Chapter 12 - Unexpected Grey

Bells were rung as the Salamander lowered anchor at the docks of Qalydon. Theodore gazed hard at the ceiling of his cabin, absentminded, unaware that he'd reached home. He poked his tongue with the tip of a toothpick half out of his mouth. Legs raised on the table set before him, one crossed over the other, and hands at the back of his head, he exhaled. He glanced at the sea charts nailed to the cabin walls. Some had been drawn by him, others by his father before him. All of them detailed to the bone. Though, they lacked a certain artistic elegance. An elegance that a girl a third his age happened to have.

Theo closed his eyes and imagined the maps that Eksa had drawn. They were a luxury. He knew that. A piece of merchandise placed by store windows to draw buyers in, though the items on display would always be out of their budget.

Except, nothing was out of Theodore Coraine's budget.

As one of the richest of all men in Xenaria, Theo was willing to pay a hundred gold crowns for Eksa. But Dhorjun wouldn't place a monetary price on the girl. He knew her value. And he knew what he wanted in return. Something Theo could never give. Allies or not, the last thing anyone with half a mind would do is provide a means through which to increase a neighbour's military strength. "When in possession of unused strength, a lesser man will always seek to use it," Theo muttered, toothpick falling out of his mouth. The words of his father, Alvatore Coraine. Alvatore equated handing strength to neighbors to be the equivalent of treason. "Never do anything that would empower those around you. That strength will inevitably one day be turned against you. Or, if not you, then future generations."

Indeed father. Agram was a wise king. But he was old and losing control of his kingdom. There would be no guarantee that Agram's successor would be of like mind. Theo's only interest was in protecting his business and ensuring Xenaria's coastal safety. He didn't owe anyone anything otherwise.

And yet, his decision still didn't sit right with him. Talent had no price. Talent was a rough jewel un-appraised. Whether it would turn out to be valuable after being cut and buffed, only time would tell. Eksa had more talent than Theo had seen within any cartographer or captain. Not only did she have a delicate pencil hand, but also a high intellect in simulated naval battles. Theo was left wondering if he made the correct decision. The girl was bound to be a captain one day should Dhorjun make proper use of her. Was it truly wise to leave such a dangerous piece to a neighboring nation for a mere five shipwrights?

His thoughts were interrupted by loud bangs on the door. It took him a few breaths to realize the ship was no longer moving. The banging continued, the sound ringing in his ears. "Yes, yes, I'm coming you Flaming salt buckets!" he shouted, scratching his head. He opened the door, scowling. "Flames burn y— Tilda?"

"No, no. Continue," the black haired woman said, her mellow, sun kissed complexion red with fury. "Flames burn whom, exactly?"

"Er, no one," he said as she pushed past him. Her loose black dress flowed freely with her movements as if it were a mist surrounding her. She had her hair tied in a bun with a long silver pin running through it and a silver choker around her neck with an opal embedded within. Tilda was near ten years his younger and the eldest born of House Eirille, a moderately wealthy house standing a small step beneath High House Coraine in status.

Theo, absorbed in business and sailing, didn't bother courting women. As he approached his mid-thirties, Tilda had taken it upon herself to catch his attention, and though he did start growing attached to her, he never tried doing anything for her in return. Until she one day declared that they were getting married and forced him to go along with it.

She put her hands on her hips, eyes scouring the messy cabin. She sniffed the air, frowning, obviously disappointed by the smell of alcohol. "What are you looking for?" he asked.

"A mistress!" she screamed. Sailors down the hall turned their heads at her voice.

"A mistress? When I have you?" Theo said, taken aback. He placed his hands on her slender waist. She swatted them away and folded her hands, idly touching the plain gold wedding ring on her ring finger.

"What else could possibly have you so occupied? The ship docked at midday. It's well past now! You always up and leave for the desert without so much as a word. I'm sure you've got a woman over there!" Tilda glared up at Theo.

He opened his mouth to defend himself but her expression softened. She sighed and shook her head, hands now down at her sides. He tilted his head in curiosity.

"Just fess up. I won't be mad. I understand it's normal. But mother's been wondering why she doesn't have any grandchildren yet. We've been married for three years already, Theo."

He swallowed. Tilda gave a soft, seductive smile. The kind he learned to fear from since their wedding night. She never called him 'Theo' unless completely enraged. He took in a deep breath, hoping to calm her with a joke. "Well, there is this flame haired girl I'm interested in…" he said, glancing into space and then back at her to see her reaction. He knew he'd erred as her pretty face changed into something unknown. He felt as if he were watching Lilith Lilac turn into Griva. He backed away, hands raised in apprehension. "Hold on! She's only about twelve and a slave."

An error exaggerated. Flames Theodore, but you're stupid!

He opened his mouth to speak again but Tilda grabbed him by the goatee. He yelped, bending down to avoid the pain. She kicked his legs out from beneath him and slammed his face into the wooden floor boards. "Serves you right! I'll have to let mother know that she won't be holding grandchildren anytime soon!"

Theo groaned and rolled over, feeling his nose, glad that it wasn't broken. Blood trickled down to his lips. "It was a joke, Tilda," he said. "I wanted to buy the girl. She draws charts better than me."

"Did you?"

"Did I what?" he asked with a high pitched voice, clutching his nose. The way an expression of genuine regret so quickly replaced her anger when hearing that it was just a joke left him puzzled.

"Did you buy the girl?"

"No… She's Estraean. Daughter of an explorer I think. Admiral Dhorjun already has her. He wanted a warship in return. You know how I feel about that."

"A warship for a person? A mere child no less?"

He slowly rose to his feet. His shin hurt more than his bleeding nose. Tilda was wearing iron tipped boots. That meant she'd recently been fencing. She was both an amazing fencer and arguably the best dancer in the realm. She valued her toes to the point of having specially made shoes to protect them when fencing. "Shuari knows she was worth it. I still feel regret. Her maps were a work of art. Her strategies and knowledge on par with most of my captains. Bah. No use crying over spilled milk."

Tilda held out a black handkerchief. "Don't do that. Don't take the name of pagan gods lest the Creator smite you out of jealousy. Clean yourself and get home. There's news from Duke Serene," she said, expression darkening. "And you have a visitor waiting for you at the Trillian temple."

"Trillia is also a pagan god," Theo said, holding up the rose scented handkerchief to his nose.

"To each their own. Misguided though they may be. I pray the Creator's Flames guide them to the true path." Tilda walked down the narrow hall and ascended the steps to the ship's deck.

Theodore followed after her. He pulled out a bottle from within his coat only to find that it was empty. He clicked his tongue and ascended to deck, squinting as sunlight greeted him. Gulls hovered above, crying out with consistence as small waves crashed against the rocky shores of Qalydon. Four other warships were docked at the port alongside smaller trading vessels. The other three quarters of Theo's navy sailed about in the Aegis Basin and along Xenaria's western coasts in constant patrol or to escort ships carrying expensive wares. Some carried cargo themselves if the escorted ship didn't have enough space.

Theo descended down the steps of a long gangplank and marched after his wife, a pair of guards with pointed helms and chainmail following after her. Another woman soon fell in line after Tilda. Theo squinted for a better view. A new handmaiden by the looks. Tilda's temper had driven away four different handmaidens since their wedding three years ago. He shook his head. He pocketed the handkerchief once the blood had stopped, twisting his nose at the smell of iron and rose mingling together.

The Salamander's sailors hovered near dockside taverns and brothels. Its soldiers had mostly returned to the city's barracks with a few lounging on the ship still and others following their lord from a distance, keeping their eyes out for anything strange. They were good men. Theo kept their pockets full, paying his navy one and a half times more than the royal mandate. In turn, they worked doubly as hard for him, not hesitating to spend long trips on water and away from their families. He had no trouble affording the costs and didn't have nearly the same amount of soldiers as Duke Serene either. How long has it been since I last saw Kalin? Or dueled him for that matter?

Tilda boarded a carriage and waved towards Theo. "I'll head to the temple first," he told her. She nodded and ordered the driver to go. He walked alongside the slow moving carriage for a while until it turned down a different lane of the cobbled streets, carrying away the sound of clopping horseshoes.

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Qalydon's tame streets cleared a path as its lord brazenly walked down the center of whichever lane he chose, his daring goatee recognizable from a distance. The city was by no means loud. It was Xenaria's smallest city following Stoneport. Merchants, troupes and bottom feeders didn't clutter the streets and alleys. Any troupes and performers coming through were the reputable sort, usually commissioned by Theo or another wealthy patron. Merchants were normally only seaborne traders. Urchins and beggars didn't exist in Qalydon. Theo made sure his citizens were well fed and shady figures were kept out. Everyone in Qalydon had a roof, and all of those roofs stood atop stone houses.

He came upon the Trillian temple near the city's gates. An angular structure of stone that would’ve looked no different from the warehouses at the docks had it not been for a statue of Goddess Trillia carved into the front just beneath the triangular roof. Arched wooden gates bore a three petal flower. The trillium flower —the temple's official sigil.

Theo crinkled his nose. Even from the temple steps, he could smell the flowery incense oozing out the open doorway. He wasn't overly fond of the Trillians. Their clergymen and priests tended to be men of young age. Most with lean bodies hidden beneath baggy white robes. He had originally been opposed to the temple's construction. Tilda had convinced him otherwise if but only to appease his people. The religion had spread faster than anticipated. Theo had done what he could in conducting background checks on all who served the temple. Nothing odd came up.

But he dared not imagine that anyone was ever truly clean.

He climbed the temple steps and entered. "Flaming pagans," he muttered beneath his breath. So far as he was concerned, the faith had spread on slandering the Eternal Flames. The Flames carried a negative connotation. Everyone assumed them tainted after the Flame Bearers had gone astray. Time had erased old history. The Flames were a gift from the Creator. Even if they were now tainted, the Laws of the Eternal Flames were still worth following. Instead, people's faith waned and at the arrival of a new religion, their faith shattered completely and they turned to paganism. Theo couldn't fault them. Most humans were simpler creatures than they would have themselves believe.

Chandeliers bearing pale blue luminite hung from wooden supports holding up the roof. The interior basked in a cool light like an unshrouded night sky. And yet, Theo couldn't help but feel that everything was grey. Mostly everything, save for the wooden benches, were grey. Qalydon itself was grey. Stone streets. Stone buildings. Normally clouded skies that too often carried rain. But this was different. The luxurious light, the sweet scent and the golden crown of trillium flowers sitting atop a life-sized statue of Trillia at the end of the temple's long hall all felt as if it were compensating for something. For a grey, lifeless taste that hung at the edge of Theo's lips. A wholly unnatural feeling that he couldn't put into words. Perhaps it was simply his distaste for pagan faiths.

Theo walked down the center aisle of the temple, rows of wooden benches on either side of him. Few people sat and prayed with their hands clasped, uttering praises for an inanimate idol. At the end of the aisle, just before Trillia's statue, sat a bright haired man in a wheeled seat. He stared up at the idol as if admiring a lost lover. "Don't tell me they left you alone here?" Theo asked, coming to stand beside the young man. His ropey hair just barely touched his shoulders. More than a few strands hung before his face to veil his lifeless, grey eyes and dark circles beneath.

"My servants are resting at an inn," the man answered. "I've asked them to leave me here, seeing as how your ship was spotted returning earlier this morning."

"And what if I had decided to go home instead of visiting the temple? I'll bet a fine bottle that your servants didn't once come back to check on you. You ought to be more strict with them, Luka."

Luka shrugged. Eldest born of High House Galadin, Luka was treated with the utmost disrespect. He had been born a cripple. A boy without functioning legs. "They talk ill of me behind my back anyway. Though I don’t see them, I can feel the frowns they hide behind their smiles. Being alone gives me peace of mind. More so in a holy place. Besides, I know your personality well, Lord Coraine. You prefer to handle annoyances with utmost haste."

Holy place… Tch! "Annoyance. That's a rather snide way of putting it. I hadn't known it was you that was waiting for me here. But I'll admit. This is an annoyance. And you're a Galadin."

"Good. Honesty is better than slander. Galadin huh? I suppose I'd have turned out just as pompous and… haughty as my father and younger brother had I usable legs. Perhaps being a cripple is a blessing in disguise. This way, I can devote my thoughts and time to Trillia."

"As if. No cripple thinks their condition a blessing."

"True indeed," Luka said, not laughing at all.

Theo glanced down at the man. He doubted there was much in the world that could provide Luka with any joy. A thick tome rested in his lap. It was titled Wings of Liberty. The story of Kaelric the Swift; An adventurous king who was envious of birds. Throughout his many travels, Kaelric constantly searched for a means through which man could fly. In the end, the closest he claimed man came to flying was sailing, thus naming the sails of ships the 'wings of man'. A popular tale amongst sailors that even illiterates were bound to hear of in a dockside tavern at least once in their lifetime. "What are you here for, Luka?"

"Sightseeing I suppose. To see the blue skies through which sailors soar…" Luka ran a hand along the tome's cover. "Bah! Crying inside's never changed my situation. I doubt it will now."

And praying will, Theo almost asked aloud. All the man had left was faith, incorrect as his faith may be. "What news from your territories?"

"Father's increasing iron prices again. Doubt this makes a difference to you."

Theo nodded thoughtfully. He paid a fortune to obtain ironsand that sometimes arrived in the deserts after a sandstorm. Beyond the maps of Illusterra, some in the south believed that deep within the Mahjur Deserts lay the lair of the Desolate God Shuari, whose domain was made entirely of black sand. In reality, black sand was just rich in iron. Pagans used it in their rituals, sprinkling black sand around their homes and even in their boots when out travelling, hoping that it would protect them from sandstorms. Ironsand made for higher quality items. "Does he have a reason to be increasing price?"

"Hardly," Luka coughed. "His excuse is the ever increasing amount of darkspawn in the underground iron mines. Imps and ratmen and the like. I've spoken to some of our soldiers. There hasn't been an increase. It's all just the same. Father is incredibly thorough. He's been sending less experienced soldiers into the mines, resulting in more injuries. These soldiers have started labelling the creatures as 'undead' out of their own incompetence. Rumors and fears starting from taverns began spreading to homes and streets…"

"Creating a justifiable reason for increasing price?" Theo asked, stroking his goatee.

"Aye. If only the old fool was that thorough in righteous acts rather than wallowing in his own greed. He's raised taxes on the populous as well. Brother at least protests that, or makes a show of it before the grieved I suspect." Luka closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. "Strange, isn't it? Me complaining about my father. Being a cripple has changed my outlook on life. Helped me find guidance through the Goddess. Often, I'll wish I had wings when I don't even have legs. And sometimes I'm grateful for being a cripple. Perhaps I'd be as twisted as my father if I did turn out normal. Perhaps I'd have never found the Goddess Trillia. I pray that this backfires on father. Pray that the people's fears leads them toward religion."

Theo's mouth twitched. More pagans? Luka's words had hidden steel behind them. Something about those still following the Flames as being heretics. And perhaps dissatisfaction from my own accumulation of mass wealth? "Should I push you towards your inn?" Theo asked, wanting to drag the conversation out no longer.

Luka raised an eyebrow. "You have that much time?"

"It's either that or I go home and risk Tilda biting my head off."

"Have you perchance heard any news from Lord Serene?"

Theo shook his head. "No. Why?"

"I see. It'd be best for you to get home quickly then. There's a chance you'll be rather busy for a time. Besides, it wouldn't do for the city lord to be seen laboring, pushing a cripple through the streets. Send for one of your soldiers. I'll make a few more prayers till then."

Theo narrowed his eyes, studying the dreary man. Luka didn't ask for his own servants to be sent. He feared their scorn. And it showed in his eyes. Not even the tranquil halls of Trillia's temple could return light to such a jaded person. The halls were too grey. Theo nodded a farewell and left the lifeless temple. He asked for a soldier to escort Luka to his inn after a while before making his way to the Coraine Manse, wondering just what news awaited him.

***

"Dying? What do you mean?" Theo asked, incredulous.

"Exactly as it sounds," Tilda said, pen in hand, scribbling furiously over a sheet of paper. She was sitting in his study. A room she had practically claimed as her own.

He rubbed his temples as he walked back and forth. Tilda set down her pen, flexing her fingers. She pulled out a handkerchief —this one white— and patted her smooth forehead. "This is the Sar'tara we're talking about, yes? The one that vanquished the criminal guilds from Metsiphon, the one that fought off Kazir Windsinger, the one that killed fifty Ivory Hussars on her own?" Theo looked down at his fingers as if counting The Huntress' deeds. "The one that slapped Lady Leena and thrashed her husband and father, the one that drank five whole pitchers of wine and then bested Lord Fez in a duel for insulting her honor, the one that poured wine down Lady Tine's cleavage and then dislocated her husband's jaw… That ball had been particularly interesting."

"Why? Because the poor, curvaceous Lady Tine had ended up near naked on the dance floor for it after trying to tear Lady Sar'tara dress off?"

"Please, Tine was known to have bedded half the attendees at that ball, women included. She didn't have much honor to lose and that parroting, insufferable cretin she called a husband earned some well deserved bruises."

"Tine's honor was not what I'd been asking after."

"That same Sar'tara is now dying, you're saying?" Theodore asked, changing back to the original subject.

"Yes, that same woman you wouldn't stop ogling at during her majesty's wedding!" she snapped.

"Tilda, we weren't married then. You were thirteen."

"Yes, but Lady Sar'tara was married."

Theo turned away, sensing a losing argument.

"I'll forgive you this once. Even I found myself staring at her at times. Her… daring dress choices and demeanor to match. Did you know I started fencing at the age of thirteen? Lady Serene was…" Tilda drifted off, glancing towards the gathering clouds through the many paneled window behind her.

"Flames but that woman brought such color to otherwise drab parties. Why does everything turn to grey in this accursed world? She deserved to live for a hundred years more."

"I've filled out a few supply and maintenance reports with estimated costs. Written a dozen letters as well. Feel free to check over them. I pray that the Eternal Flames guide us through the coming storm."

"Storm?"

"War," Tilda said, shifting through a pile of papers. She picked one and held it out to Theodore. "She's been afflicted by the Decade's Curse. And they found a message carved into her back. It makes me sick to even think of it. I don't imagine Duke Serene and her majesty to forgive the Empire for this. Unless the rumors surrounding the distraught state of the royal court is to be believed. I've written out all I could think necessary so that we're at the helm if war does erupt. No need to start sending the letters out before then."

Theo nodded, reading through the letter. Ten year coma? Flames! He sighed, pretending calmness, crumpling the letter in one hand, his knuckles going white. It was all too unexpected. He scratched at his throat. "I need a drink."