“Ferris? Are you there?”
The voice, once so strong and firm, was now weak and raspy. It didn’t even echo in the empty room. The man lying on the bed had once been quite handsome, but sickness had stolen his looks away. Now his vibrant golden hair had faded, and his striking scarlet eyes struggled to stay open. His face was gaunt, and Ferris knew that under the covers, he’d be able to see bare ribs under the slight covering of his skin.
Fourier, the fourth prince of Lugunica, was wasting away before Ferris’s very eyes.
“Ferri is here, Your Highness,” Ferris answered, forcing his voice into a parody of his usual sing-song tone. Rising he got up off the chair he had been resting on, his flat expression revealing his true feelings, even as he began to do what he could about Fourier’s pain.
Ferris was the most talented healer in all of the kingdom, if not the world, and yet for all of his talent, the most he could do was watch and take away the pain one of his closest friends was going through.
“What about my father, Ferris? Is he doing any better?”
Stepping back, Ferris allowed his anger to fight off his exhaustion leaving him glowering at his bedridden friend.
Leave it to Fourier to be worried about another’s health at a time like this, Ferris thought, anger temporarily pushing away his despair.
Fourier’s father was the reigning king of Lugunica, and for a time, Ferris had indeed been assigned to him, to better insure his health.
Thankfully, when it had become clear that Ferris was unable to heal the king, he had been kind enough to grant him leave so that he could put all of his attention on Fourier. For the past few days, he had practically camped out in this room, only taking food that others had brought to him. He’d tried every method he could think of to strike the illness down.
Yet in the end, every single method had ended in failure, and he’d been reduced to nothing but a pain reliever. A part of him had even given up on Fourier, as shameful as it was to admit. It was just so far beyond him that he almost felt as though he should just accept the inevitable.
And the more the illness progressed, the harder it had gotten to keep it at bay. In the initial stages, he had believed that he and the other royal healers would figure out a way to combat and defeat the illness.
But after that hope had run out, he had been left with nothing but his resolve… and what little inheritance he had received from his father.
There existed a spell from a witch of the past that had been used to resurrect the dead.
The Sacrament of the Immortal King.
His father, while not able to perfectly mimic the spell, had made significant progress, and Ferris had pinned his hopes on finishing that work and saving the Prince, no matter the cost.
Unfortunately, he had told Fourier of his plan in a moment of weakness, and his prince had declined the offer and told him to instead believe that he could fight off the illness—and if that wasn’t enough—to let him rest in peace. A part of Ferris honestly wondered if he was strong enough to respect Fourier’s choice when he had the power to trample on them and make him live.
As if sensing Ferris’s steadily darkening thoughts, Fourier gave him a smile. His spirit refused to diminish, even trapped as he was.
“Ferris, have you been eating enough?”
Ferris met the prince’s hazy gaze, barely trembling at all even as wet yellow met glazed over crimson. “Ferri’s been eating plenty, and actually can keep down the food he eats!” he said, trying to fill his words with a joviality he did not feel. “You're going to make the maids cry at how you’ve been constantly throwing out the food they work so hard on!”
Fourier chuckled. “But Ferris, my friend, if I can’t keep down the food, then you simply need to eat extra in my place.”
“You’d fatten up Ferri?” Ferris said gasping, “Prince Fourier knows nothing of refinement. To think someone as unrefined as you defeated Lady Crusch! Truly, you make it so hard to believe at times.”
He shook his head, remembering that fateful day where his prince had finally won a bout with Crusch. The battle had its ups and downs, but in the end, Fourier had been declared the victor.
The duel had been different from their usual bouts, in part due to Crusch agreeing to wear a dress to her birthday party, should Fourier prove victorious.
Her birthday party that year had been a little troublesome due to the appearance of the Great Rabbit in the Karsten lands, but in the end they had managed to make it work out.
Ferris felt the ghost of a smile on his face. Back then, he’d been so hopeful, the future had felt so bright.
"Come now,” Fourier said, a smile lighting up his own face. “I spent years declaring that I would inevitably do so. To doubt your liege and close friend in such a way is beyond cruelty."
Ferris scoffed. "I recall a time when you tried learning a completely new style, just because Lady Crusch noticed your lack of feints, and needed to be healed by poor Ferri. It was only… two years ago, now? At least that loss didn't result in any tears."
Fourier turned his head away, adopting an imperious expression.
“I do not recall any tears. And any tears that were shed were valiant sacrifices that had to be made in order to reach such a peerless mastery of the noble sword,” he said, somehow managing to turn up his nose despite laying flat on his back. “And of course, I will demonstrate them for you once more, after I inevitably best this illness too.”
As they bantered, Ferris could feel his mood brightening against his will. Fourier had always had a gift that could make people smile after all. So they passed the time in comfort, as time marched forward.
----------------------------------------
Ferris leaned against a wall just outside the bedroom, dreading the upcoming visit of his lady. He had just finished freshly applying more makeup to Fourier, making him temporarily resemble his old self superficially.
Lady Crusch’s visits had always raised Fourier’s spirits before, but what would happen if she revealed the truth he’d just learned? Was there any way he could keep the knowledge that Fourier’s Father had died away from him? He was already in a precarious state, and it was Fourier’s will more than anything else that kept the worst of the illness at bay, should it falter…
Yet the King had apparently refused to believe his entire family might die off, and hadn’t left any instructions on what to do afterwards. Fourier might be uncrowned at the moment, but it was plausible that his dying wishes would be taken seriously.
Ferris grit his teeth and felt like vomiting. It hurt to even think of informing his best friend that his entire family had died, just so that they could figure out what to do next. Especially when he knew Fourier would set aside his pain and do his best for the kingdom he loved.
At that moment, he hated it. He hated the kingdom that would put this pressure on his friends, he hated the scheming nobles that were likely to take advantage of this, he hated the people on the streets that seemed more worried about the dragon, and most of all, he hated himself for being so powerless and unable to stop any of it.
In his heart of hearts, Ferris was glad that the final decision was not his to make. Crusch would have to be the one to choose whether or not to tell him, and Ferris would only have to abide by her decision. He loathed himself for being so weak-hearted, but Crusch was Fourier’s friend too. She would understand what he would want.
His ears twitched as he heard footsteps approaching.
He was almost too afraid to look up, but when he did, he saw Crusch walking towards him. Her pace was even, but looked slightly stilted, and while most might not notice the subtle signs through her makeup, Ferris liked to think that he could be considered an expert at noticing everything about his lady. It seemed that whatever decision she had come to, it had not been an easy one to make.
“Ferris,” she greeted, a touch of weariness in her voice. “I’m not surprised to see you here, but I do wish that you’d take better care of yourself. Fourier has expressed his worry about you several times before.”
Ferris closed his eyes and turned away from his lady, too ashamed to face her. It was hard enough listening to Fourier’s concerns for him directly, hearing it from her was far too much.
Especially when having to deal with delivering gruesome news.
Crusch was not content to allow him his silence, however, and reached out with a gloved hand to tilt his head to face hers.
“Ferris, please,” she said, her words filled with an uncharacteristic amount of emotion. “It’s hard enough to see Fourier in such a state. Pushing yourself until you join him is not the answer.”
Ferris turned his head away slightly, but didn’t pull away from her touch. “Ferri is fine. I know my limits very well and would never abandon Lady Crusch during a trying time like this.”
“Even assuming you’re right, and you don’t collapse… Ferris, seeing you in such a state hurts both me and His Highness. You are one of our closest friends, and if we absolutely must allow His Highness to leave us, we should allow him to do it with confidence.”
She paused, her breath catching a bit as she inhaled. “We will take care of each other, and the kingdom in return.”
Unable to help himself, Ferris leaned out of the touch in shock. How could Crusch speak with any acceptance towards Fourier’s death?
Yet when he opened his mouth, he couldn’t make a sound. For one look into Crusch amber eyes and he could see them wet with tears. Such words did not come out of her easily, but Crusch knew that they were what Fourier truly needed, rather than his own weak heart.
Crusch placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly, before walking past him and through the door leading to Fourier, leaving him to dwell on his thoughts alone.
----------------------------------------
A sharp knock rapped on the door, causing Fourier to stir from his uneasy slumber, but thankfully he didn’t wake, as drained as he was from finding out the truth about his family. Mere days had passed since his father’s death, and he still wasn’t sleeping well.
Ferris sprung to his feet, walking towards the door, his fingers forming claws with his hand and practically crackling with magic as he prepared to render the unfortunate soul on the other side unconscious.
To have the gall to attempt to enter at a time like this… Ferris would silence them, then ensure they never repeated their mistake.
But as he opened the door and stepped towards them, Ferris saw the intruder had already retreated from the doorway, out of his reach.
He was an old man, his figure thin and his hair long and grey. He wore strange white makeup on his face, the only colour being the purple highlights around his eyes. That purple spread to the clothes he was dressed in, a colourful outfit that was more reminiscent of a jester than of nobility.
He held a small wooden cube in his hands, some kind of puzzle-box that radiated a faint amount of mana to Ferris’s senses.
But neither the garish wardrobe nor the odd behaviour was the most striking feature of the man. His two eyes shone with intense wisdom, one a calming blue, the other a harsh yellow.
“A~h so this is the right place,” the man drawled, his voice almost sounding as if he was singing. He flipped the box in his hands over, and tapped the side of it, causing it to light up for a split-second.
He tilted his head back down the corridor. “Clind, could you ensure we are not disturbed? I will not require your assistance here.”
Ferris could vaguely make out another person out of the corner of his eye, but he could not drag his eyes away from the man in front of him.
“Mi~ght I join you inside?” the man asked, turning back to him. “It would be best if this was not dela~yed.”
Ferris blinked at the man, suddenly realising his mouth was agape.
It had taken a moment, but Ferris had recognized the man, despite the fact that he had never in his life encountered him. In the entire kingdom, there was only one who could possibly fit this appearance.
Roswaal K Mathers—the elderly Margrave of the northern regions and the kingdom’s reclusive Court Mage—stood before Ferris in all his glory.
The man’s abilities were not widely known, but it wouldn’t surprise Ferris to learn that he could prevent the magic currently crackling in Ferris’s hand from affecting him. Especially while carrying that strange, mana-emitting box.
While Ferris didn’t know much about the elusive Margrave, he did know he was famous for the metias he created.
But Roswaal was making no threatening moves with it, and seemed to be respectfully keeping his distance.
Ferris withdrew his hand, but didn’t make any moves to let the man inside.
The Margrave had not been in the capital since Ferris’s tenure with the knights had begun. He hadn’t even visited when the royal family had fallen sick. Ferris wasn’t aware that the man had even left his domain in the northwest.
As Court Mage, illnesses weren’t the man’s responsibility or area of expertise, yet Ferris had only thought about the man with disdain.
There had been rumours that he had been searching for alternate methods with which to cure the mysterious illness, but to Ferris, they had sounded like little more than excuses. Regardless, nothing had ever come from it, so he thought that those rumours had been nothing more than idle gossip.
But now that the man was standing before him, his face calm and a hint of a smile on his lips, Ferris found his disdain crumbling. A spark of emotion had taken alight in his chest, one he couldn’t control, despite his existing concerns.
Many nobles had tried to get close to Fourier, in order to glean what the future of the kingdom might hold. Most were turned away by the guards, and Ferris had dealt with the few that managed to slip past.
The most likely answer to Roswaal’s presence was that he was the exact same, that he wanted to talk to Fourier personally and find out his thoughts on the next ruler, the future of the kingdom, and his own position.
And yet…
The spark in his heart wouldn’t go out. Ferris couldn’t help but cling desperately onto that feeling, that had been absent from his life for far too long now. Hope surged in him, hope that maybe, just maybe, the Margrave had found something.
Even so, he made sure to keep his tone low, to prevent it from reaching his prince’s ears.
“Ferri hopes you have a very good reason to be coming in at such a time!”
“I ca~me as urgently as I could,” the man responded. “While I would have loved to have come earlier, I was unfo~rtunately only recently given permission to perform more invasive tests on the bodies of previous carriers of this ‘illness’.”
It took a moment for those words to sink in, but when they did, Ferris' eyes widened in shock.
Invasive tests? Does he mean…?
As a Royal Healer, Ferris had been given access to a number of bodies to further his studies in biology. Healing magic might not exactly work on them, but they were amazing studying aids all the same.
Still, he couldn't help but feel a little sorry for those commoners whose bodies he had violated, even if all of them had agreed to sell their bodies after death in return for a Gold Coin to be paid to their families.
When magic was used to its utmost to try and uncover the secrets of the body, it became an unstoppable force, ripping apart everything in its path. It was dangerous and forbidden to use such a technique on the living, for fear of the harm it would invariably cause. But the dead were dead, so some practitioners performed autopsies to discover the root cause of a person’s death. While the process was not illegal to perform with permission—and in many cases, had led to medical breakthroughs—many healers could not bear to witness the process, and fewer still could stomach the act of doing it themselves.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
A dead body had no mana, no Od, no will left with which to fight against the technique. Thus, the magic wreaked havoc on the bodies. Skin would bleed and rip apart, bones would crack and jut out, and the internal organs and muscle tissue would simply dissolve into red paste.
Even Ferris found the sight disturbing. The thought of doing that to Fourier’s own family…
That the man in front of him had proudly announced doing such a thing to Royalty was near unthinkable.
But in the end, if it saves Fourier…
Despite knowing exactly how Fourier would feel about the man’s actions, Ferris could not bring himself to voice any objections.
The King himself had declared that none of his children’s corpses would be desecrated after it had been briefly discussed in the past, so for it to have taken place meant that such wishes had been ignored, and the only way for that to have been done officially was a full council meeting.
“Even so, I can’t just let you approach His Highness,” Ferris said, standing firm. “If you’ve found a cure, show me the method, and I will heal him myself.”
Ferris couldn’t bear to risk his prince. The powers that he had cultivated for Fourier and Crusch had already allowed him to become the greatest healer in the country. If he allowed someone less skilled than him to try, then it would all be worthless.
“Ah~ as much as I would like to do so, that would be troubleso~me,” Roswaal said. “The method I have uncovered is not healing magic per se. Rather, it’s a particular application of Yin and Yang. From what I’ve heard, such affinities are beyond your abilities, no?”
Ferris tensed up. He had great skill in Water magic, but Roswaal’s statement was correct. He lacked any ability with the other affinities. Few had talent in more than one.
And Yin and Yang were the rarest of the lot. It was to the extent that Ferris didn’t know if anyone in the kingdom was capable of using both at once. Anyone, except the man that stood before him.
“...it’ll be safe, right?” he asked, his voice coming out barely louder than a whisper. “Fourier won’t be harmed?”
Roswaal nodded. “You have my word.”
Ferris slowly took a deep breath in and met Roswaal’s eyes with his own, searching them for any trace of malice. The man’s face was unreadable, but the hope that had been rekindled refused to abate, insisting that he take this chance, maybe the only chance he’d ever get.
Taking a step to the side, he watched as the man entered the room and crouched to examine Fourier. He remained still for a moment, and Ferris took the opportunity to circle around to the other side of the room. He was willing to trust the man to a certain extent, but he still didn’t want his view of Fourier blocked in any way.
“Yes, it is just as with the third Prince,” Roswaal murmured, his voice deathly quiet. “His Highness Fourier has been inflicted with that very same ‘illness’.”
There was an odd inflection to his voice as he said the last word. Ferris couldn’t pick up exactly what he meant. It was as if Roswaal found something about it distasteful.
Then Roswaal drew himself up, speaking normally again, the phase passing so quickly that Ferris thought he had imagined it. “Thankfully, with my previ~ous testing, performing a cure without any damage should be possible. We will need to have a disti~nguished healer help him recover afterwards, but as you are here, I do~n’t believe we’ll have a problem.”
Then Roswaal took a deep breath and gently placed his hands on Fourier’s head.
Immediately after making contact, Fourier jerked, his limbs tensing, but then suddenly went still. Ferris took a half-step forward, reacting on instinct to protect Fourier, but then stopped. As a master of Water Magic, he recognized that reaction. Roswaal had no doubt performed some kind of paralysing spell, as was the norm for intrusive healing magic. It was safer for the patient to do so prior to treatment so that they didn’t injure themselves if the magic caused them to spasm.
Ferris retook his position away from the bed, keeping himself very still. He was well aware that at the rate he was wasting away, Fourier wouldn’t even last a week. As much as it hurt, he had to remain immobile, so as not to distract Roswaal.
His resolve was immediately questioned when Fourier let out a low moan of pain. But Ferris dared not interrupt the procedure now that he had allowed it to start.
The next few minutes were some of the longest in his life. He clenched his fists so hard that his nails drew blood, and he barely noticed as he healed himself, only to reopen the wounds a few seconds later when Fourier once again moaned in agony.
Finally, Roswaal let out a breath and straightened up.
He glanced over at Ferris, and nodded his head.
“We~ll, that was more co~mplicated than I had anticipated. Mi~ght I ask that you check him?”
Ferris could barely bring himself to breathe, as he stumbled forward, forcing himself not to trip over his own feet. He gently kneeled down on the bed, stretching his hands to almost touch Fourier’s midsection. Then he took a slow, deep breath to try to calm down, and his gate flared to life.
The mana sprung forth from his hand, a shining orb of light materialising above Fourier, bathing him in a blue glow.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Ferris saw Roswaal tilt his head at the display, one eye closing so that only his blue one was revealed. There was an odd expression on his face, but Ferris couldn’t spare the brainpower to try and figure it out.
He was entirely occupied by guiding his magic through Fourier’s body. Strands of mana twined around the organs, the threads touching spots to coax internal wounds closed, and reducing swelling wherever it occurred. Most importantly of all, it guided Fourier’s own mana through the steps of healing the most vital areas, particularly the heart and spine, as it was dangerous to use foreign mana on those areas directly.
It was something Ferris had done countless times over the course of the disease. It helped, but it merely treated the symptoms of the disease. The root cause had remained elusive and untreatable, no matter what Ferris had tried to catch it with.
But this time, something was different.
Every time he had treated him before, the damage had resisted his healing, as if it were a living creature, clinging desperately onto Fourier’s body, interfering with his attempts to communicate his will to Fourier’s mana.
Now though, there was nothing. Ferris’s magic swept through his internals, fixing everything it found. It was to the extent that he had to call back his magic, lest it use up too much of Fourier’s reserves. The prince’s strength was limited, so Ferris focused only on the most essential areas, utilising his own mana wherever he could.
Then, he was finished, and he slowly leaned back. His arms were tense, and he felt like he had run around the entire palace.
But his worries weren’t over yet. He waited as Fourier’s eyes fluttered open, dreading the moment the illness would somehow find its way back, for his healing to be undone, for him to see his friend's ruined body decay further. But…
“Ferris? What are you doing?” Fourier asked. “I thought we had agreed for you to limit your healing sessions to when I’m awake? You can’t push yourself too far.”
…But as Fourier spoke, Ferris could hear his voice growing stronger, with a clarity that it hadn’t possessed in weeks.
It hadn’t even been a conscious thought that did it, Ferris was used to Fourier pushing his broken body in order to comfort him and others. Healing Fourier’s throat as he spoke had become practically second nature, and yet this time rather than acting as a simple pain remedy, his magic instead found and fixed the wear and tear that hindered his voice.
With a choked sob, Ferris threw himself onto Fourier, clutching him tightly. It seemed too good to be true, it couldn’t be true, and yet it was.
“Ferris!? What are you—!?” Fourier protested, as he was pressed against the bed by Ferris’s body. But he cut off as he too realised that his voice did not catch or waver, and his limbs moved with more strength than they had in weeks.
“What happened?” Fourier asked, attempting to shift so that he could allow Ferris to hide his tears against his shirt, then he suddenly tensed as he noticed that they weren’t alone.
Fourier locked eyes in a silent contest with the elderly man leaning against the wall. But when Roswaal made no moves to interrupt, Fourier turned away and focused on Ferris instead.
“Ferris, didn’t I say before that smiling fits you better than tears?”
Ferris tried to compose himself, all too aware of the intruding presence looming behind them, but found that the tears couldn’t stop flowing. To think that he had always accused Fourier of being the cry baby among the group.
After what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, Ferris calmed down enough that he could roll off Fourier, which allowed Fourier to move his arms to bring him into a sitting position, his arms trembling.
Fourier might be stronger, but he’s still far too weak to be lifting himself up.
Ferris leaned against him, taking most of Fourier’s weight so the prince could lean against the headboard.
Once Fourier was stable, they turned to face the man. Fourier’s eyes were hard and suspicious, but Ferris stood at his side smiling brightly, holding nothing but gratitude for the man who had granted his wish.
“I take it that your presence here is not unrelated to Ferris being able to heal me, Roswaal?”
“That is correct, your high~ness,” Roswaal said, bowing with one hand over his chest, his other hand placing his puzzle-box on the bedside table. Fourier’s eyes followed it, but turned back up to Roswaal when the man began speaking again. “I performed a particular technique utilising Yin and Yang to destroy~ the illness itself, which allowed Sir Felix’s masterful healing to finally take effect.”
Ferris felt Fourier twitch against him at the mention of the rare affinities, but even studying Fourier’s face, he saw no sign of the agitation he must have felt.
“Such elements have nothing to do with curing illnesses normally,” Fourier said, a trace of suspicion in his voice. “I’m not the most knowledgeable about magic—certainly not as knowledgeable as you, Court Mage—but my tutors ensured that I had ample knowledge of all the elements so that I knew how to command magic users.”
Ferris wondered where he was going with this. Clearly whatever technique Roswaal had used had worked. Had Fourier somehow managed to already realise just how Roswaal had created this technique?
Roswaal on the other hand seemed to be thrilled at the Prince’s question, his smile widening as he answered.
“Inde~ed, Yin and Yang are unable to heal any kind of disease,” he said, closing one eye so that only the yellow one shone through. “But then, you were never ill, were you?”
Ferris started. Never ill? But… but he was!
He glanced at Fourier, who looked as confused as he did, but Ferris could see that his mind was racing, trying to figure out what Roswaal meant.
“But then…” Fourier finally started, “was it… was it magic?”
Roswaal’s face tensed the tiniest amount—was that disappointment?—but then he smiled broadly and spread his arms wide. “Yes, it was. A particular bra~nd of magic, known as a curse.”
“A curse?” Fourier asked. His brows furrowed as he thought on the word. “...you mean… That magic style from Gusteko?”
Roswaal nodded. “There are qui~te a few curse users in that land, but the technique has spread far since its founding. ”
Ferris felt himself going stiff. Magic? The illness, the one that killed almost the entirety of the royal family… it was magic? But then… doesn’t that mean that it was intentional?
He went cold and leaned closer to Fourier, who bore the weight of both Ferris and this revelation without complaint.
“But who—” Fourier started, then he cut himself off, glanced at the door, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Who would have the capability to curse the entire royal family?”
“You needn’t worry about evesdroppers,” Roswaal said, flicking a hand towards the puzzle-box. “Ever since I disco~vered this plot, I have been taking every conceivable precaution to prevent undesi~rable elements from learning of my movements. This metia ensures that we cannot be overheard from outsi~de this room.”
“As to the culprit… unfortu~nately I have no ide~a,” Roswaal said with a shrug. “A curse must be cast on contact with the intended target, but who can say who could have approached every member of the family? When I learned of the unusual illness, I sent a letter to His Majesty mentioning the possibility of that foul magic, and I then scoured my manor for anything that could be used to discover more.”
His tone had taken on a grave note, though his smile remained plastered on his face. “I believe your father passed on my warnings to the guards, so perhaps they’ve discovered something since then.”
Ferris had noticed that the guards had looked paranoid for quite some time, but had always figured that it was simply the dismal condition of the royal family that was doing it. Had there been more involved that he hadn’t known about?
Roswaal's smile faded, and his eyes met Fourier’s.
“I did find some useful information in a particular library,” he said, placing an unusual emphasis on the last few words, to which Fourier nodded with understanding. Whatever hidden code the two of them had used, Ferris couldn’t interpret.
“The best way to unravel a cur~se is to know how it was used in the past and how the caster created it,” Roswaal continued. “But as I did not possess that knowledge, I soon realised that there was only one option for the possibility of a cure. I had to extract the knowledge from the bodies of those afflicted by it.”
Fourier did not react for a moment as the implications sunk in, and then his face slowly began to grimace.
“By that…” he began softly, “I take it to mean that you destroyed the bodies of my brothers, defiling them beyond all recognition? Despite my Father’s express orders against it!?”
Ferris didn’t need his enhanced senses to pick up the sheer anger in Fourier’s voice. He felt a sinking in his chest. He wished that they didn't need to have this conversation, especially so soon. Fourier had just been saved, it was unfair that he had to immediately process his family’s demise.
“I did try to ask for permission beforeha~nd, but your father refused me and had his refusal recorded in the annals of the court. It wasn’t until your Father’s dea~th that I was able to gather the support to overturn that order,” Roswaal stated, clearly refusing to be shamed.
“If I had been able to examine them earlier, then your Father would be alive now.”
Fourier’s hands clenched against the sheets, and if Ferris hadn’t been supporting him he would have fallen over.
“To say such a thing about your King… and to his son, at that? Are you unafraid of death? Or at the very least, the dissolution of your family?” Fourier wondered, his anger having left him exhausted and ready to hear Roswaal out.
“The thou~ght occurred to me, Your Highness, but this was bigger than the Mathers family,” Roswaal said. There was regret in his tone, but his face was still unrepentant. “I’m afraid this kingdom couldn’t withstand the alternative. Not only would the Royal Family be wiped out in its entirety, but the same could happen to any future leaders we managed to find. No, this ne~eded to be solved now.”
He spread his arms wide. “Such a curse could be the end of our be~loved country after all. I briefly considered trying to do my testing in secret, but that would leave the perpetuation of the crime to go unpunished. So I instead decided to simply accept my likely fate, and to make the mo~st out of it.”
He fell silent, but Fourier made no move to speak. He was alone with his thoughts, with only his own counsel to guide him.
Ferris wanted nothing more than to help his prince, but what did he know of politics, of doing what was right in spite of his own feelings? He wished Crusch were with them at that moment. If only it had been her that had been present when Fourier woke up, rather than Roswaal, the bearer of bad news and ill tidings. Then… surely then, everything would have been okay, if only for a little while.
“...Very well then,” Fourier finally decided. “As the future king of this land and kin to the bodies you tore apart, I will pardon you from any official sanction for your choice. In return, you must find and deliver the individual or group that committed the curse upon us.”
“I will of course endea~vor to meet the lofty expectations you hold for me, Your Maje~sty.” Roswaal said, his mouth drawing into a slight smile as he bowed.
As those words sank in, Ferris tensed and stared at Roswaal. The difference between ‘Highness’ and ‘Majesty’ was only the difference of a single word, but that word could not have implied more. While ‘Your Highness’ could be used to address any of the royal family, ‘Your Majesty’ could only refer to a single person.
By uttering those words, Roswaal had acknowledged Fourier as King.
Ferris looked to Fourier to see his reaction, but he made no movement, staring unflinchingly at Roswaal.
“I would also like to request that my pardon be announced to the church as soon as you can. It would be trou~blesome if my actions were revealed without a means to defend myself,” Roswaal continued.
“The church?” Fourier asked, tilting his head, a trace of confusion in his voice. “The Church of the Divine Dragon? I fail to see why they would be an issue. They have no power in the court, and regardless, am I not the sole survivor of the royal line? I will take my position at the head of the church at my coronation.”
“You may indeed become the leader,” Roswaal said, “but you will not be able to control every aspect of their actions. Every priest is their own individual, and many will no doubt take issue with me. After all, they revere your family almost to the same extent that they worship the Divine Dragon Volcanica. To mutilate the corpses of your family members would be unthinkable to them.”
“And,” he continued softly, “much can change in a few short months.”
His voice had taken on a gentle, almost grandfatherly note. “You must understand, Your Majesty, the people have not taken the illness of your family very well. We of the court have attempted to keep things under wraps, but word leaks. Many among the citizens—and indeed, even some of those among the nobility—have joined the faith in the wake of the rumours of your family’s decline. The church’s influence has grown to a significant extent during your time sick.”
“...why was I not informed of this?” Fourier asked. “A significant change in the politics of the court…” he trailed off, then grimaced. “Ah. I already know. There were more important details to be discussed, and Milkotov must not have wanted to cause me undue worry.”
“There is also another issue,” Roswaal continued. “While I would much prefer to freely search for those who committed these crimes, as Court Mage and head of the Mathers family, I have additional responsibilities which will delay me.”
He lifted his head, his face grim. “Additionally, I would expect that anybody who was able to create a po~werful curse will be all too aware of my family's reputation, and either avoid interaction with me, or find a way to interfere and delay me further. Already, a number of unusual incidents have occurred in the Mathers domain, which as acting lord I am honorbou~nd to respond to as quickly as possible.”
Fourier narrowed his eyes, and even Ferris could tell that the margrave was angling for something.
“Do you have an alternative in mind then?” Fourier asked.
“I do. With your permission, I’d like to take an unofficial apprentice and pass down much of my knowledge on curses to them,” Roswaal said. “If they are not known to have the capacity to detect curses by touch as I am, then they are far more likely to be able to find the culprit. Normally one would need a vast amount of knowledge that takes years to impart properly, not to mention several years of practice with Yin and Yang magics. There are, however, ways to circumvent such requirements, and one way is with a prodigious talent with Water Mana.”
Ferris had been trying to remain unobtrusive for the course of the conversation, but when Roswaal spoke those words, he felt himself tense up.
“And it would need to be someone who can be trusted absolutely,” Roswaal said, turning to look at him, allowing his mismatched eyes to look deeply into Ferris’s own as if to properly evaluate him. “I believe Sir Felix fits those requirements. Indeed, he may very well be the only person in the kingdom who does.”
Ferris felt that he should be on guard. It was deeply suspicious that Roswaal would make such an offer, appearing so free of strings. There were many people who desired the power that magic could provide, and the Mathers family—as the Court Mages of Lugunica—had a more complete understanding of magic than any other.
Yet the idea that he could be helpful to Fourier, and find out who had nearly killed his friend was overwhelming, and Ferris knew deep down that if he had been approached with the offer directly, he would have accepted in a heartbeat. Even if there was a possibility that this was some kind of political play to entrap him, Ferris couldn’t turn it down.
Still, with decisions that would impact so much, how they proceeded wouldn’t be up to him—or even Roswaal. After all, both the Mathers' family secrets and Ferris—a Royal Knight—belonged to the Kingdom of Lugunica.
Breaking the eye contact that Roswaal had initiated, Ferris allowed his eyes to drift upwards instead, doing his best to avoid Fourier’s eyes. He could practically feel the prince’s gaze on his skin, but Ferris made no moves to help him. The decision was something Fourier was supposed to make alone. That said, he did allow himself to nudge the prince’s side slightly, his own way of saying that he trusted Fourier, and that he would accept whatever decision he reached.
“...Very well,” Fourier said, then raised his voice, beginning to speak with the formality befitting a royal order. “I—Fourier of the House Lugunica—order you, Roswaal K Mathers, to impart the knowledge of how to detect curses to my Royal Knight Ferris, and for the two of you to collaborate on how to find the wretches that tried to destroy my family.”
Ferris allowed a smile to cross his lips despite the grave tone that Fourier had taken, pleased that Fourier would choose to rely on him for something this important.
Unknowing of the heart-ache this decision would cause in the future, or that it would shake the very kingdom of Lugunica itself.