Time is fleeting for a Farthan. And so, they wish that they could see the world in our eyes.
— Study IV of Tarkas, Second Verse
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Varna and Tribune Hymdall’s maid, Albrethe, walked down the Marlyn Castle’s spacious and luxurious walls. Initially, when Varna arrived at the Tribune’s residence, she expected to see a rather large mansion, independent of clutter and foliage, just like many other high-end noble residences. Typically, the image would consist of a garden of varying sizes before the residence itself, and the space it held indicated just how much influence the nobles would have. At least, that’s how she knew it from her hometown. Yet, following the recurring trend that seems to follow noble structure, it seemed that the very same custom was used here.
Varna understood that the capital city they were in was broken into three distinct districts, which were then broken down into distinct areas to their respective districts. Normally, nobles below that of royal blood would reside within the city’s Eastern District. It was the smallest, yet by far the most glamorous compared to the rest—it also was relatively empty, with occupied land coming just from noble housing alone. She remembered it being quite eerie, walking through the Eastern Streets without a shred of common folk. All she ever saw were carriages, maids, butlers, knights, or merchants. Interestingly, merchants were considered noble-folk, albeit honorary. It seemed that having a certain amount of wealth placed you in a somewhat respectable position, though she knew that such an honorary title would amount to nothing in normal eyes.
Despite such an elaborate framework, it seemed that the Tribunes possessed special privileges which separated them from the lower nobles. From what Varna knew, the Tribunes were not completely unrelated to the royal throne—some were distantly blood-related, second or third cousins, while others had no relations at all. The common thread between them, however, was that they made up what King Donovan called the ‘Tribunal Court’. They acted as a sort of council, overseeing many of the confidential affairs within the kingdom. Varna remembered Einwald himself saying that his dealings were limited by these handful of individuals. Their influence just extended that far, it seemed.
The Tribunes themselves didn’t possess a residence, or at least stay within a personal residence had they possessed one. Instead, they lived within the large castle at the centre of the city. They lived, slept, ate and bathed within the castle walls, and were subject to the butlers and maid’s royal attendance. This, naturally also gave them the image of power, which they displayed when it benefited them without a shred of doubt. They were ‘royals’, essentially, having the special privilege of being a part of the actual family despite not being related by blood.
So, when Varna walked through the expansive castle halls, she could understand exactly why those royal hounds enjoyed flaunting their power. It gave them a sense of belonging, a sense of superiority that common folk would never experience in their life. Just like Varna’s own kind, Marlineans could not resist the temptation of power.
“Miss Vileena. We have arrived.” Albrethe said, stopping in front of an oddly grandiose door, opening it as she stepped to the side. “Allow me to assist you.”
Varna stepped through the now opened door, nodding slightly as to acknowledge Albrethe’s ever-so-kind gestures. Before her lay a large and expansive room, seeming less like a bathroom and more like a large in-house spa. In front of her was a large sauna, with several stools along with a bidet. There were even inclined chairs for people to rest in after they were finished bathing. At the other end of the room was yet another door, the same size as the one she just entered, and when Albrethe entered the bathhouse door behind her, she swiftly and deftly stepped to Varna’s side.
Albrethe tried to help her bathe, grabbing a hold on her noble dress so she wouldn’t do the menial work. Varna quickly stopped her before she could do anything, however, gesturing erratically and somewhat flustered that she could do it herself. Reluctantly, that was when Albrethe backed off, instead insisting that she would stay outside of the bath and wait for her until she was finished.
That would, unfortunately, never happen.
Except, the question now became how? Varna had gotten all this way, and finally had the ability to act by herself, but two very imposing problems stood in her wake. The first, and most obvious, was simply a matter of actually exiting the bathhouse. The most obvious solution of course was to exit through the other door, but the palace was large, and a large palace demanded large manpower. Escaping the bathhouse without a moment’s notice would prove far too difficult for her now.
The second issue was Albrethe. If, by some chance, Varna did manage to slip through the palace’s eyes, then Varna’s lack of presence would be suspicious to Albrethe. Sure, by that time Varna will likely have finished her task, and Einwald may have also finished his, but there was also a chance that each of them could miss their timings by a slight amount. And in a matter of thievery, improper execution of a plan was critical to failure. Not that they really had a concrete plan anyway, though.
In the end, Varna spent the next few minutes ruminating about her next course of action. The longer she spent in thought, the shorter the time seemed to pass by. She could feel the clock ticking, the second-hand passing closer and closer to inevitable failure, heat from the bathhouse becoming ever more apparent as her face slowly flushed red.
Think. She thought. What would Kallas do here? She found herself imagining the soldier boy she met not too long ago, the same man who dedicated the past few weeks thinking of a way to save the children. Yet, not a single solution crossed her mind, and even if any did, it were ones that resulted in failure. Groaning at her incompetence, she clutched her hands tightly. Just what can I—
Then it hit her.
The cacophony of voices; the blaring alarm; the stampede of feet. Something was happening. Struck by the noise, Varna quickly turned her head up to look around. And suddenly, the door bursts open behind her.
“Miss Vileena!” Albrethe shouted over the noise. “I apologise! There’s been an incident in the prison grounds—you must evacuate. Follow me!”
Varna stared at her for a moment, processing all that she said, until she saw a gathering of soldiers run past her. They clamoured as they ran past, shouting distinct orders toward each other as the chaos heightens.
Then, in the spur of the moment, Varna ran. Not to Albrethe, and not back to Einwald. Instead, she ran toward the other exit inside the bathhouse. Nearly tripping over herself on the wet floor, Varna ditched the heels impeding her progress, and held her dress high enough for her feet to make long strides.
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“Miss Vileena! Where are you going!” Albrethe yelled, running to catch up to her. Unfortunately, the wet floor caused her to tumble, her body landing a foot deep in the water. Screaming, she quickly pulled herself back up to chase Varna, only to realise that she was long gone.
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Varna couldn’t spare a thought to what caused the incident, nor did it matter to her right now. Rather, all that was on her mind was reaching the Tribune’s residence before the clock reached its due. Pulling out the wrinkled map in her pocket, she unfurled it, holding it with one hand and her dress the other. She tried to make sense of where she was while running barefooted to her destination, though her path just consisted of her going against the current of bodies.
Soldiers, maids, and other residents of the castle ran past her—they all seemed to be running to the entrance, each likely for different reasons. Some paid her attention, others paid her no heed, instead saving themselves, a sad but cruel reminder of the nature of the mind.
Varna found reading the map while wrinkled, busy and running harder than anticipated. However, she eventually found her whereabouts and quickly routed a new path to her target room. Third floor, garrison hall, twelfth room of the twenty-four was where she needed to be urgently. So, while running as fast as she possibly could, Varna challenged the current of bodies and ran across the halls. Her dress was caught among the sea of people, being trampled on as she dashed, and she nearly fell several times. In fact, she did, but the times she did not, she pushed against the wall of people, instead pushing them aside in order to maintain her balance.
Her dress was long ruined by now, and when she looked down to see its sorry state, there was almost no trace of its splendour left. The royal blue which ran down her legs was now reduced to a splattered blue. There were trace amounts of its lustre left in the dress, but the brunt of it changed to a tattered brown. She felt partially bad for the state of the dress as it was now, considering the price, but the time was too urgent for her to think otherwise.
Climbing up the stairs was an even tougher feat. Soldier upon soldier collapsed on her body as they ran down toward the second floor. How Varna wished that they took another route, though she knew that was impossible considering the amount of people in the castle.
“Move!” They said, pushing Varna to the side as she pushed forward along the walls.
Sometimes, her foot would get stomped on by soldiers, and while she winced in pain, she had to press on. Using her hand to guide her through the crowd, she found herself at the second floor, no different than the first, and continued running. Her feet, bleeding slightly and sore as she ran across the hall, constantly sent waves of pain through her body as she continued. Yet, she could not stop, so she looked back at her map—
It was not there.
“Shit.” She cursed in her mother tongue, searching her pockets as she ran. “No, no, no, no. No way. I lost it.”
That, she did. In fact, she wasn’t sure when she lost it, but she knew it was gone completely. Perhaps it was back on the first floor, against the maids and residents of the castle, or perhaps it was crumpled and tattered along the stairs, likely destroyed by the guards. She could turn around to find where it fell, but that would prove too tedious for her already tired body, and time was already slipping short. Anything longer, and she risked the plan to fail. So, she pressed on, with only a slight sense of direction as to where to go. All she knew now was to reach the next flight of stairs and find the garrison hall—twelfth room. Twelfth room. She had to remember.
Varna’s best bet was to follow the crowd. Or rather, go follow what went against the current. So she did. Again. This time, it was quieter. There weren’t as many people on the second floor than there were on the first, but that didn’t stop the guards running past her, some chiding her toward safety.
She figured that was because from the second floor up, was where all the important figures resided. And she was right, as she passed the halls, she could see some people dressed in luxurious clothing, and others dressed as fashionable merchants. She thought all deals were conducted on the first floor, but it seemed the Marlyn Capital also had its fair share of wealthy merchants, lucky enough to live with the king.
Speaking of the king, Varna was surprised that she hadn’t seen a single glimpse of him yet. Despite all the commotion, there hadn’t been a single sight of him. It bugged her. Everything bugged her. What caused the commotion, what caused the prisoners, and why she hadn’t seen the king. In fact, none of the people within the castle had come so close as to mention the king’s name. Why? She thought, only to discard that thought as she ran up the third flight of stairs. She braced for impact, but found nothing. It seemed that the castle had exhausted its supply of soldiers.
This was perfect for her. She ran unbridled, ripping off what remained of her dress so she could see where she was running. Not too long after, she found the garrison hall, which seemed more like a large dormitory than anything. All the way to the end of the hall were door after door, and luckily for her, she started on the chronological side. She made haste to the twelfth room, scanning each and every door plate as the numbers passed her by.
But the nameplates defied her expectations. They did not show just a singular number. In fact, that would be too odd considering her target room. A Tribune’s room. There were only twelve of them if she recalled, and there were far more than six rooms, meaning that Varna was either in the wrong hall, got the wrong information, or the Tribune’s rooms were connected to the regular soldiers.
She prayed to Her Excellency that it was the third option. So she scoured every single door plate until she found something that looked like it would belong to a Tribune.
S1, S2, S3— G1, G2, G3— T1, T2, T3—
T12.
She found it. The room she was looking for. Grabbing the door handle, she ran through her pockets to grab a lock and pick. She’d never picked a lock in her life, let alone engaged in thievery, however Einwald had been thoughtful enough to give her a quick lesson.
“Locate the pins and push up. You may need to do it several times to find the correct order.” He had said. And following his instruction, she took far longer than anticipated. Seven minutes, to be exact, and twenty-four tries. She was terrible at picking the lock, and the longer she did it, the more frustrated she grew. However, the lock clicked, opened, and the door pushed inwards to the right, revealing a horribly cluttered room, bed, and messy desk.
God. Varna thought, as if her job couldn’t be any harder.
She quickly made her way to the messy desk, rummaging through every nook and cranny she could find. She opened up drawers, lifted up objects, and turned over pages until she found something that looked remotely like what she sought for. Documents.
Many documents, each seeming to belong to different things.
Update on the Financial Problem.
Processing of Trades.
Check-in on Verran Territory.
Execution No. 3.
That was it. Execution No. 3. Or, hopefully it was, as she quickly flipped through the separate document to scan its info. It was, in fact, what she was looking for. She found the time of execution, date, means, and preparations, all in one document. And, satisfied, Varna was about to run toward the hidden entrance under the bridge to tell of her findings, only to flip to a page marked by red.
The date had been changed.