Levia wondered about that conversation. Had her father really gathered two of his most trusted allies just to discuss her current behavior? That was bizarre, to say the least.
“She will grow out of it. She is still a child,” said Shammings.
“She does need to be put in her place, though,” said Qumisson as if spitting. “A shrew cannot become a queen.”
Levia took a short while to recall the definition of that word, since he obviously didn’t mean it in the zoological sense. She didn’t really think that word suited her, though.
“Dear cousin,” Mekuriel said with great impatience and trepidation that almost seemed to stab at Levia’s young mind, “I can handle my own child fine, thank you very much. And, if you must know…” He paused for a second, as if scanning the area for any eavesdroppers. Levia held her breath; he shouldn’t be able to notice her, but still. “I have begun talks with the King of Lastia.”
Really? This was also the first time Levia heard anything about this. She could feel the other men were positively shocked. How had her father accomplished this without any of them knowing?
“That is… quite bold of you,” noted Shammings.
“And foolish to the extreme,” added Qumisson. “What are you planning? Do not say that you intend to marry her off to one of the princes…?”
Now that was surprising. Levia knew that her father was tired of wars. Judging by his feelings at the moment, Qumisson had apparently hit the mark. Was the King planning a political marriage? Levia couldn’t care any less about that, but it could have great implications to her life—
The men kept speaking, but unfortunately at that moment she felt a tired mind approach the closet. It was probably one of the maids. Levia shouldn’t be found eavesdropping like that.
“Good afternoon,” said Levia, popping out from the closet to the maid’s surprised Eeep! which then transformed to her growing stiff and formally greeting the Princess.
Levia hadn’t known it at the time, but that was the first time she’d heard about her future husband.
There was a vast space underneath the Royal Castle of Copius.
Everyone knew about the royal dungeons, although they hadn’t been used for that purpose in half a century. Supposedly. At the very least, no people had been taken there to be confined during either Mekuriel-N or Levia-O’s times. Not including the shelters used for the waves, of course. Anyway, that place held other secrets.
One was the room used for inter-world communications, housing the Heavenly Board. Developed during her father’s time, it had allowed them to contact Fairland, although that communication persisted only for a brief period. Even so, it had been recently restored again.
Another secret slumbered within, and that one was possibly even more outrageous—
Levia’s shoes tip-tapped the hard stone floor stretching within the underground space. It was cold and dark, understandably so because of the whole space was technically located inside of the mountain the castle resided on. Apparently, everything there had been planned and built by the great architect Dervis Mordack.
Unusually, she was completely alone. Well, technically she’d come there accompanied with some guards, but she entered the room alone. The pretext was that this was an archive containing documents of sensitive information, and some were actually there, but her true purpose coming there was different—once she’d touched a certain groove on the wall, it slowly slid aside, revealing a narrow opening in the stonework.
This, too, was the making of the famous Mordack. Levia couldn’t allow the guards to have even an inkling of a hint about what lay within. From the secret passage there was a short flight of stairs, and finally another door. She opened it softly while focusing her mind.
Emptiness, emptiness, emptiness, emptiness, emptiness, emptiness—
The first time Levia had come there, she had been really surprised to have felt this. Her compensation allowed her to sense people’s emotions, but what was it that she felt from the room? It wasn’t really a lack of emotion, but it wasn’t anything discernible either; almost as if it was a projection of the emotion of nonemotion, contradictory as that sounded.
Perhaps it resembled what she herself was feeling all of the time?
“Good morning, Halmer.”
Inside the room there was a man.
At the very least, so his physical appearance indicated. Lying upright and restrained in an apparatus that resembled a lidless coffin was someone who looked to be a man in his late twenties. He had bright and curly hair that actually emanated a soft glow—the room’s only light source—and a soft, smooth face.
He almost looked like an overgrown innocent child, especially with the mischievous-seeming grin visible on his mouth. Levia often wondered what color his eyes were, but his pose was such that he always used both hands to cover them.
Halmer the Prophet, as he was named throughout the years, was, as expected—a God.
Immediately after Levia’s voice echoed in the secret chamber, although not even a single muscle twitched on his body, Halmer replied.
“Painting (of a cloudless sky), I beseech you(r great wisdom of the unknown) and gaze (upon the blinding light).”
After having had some experience with this, Levia was pretty sure that was his way of saying “hello” or “good morning” of sorts. At the very least he seemed friendly and cordial, although she couldn’t really appreciate the usual headache associated with this sort of mental contact.
“We are in a time of great need,” said Levia. “I will be glad if you could confer me another vision of things to come, o great seer, loyal servant of the kingdom.”
For a moment she thought she saw Halmer’s smile widen, but it was probably just a trick of the light; he never moved any part of his body at all. Would her plea work, this time?
The answer came in the form of a vision being jammed into her mind. A quick succession of images and feelings that passed through her like a blur. She didn’t have any time to process any of it before Halmer spoke.
“I see (the path carved through your eyes), (cannot) change (the puppets behind the screen) and warn you (of your imminent, dirty demise).”
Were all Gods as mysterious as this? It really was difficult to work out what Halmer was trying to say. However, judging from his tone and the feelings of despair, grief, and lethargy broadcast from him, as well as her general experience with the Prophet thus far—
Levia knew that she was in grave danger.
She made her way back to the castle, her face a calm mask. Since she wasn’t gone for long, the guards accompanying her obviously suspected nothing. She simply came back upstairs and then had someone send for Salom. She wanted Stard as well, but he was probably too busy at the moment.
There was no mistake. As cryptic as the Prophet usually was, his message had been clear enough, this time. Something was threatening her. Of course, this usually was the case, but this time, he had foretold her death. Any images she might have seen were erased from her mind, leaving only a lingering impression, just like waking up from a dream, but she felt as if she saw something like that.
Levia felt oddly calm about this. Well, she already logically knew that Halmer’s predictions could be overcome, after all. Just like when he’d told them about the incoming waves that were supposed to be way, way further in the future.
He was completely wrong, and they came much earlier, instead.
Unfortunately, once Halmer gave one of his “prophecies”, he became dormant again, usually for a period of some months at the very least. Even today Levia hadn’t been sure the God would respond to her; there was no way to tell his condition without checking regularly, and she herself had the best affinity with him as well.
In her worries time seemed to pass quickly, as someone finally approached the room she had been waiting in. She herself thought it was remarkably quick of Salom to arrive there.
Worry impatience agitation—she felt as the door opened.
“Ah, Lord Saburn, finally. I have something very…” She froze mid-sentence when she noticed that it was actually Swen.
How curious. She was usually able to recognize the so-called “colors” of people’s emotions when she knew them long enough, but still made that mistake. Had she really been that tired or worried about the current circumstances to cause this? But true anxiety was beyond her.
“Your Majesty,” spoke her Lord Chamberlain, “there has been contact from Lord Shammings. He wishes to meet with you urgently in his estate.”
“…What happened?” Levia asked, although she already had a guess judging from Swen’s emotions at the moment, which were evident in his expression as well.
“He is apparently dying,” he said.
Saburn had been poring over some iconology papers and diagrams when a messenger arrived to summon him to the castle.
Well, he hadn’t been making any progress anyhow. Ever since the waves stopped and they had no breakthrough, he thought of going back to the basics and trying to construct some method to travel between the worlds by himself from scratch.
The obvious foundation should be the channel of movement, but that usually worked more for bursts of movements or force rather than prolonged travel. Then again, there were outlier cases such as Stard’s or Gen’s compensations… he would have asked for their help, but Stard was too busy and Gen was too far away.
There was also the new emergence of beasts, the origin of which was currently unknown. Perhaps these also contained some sort of hint, though all of them had been annihilated during their assault, and no new ones appeared since.
At least these thoughts served to pass his time during the carriage ride up the mountain. He really ought to make Levia come to him sometime—even though he knew it to be a futile attempt.
At length he reached the main gates, getting off the carriage with some help and rolling his chair forward. The guards already knew him, of course.
“If you’re here to see the Queen—then don’t bother,” said a voice from the small courtyard directly adjacent to the gates. “Her Majesty’s left a short while ago, apparently.”
Turning to the side, Salom saw an unfamiliar youngster standing there, leaning against a tree. He was dressed garishly, clad in a colorful suit with a neat tie, so he was probably some noble’s son. He looked vaguely familiar, but Salom was out of touch with high society for many years now.
“And you are…?” Salom inquired.
“Ah, how rude of me,” the man smiled somewhat derisively as he approached. “I am Callun Qumisson. And you are, of course, the famous Professor Saburn.”
Salom was surprised. Not at this young man knowing him, but him being the son of old Lord Qumisson, known to be Levia’s greatest rival. He’d only met Qumisson himself a couple of times, so this was obviously his first time to meet Callun.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Callun,” Salom said after a brief spell, extending a hand. Callun gazed it for a few moments before relenting and grabbing it back for a handshake. “Then, were you here to see the Queen as well? Are you here with your father, by any chance?”
His son was one thing, but Salom wanted nothing to do with Qumisson, if he could at all help it.
“I am here alone,” said Callun, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, as if he was insulted by the mere suggestion.
“…I see. And where has the Queen gone to?” After all, she had specifically and urgently summoned him, so it was quite rude of her to not be present for his arrival. Then again, she usually didn’t mess with him to quite that degree, so there had to be some reason.
Callun shrugged. “Beats me. The guards just say she came out in a hurry,” he explained. “I thought I’d wait for a while. But, since both of us ended up here by coincidence…” He wore a haughty smile. “How about a small talk while we wait for Her Majesty to come back?”
Salom had a bad feeling about this, but he never let his smile crumble even for a moment. “I might as well kill some time, then,” he said, letting the young man assume control of his wheelchair.
“I’m going to be direct with you, Professor,” Callun told Salom the moment they were finally alone behind some bush full of blood-red flowers. “Will you betray the Queen and help me instead?”
“…Pardon?”
Just outside the castle’s gate there was a garden. Filled with a great variety of flowers taken from all over Rumdon and some other places as well, it was a joy for the eyes and nose. Such was the scene where Callun had decided to ask him this.
The young man told him he would be direct, but that was a bit too blunt even so. “Are you out of your mind?” Salom said without a shred of hesitation.
“I know it’s a preposterous suggestion. Still, will you not consider it seriously, Professor? Staying with Levia-O at the current state will lead to nothing but your downfall.”
There was something ominous hidden in his words. Salom narrowed his eyes in both suspicion and puzzlement.
“I will say this; you have some guts, asking me that question here,” Salom finally said. “Especially considering your father’s attitude toward people like me.” He wore a bitter smile. “Or, what, do you think that mere money could serve to—”
“Allow me to correct a certain misunderstanding, Professor.” As Callun cut off Salom’s words with a lightly raised hand, his voice turned colder and his smile was gone. “I am not acting under Father’s orders or machinations. If anything, I’m acting against him. I have nothing against you; why, I admire you. And I truly, truly wish for your support.”
That was unexpected. Salom was completely convinced that old fox was once again up to no good. Of course, he shouldn’t just take Callun’s word for it, but the young man did seem to hold some hostility regarding his father. Salom did hear that he was a rebellious son, so perhaps he was being genuine.
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“And what, exactly, do you intend to offer me?”
“Well, for you, everything will be the same—or better, I suppose, but that is beside the point; you must help me with the Queen for the good of all of us,” Callun explained. “I must either marry her, or else we… depose her.”
Was Callun an idiot? Current circumstances were not perfect, to be sure, but Salom had to be content with them. Levia had many faults, but she was a respectable ruler. Perhaps she lacked kindness and charity, but that also meant that she lacked greed and cruelty.
Salom had nothing to gain from deposing her. In fact, both he and Rumdon would only serve to lose from the Queen’s absence, whether or not Callun was cooperating with his father.
“Look, I don’t think that you’re really—“
“Ah, Professor! What are you doing here?” A cheerful voice suddenly came from the side. Salom heard Callun clicking his tongue while he turned to see the new arrival.
“Hello, Mallew. Actually, I’m the one surprised to see you here,” he greeted the familiar woman. Not much changed about her since he first met her—she grew her hair a tad longer, but it was still quite short. Her bubbly personality was the same.
“Haha, well, you know, I was checking some…” she started, then trailed off as she noticed Salom’s company, ending lamely with a mumble, “you know, some business here and there.”
For his part, Callun seemed to be scrutinizing her with cold eyes. He was probably mad at the uncalled-for disruption to their conversation.
“A soldier in the castle, huh…?” he said, eyeing her uniform. “And a woman, to boot… are you under Molton?”
“And you are…?” Mallew asked with a friendly, naive smile.
“…Mallew, this is the young Lord Callun Qumisson. I was called here by the Queen, but she is currently absent, so we were having a small chat,” Salom explained, passing his eyes between them.
“O-oh!” It seemed that Mallew only now realized the position of the person standing in front of her. She straightened herself. “It is a pleasure to meet you, err… Lord Qumisson.”
He probably didn’t like being addressed the same as his father, judging from the faint change in his expression, but his reply was different. “You haven’t introduced yourself,” Callun noted.
“Ah, you’re right, I’m so sorry! I’m—“
While she introduced herself properly, Salom thought quickly and decided to take advantage of the situation.
“That reminds me, Mallew. There was something urgent I wanted to discuss with you,” he lied, “do you have some free time?”
“What? Oh, um, I was just on my way back, actually, but never mind that, sure, Professor, I’d love to help!”
“Well, then.” Salom started rolling his chair and directed a smile at the evidently displeased Callun. “I apologize, but I will be taking my leave. It was nice meeting you.”
“We will talk again, come the opportunity,” the young man announced grimly as the pair went off and left him back at the garden.
Salom indeed had the feeling that this wasn’t going to be the least he would see of him.
Shammings was in a horrible state. Pale and sweaty, he looked as if even just lying in the bed took everything that he had. True, he was quite old and overweight, but Levia had never seen him so weak before.
“Lord Shammings…!” she exclaimed, mustering as much anguish into her voice as she could. Considering the deluge of pain and suffering he was transmitting to her, perhaps it wasn’t only acting, either. “I came as soon as I heard…”
The man smiled weakly when he saw her. Lord Shammings was always there for her ever since the very moment she was born—when had he managed to grow so old and frail, when she herself was also so near the age of forty?
“Thank you so much for coming. I’m glad you made it in time…”
“What happened?” she barked at the man standing near the bed. Based on his attire he was probably some physician. All around her she was flooded with feelings of despair and sadness that caused her head to ache constantly.
“Y-Your Majesty,” the elderly doctor lightly bowed, “we believe his Lordship had been poisoned…”
“What?” she barked again, feeling the man fear her response. “How could—“
“…Levia, please do calm down,” Shammings muttered, his voice hoarse. It was a complete breach of etiquette for him to use her name like that, but he was very ill and it wasn’t like she actually cared either way.
“This is horrible,” mumbled Swen at her side, the first words he’d gotten out of his mouth ever since arriving with her. He was almost as pale as Shammings himself.
“I will probably… not make it,” Shammings said matter-of-factly.
“Don’t talk like that,” Levia immediately snapped because she felt that it was expected of her. She wore a heavy frown.
“This isn’t… the time,” he breathed, “everyone here, please… leave us for a short while.”
Although he said this, the physician and guards around didn’t seem to understand this request at first.
“Well? What are you waiting for?” Levia asked coldly.
“B-but, Your Majesty,” Swen stuttered, “we can’t leave you here alone with a—”
“With a dying man?” she interjected, even allowing a tear to show in her eye. “Give us some privacy. Now.”
There was no arguing against that tone. Everyone immediately left. She could feel a mix of relief and sadness emanating from Shammings.
“…Dear Levia. You have always been such a peculiar, special girl.”
“Indeed,” she mumbled, dropping all emotion from her face. “Is that what you wanted to say on your deathbed? Admonish me for the past?”
He smiled and softly shook his head. “I just wanted to let you know that… although your father was strict, in the end we have both accepted you for who you were… in fact, I have had almost the same conversation with him when he...”
Ah, so they had been gossiping about her like this even at the very end? How very much like her father.
“…And Mayer, as well,” he added.
“Let us stop speaking of dead people,” said Levia. “I assume you also have another reason for wanting to talk to me—you have some suspicions, do you not? I will make sure to investigate everything and deliver justice even if we can’t save you, but surely it wasn’t Qumisson, right?”
It wasn’t completely out of the question. Killing one of the Lords that directly supported Levia would serve to greatly weaken her. Even so, he too was Qumisson’s old friend. She doubted he would kill Shammings; it made much more sense to assassinate her directly rather than that.
“Even he probably isn’t… as heartless as that,” mumbled Shammings.
At the very least, not as heartless as me, Levia mused to herself.
“I have no obvious suspects, but this is not his work. There is some… foreign scent in all of this. It is almost definitely… the work of either Sacrona or Lastia.”
Meaning, he suspected that it was not an attack from within, but from without. Were Sacrona preparing to start a war after inducing a major blow on Rumdon? But it was odd; Shammings himself wasn’t quite as important as that. And would Lastia of all places take advantage of the current chaos to strike? They seemed to gain even less from this.
Their longtime enemy and their ally-turned-neutral. As if there wasn’t more than enough to worry about already, it was now possible that one of those two—why, even both of them—took further action still.
Despite his gentle demeanor, Shammings was an excellent businessman and in the past had sniffed out many schemes from his rivals. His intuition, while obviously not anything on the level of Halmer’s prophecies, was still quite trustworthy.
“I will get to the heart of the matter,” Levia declared. Even having a dying old friend—nearly family—in front of her, she only thought about the country’s stability. It would be better if Shammings survived this, but that part was completely out of her hands, and so she considered the dark future ahead, instead.
The strangest thing was that he himself didn’t seem to mind this. He surely realized by now, but he still kept smiling.
“Good luck, Levia,” he said in a hoarse voice. “I pray that you will find… happiness.” He closed his eyes. She tensed for half a second, but she could still feel him, and he continued speaking. “I don’t feel well… so if you could please call the doctor back…”
“Of course,” she muttered and turned her back to him. She could directly feel his suffering so much that it made her scowl.
The physician and servants hurried inside to keep taking care of their Lord. As Swen shot her a dubious look, she simply shook her head and motioned for him to leave. There was no use staying there now. She could only wait and see what happened.
Lord Ranker Shammings died within the hour.
The Middle Sea, as it was known, literally served as the dividing line between two countries. One side a tall mountain, the other a shore adjacent to lush forests. On the side of the latter, hidden by a small cliff, there was a secret military base surrounded by sharp rocks and water.
To reach it, one had to wade into the water and brave the haphazard rock formations to reach into a damp cave. Vianna walked through these rocks carefully as she carried her large shield on her back. She had the sort of look on her face that would make anyone who knew her want to avoid her—a calm fury, cold and tempered just like the steel currently tied to her.
“Rane!”
Her voice, often compared to a church bell, now rang through the cavern. Hearing this voice, surprised soldiers hurried out to the torch-lit corridors, standing rigid when they realized who came to their base.
Many of them just stared at her as she passed, while others made a short bow or even mumbled a short word of prayer. None of them directly spoke to her until a certain man appeared, however.
“Welcome back, Santa Vianna,” said a rugged voice, echoing around. Stepping ahead to welcome the woman was a tall, well-built man in uniform. Although already middle-aged, his sunburnt body still looked sturdy and muscular, as tough as the rocky walls that surrounded them. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Waited so long that you have gone insane?” she spat at him indignantly. “What possessed you to attack an entire village?”
Rane’s brow twitched only slightly, showing no agitation other than that. “So you’ve heard the news. Was afraid of that. Of your unneeded reaction, that is.”
Despite being nearly a head shorter than him, Vianna still stepped up directly to face him without any fear, anger flaring in her eyes that she was sure burned even brighter than the many torches serving as the cave’s source of illumination.
“I have asked you a question,” she insisted.
“Relax. First of all, it wasn’t an entire village—“
“Not the point!”
“—But it had two purposes,” Rane continued, unperturbed. He raised a hand. “First, it’s a small threat and a deterrent to Rumdon, making sure they’re not gonna make any moves yet. Second, you know we needed to test our army of Behemoths.”
Yes. A few days ago, a small fishing village on the other side of the sea had been attacked by a band of black monsters—the very same type as those that had appeared to ravage Plainland a couple of years ago.
That attack had not come from the skies likes before, but had been sent from Sacrona. More specifically, it had been sent by none other than Santa Rane himself.
“It was extremely foolish,” Vianna said. “You have both alerted our enemies to our capabilities as well as brought needless damage to innocent lives. The people do call you the Blessed Fisherman… will you not sympathize with similar men and women?”
Santa Rane the Fisherman, the one who Reeled Divine Favor—before being Chosen, he was a simple, hard-working man. Was there really any difference between him and the so-called heretics on the other side of the sea?
At least, that was how Vianna herself felt.
“Ah, but are there true innocents when it comes to war?” Rane replied, half-shrugging with his arms thrown to the side. “Rumdon’s a country of heretics, the ones who’ve killed a God. Then surely this’ll be divine punishment?”
“…Do you truly believe this?”
“’Course. After all, I myself have been touched by that divine.”
His expression changed not in the slightest, even with Vianna’s fierce gaze against it. This bout of tense silence kept for some long seconds.
“Considering your piety, I will leave the matter alone for now,” Vianna finally relented, having no choice. “Now, I would like you to give me the full report. Since I have insisted on coming here, they want me to serve that job as well. Silly bureaucracy.”
“Ah, these foolish soldier higher-ups. Of course, Santa Vianna. Let’s go to the war room,” said Rane, as calm as the summertime sea, turning around and gesturing her to follow him.
“Get back to work,” Vianna hissed at the curious soldiers peeking at them, whose presence she had only then really noticed. They all dispersed without any reply.
Rane had said that the attack served to deter Rumdon, but would it not actually do the opposite? Wouldn’t it incite them to strike back instead? Unless they had yet to realize that Sacrona was the source of the attack. Which was a definite possibility, all things considered.
Nevertheless, the time for war was approaching. It might take weeks or it might take years, but Vianna knew that many sorts of plans were unfolding. The time for her to face Stard Molton yet again would surely come.
She took a deep breath, letting the lingering scent of the sea calm her.
According to his physician, Shammings had started feeling ill just a few days ago. He only had mild symptoms of nausea and indigestion, so he was being treated normally. And for a time, everything seemed fine. Unfortunately, his condition suffered a rapid deterioration to the extent it was a miracle he had survived for so long. Although way past his physical prime, he was still a sturdy, stout man. He was able to hold out splendidly thus far.
Although Levia couldn’t really feel fear, she was indeed worried. The ride back to the castle was engulfed in a pensive, gloomy atmosphere. Swen especially was on the verge of tears the entire time. Or rather, he’d already cried once and tried not to do so again in front of her. Poor, poor Swen; she knew he was very fond of Shammings, as he was one of his very few allies during his first days in court.
There would be a great funeral, of course. His relatives would come, and give a show of crying despite none of them having cared about him in the least all these recent years. Not that Levia was one to judge, considering she never cared for anyone.
She was mostly worried about herself, though.
Investigation was still ongoing, but there was almost no doubt that Shamming’s death was foul play, a calculated act and no accident; no simple food poisoning or bad luck would cause this. Coupled with that morning’s ominous prophecy, Levia couldn’t help but feel some creeping threat.
She meticulously scanned the minds of everyone near her. There were minds full of worry and sadness, but no hostility or plotting. It would be a very bad joke if she got herself assassinated on her way back, and as much as she put her trust in her guards, one could never be too careful. She scanned further and further still to the very ends of her effective range—not that far, to be honest—which caused a mild wave of headache and fatigue to wash over her.
Nothing. There weren’t any potential assassins around her.
The sun started approaching the edge of the world by the time she got to the castle. As she got off the carriage inside the gates, a lone guard came running to her.
“Professor Saburn is waiting for you in the dungeons, Your Majesty,” he informed her.
Oh, right. She completely forgot she’d summoned him. Had he been waiting there all this time? The poor man. Well, he had to hear the news as well, assuming it hadn’t reached the castle yet. While she came straight after the fact, bad news had a strange habit to spread extraordinarily fast.
“Thank you,” Levia nodded and the guard ran off. She turned to Swen. “I’ll be heading downstairs for a bit. Take care of business in the meantime.”
Swen was displeased, though Levia knew it was only at the mention of Salom and not at the work awaiting him. Regardless, the ever-professional man only said, “Yes, Your Majesty,” after bowing and went on.
It was unusual for Levia to head down to the dungeons more than once in one day. As she reached the communications room, she felt two pensive minds inside.
“Even if we were able to sustain such movements, space will—oh, Your Majesty.”
Salom and Mallew were apparently in the midst of conversation when she arrived, sitting around a table with some schematics paper on it. Mallew immediately rose from her seat as if she had been struck by lightning to bow.
“Greetings,” said Levia. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting like this. You see, the thing is that Lord Shammings has passed away.”
She could feel Salom was a bit annoyed by her late arrival, but his feelings now transformed into pure shock by that nonchalant announcement. The young woman was mostly confused, probably because she didn’t know Shammings.
“That is… most unfortunate, Your Majesty,” Salom finally said. “What happened?”
“He was very ill, it seems. However, there are also some suspicions of poisoning,” Levia stated plainly, watching Salom’s eyes narrow.
“A-a poisoning of one of the Lords, Y-Your Majesty?” Mallew mumbled. “Oh no, that’s not good at all, is it?”
That was quite the understatement.
“Miss Mordack, if you do not mind, will you leave me alone with Lord Saburn for a while?”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” she replied instantly despite her puzzlement, then turned to Salom. “Actually, since our business is mostly finished… will I see you tomorrow at the University?”
“…We will have to see. Regardless, good evening to you.”
“Good evening, Professor.” She nodded. “To you as well, Your Majesty,” she added, bowing yet again, as she headed for the door.
“I am afraid,” said Levia after the door had been closed behind the other woman, “that I have some more bad news.”
“How unfortunate,” said Salom, “that I have some worrying things to share with you, as well.”
What followed next were them sharing their experiences of the day with each other. Although Salom’s news weren’t as dire, they only added further oil to the fire.
“This is not good. To say the least.”
The quick rundown of the past hours’ events was punctuated by Levia’s finger tapping on the table.
“Quite the understatement,” said Levia, a smile on her face. “There is no need for you to pretend you are not greatly worried by this.”
“I am merely trying to stay calm, as you very well know, thank you very much,” Salom said bitterly in response, and then leaned ahead. “I will ask this just in case—but are you sure that the prophecy said what you think it did?”
“He most definitely warned me of my demise,” she stressed. “And, given the timing, I doubt this is unconnected. Quite unfortunate, really, because I was hoping to learn more about the waves.”
The Prophet’s words were often not quite clear. Even so, they could be deciphered—as proven during that fateful day, shortly after Levia had first become Queen. During her visit to Halmer, she had received the following declaration:
“The king (revolving four hundred and twenty more) will (not) rule (the endless abyss above, where) the beasts (come raining down havoc and blessings).”
Of course, that cryptic message alone did not yet serve to inform them of the incoming crisis. It took quite a lot of effort to analyze this prophecy, to separate speculation and facts and then to ascertain certain possibilities that led to the discovery of the imminent waves, further aided by yet another prophecy that came a year following that.
They had been preparing for some grand-scale attack to come two decades ahead, but later, the prophecy had seemingly been partially upturned either by reasons unknown or else by some misinterpretation of the Prophet’s ambiguous and bizarre words. And yet it still did happen, albeit earlier.
“Well, we can’t just jump at our own shadows like your great-grandfather Artinos-H. With this much information, I find it hard to do anything except for you to simply keep vigilant, which you should be regardless.”
“You forget the poisoning,” said Levia, narrowing her eyes. “It might be that Shammings was killed as a warning, or else as a way to test their method of killing. This is all very fishy. Never mind Qumisson, but even his son seems to be prowling around… Saburn, I would like for you to thoroughly investigate the matter.” Her eyes bore into him with the look that indicated that this was not a request, but an order.
Salom sighed. “With all due respect, I am a scientist, not a detective.” He frowned. “Not to mention I am busy enough as is.”
“Busy, are you?” she snickered. “As long as there’s nothing going on, you simply sit around spinning ideals and dreams in your mind. Please do not say such rubbish.” She erased her smile. “Molton is much busier than you, so you are the only one I can count on, Saburn.”
She could tell how much he didn’t like it, how much she was annoying him, as well as the fact that he was genuinely worried, if not about her, then at least about the current state of affairs.
“Of course, you are free to request help. I am sure Swen will be glad to work with you.”
The last part was a bold-faced lie, but Salom ignored it. “I shall try,” he finally mumbled.
Levia wore her fake smile again. “Thank you. You are the only one who really knows how to use your mind, here… I am not a smart woman. At the very least, not as smart as you. I will have all the relevant details of the matter and the personnel involved sent to you tomorrow. And I wish you the best of luck.”
Without giving him any time to respond, Levia rose from her seat and strode to the door. Only at that moment she realized she’d barely eaten anything at all that entire day.
That would have to be amended, and then she would go to bed. Having a night’s sleep without getting assassinated would be favorable.
As the sun vanished over the eastern edge, night dominated Copius.
Some of the city was still alive even during night, but the castle was almost always silent, removed from everything as it was on the mountaintop. Guards were patrolling around, roaming through the grounds to protect the royal family, or rather the Queen, who was its sole current member.
However, there was a certain area of the castle that was less guarded, namely the northern wall, the back of the castle. After all, who would possibly be able to climb the nearly sheer face of the mountain?
And yet—there was, apparently, one such person.
As they were dressed in dark colors, even people peering out the window wouldn’t have noticed this camouflaged figure as they climbed the mountain. No, they weren’t really climbing; they were leaping. One moment this person walked on the craggy, uneven ground, the next they moved far into the air as if thrown there, landing again, and as lightly and silently as a feather.
It was a beautiful, elegant and superhuman sight that no one bore witness to.
In fact, the figure wasn’t merely jumping, but flinging something in the air and then following it as if being dragged ahead by it. Repeating this strange action again and again, they were able to climb ever higher.
Finally, the black figure reached the back of the castle. Surrounded by near complete darkness, they gazed up the mighty wall—tall, but not impregnable. Not for them, at least.
Their real job would not come tonight. However, this was the first step they took in order to fulfill their contrast to try and assassinate the Queen.
The yellow sun burns bright, but will it last forever?
He wondered this as he gazed up at the sky. It was apparently made by the Gods, but whoever said that Gods would last forever, too?
He asked, he inquired, he investigated and he thought and mulled over it, but found no concrete answer. Although he worried about tomorrow, he found that the sun has, indeed, kept rising.
Even if people died, even if the ground itself burst apart, the sun would probably keep rising. At least for a long, long while.
That raised another question, however: how could he ensure everything else lasted as long as the sun?