Fourier surveyed the room with a small smile on his face, dressed in his formal attire for the first time in months. The only addition to his usual getup was a thick jacket, and a cane that he rested part of his weight on. It had taken a little guidance, but he had soon mastered the skill that let him play it off casually and treat it like a fashion accessory, rather than a requirement to move.
Thankfully he’d been able to argue Ferris down to just the cane, as originally Ferris had wanted him to be luggage on a palanquin. It had only been his carefully thought out arguments of it being a bad image for both his strength and his care for his people that had seen his friend stand down. That, and Fourier’s flat refusal to consider such a thing.
In all honesty, it was probably his pig-headedness that had won the day, but he preferred to consider it a victory of his logic.
In truth, he just wanted to move his body as much as he possibly could, now that he was capable of it, and he knew that he’d be paying for his refusal of the palanquin later, in the form of his exhaustion worsening.
Still, he noted that many of the nobility's eyes were being drawn to the cane, and he was thankful for the heavier coat hiding his arm shaking.
“Your Majesty, are you well? Is it true that you have conquered the illness that took your family?” asked a noble Fourier wasn’t familiar with. Fourier gave a tight smile and tilted his head in affirmation of the question.
Pretending that his family had died of an illness made his skin rankle now that he knew the truth of the matter, but they needed to convince the mastermind behind this that they had broken the curse without realising the truth.
He and Roswaal had discussed late into the night about what might accidentally break a curse, with the most likely answer being a curse finishing its job and ending, with the target potentially being healed afterwards, something only the finest healers would be capable of.
Such a sequence of events was extraordinarily unlikely, and it wasn’t something the kingdom would be able to reliably replicate.
It was, in short, blood in the water. Fake blood, but hopefully the mastermind would not be able to tell the difference.
They had remained discrete with their assassination, so it was likely that they desired some measure of secrecy. In that case, it was possible they would attempt to rely on the curse once more to finish the job. After all, if it hadn’t been for Roswaal, the palace healers would have to attribute a second bout of ‘sickness’ to Fourier suffering a relapse.
Such a ruse was only possible because Fourier was the sole survivor. If Roswaal had managed to save even one other, then the curse-user would have realised what had happened immediately. Two people surviving by accident was just too unlikely.
The idea that he would have to lie about what had happened during his family’s funeral was especially galling, and he could only hope that Roswaal and Ferris would manage a miracle and deliver him the culprit before then.
He was aware of the fact that it wouldn’t be just his people mourning during the official ceremony. Miklotov had warned him that representatives from the other countries would be present and that they would be looking for holes in the official story and weaknesses in the country that they could exploit.
Weaknesses that the truth would show all too readily.
If the true story came out in the future, after he had proven his mettle as King, then it would be acceptable, especially if they had a culprit to pin the blame on, to reassure the people that this wouldn't happen again.
Father, would you make the same decision? Or would you trust your people, despite the council suggesting otherwise?
Fourier thought of his father’s face, of the kindly way he had smiled down at him as a child. He had seemed so wise, so all-knowing back then.
But now with the experience that came with adulthood, Fourier saw that not all of his father’s decisions had been wise. It brought to mind Roswaal's remark that his father could have been saved if only he had allowed access to the bodies earlier.
Normally he would have simply dismissed such a remark. If there was one thing his father told all of them, it was that every decision they ever made would be questioned and that once a decision was made, they should stick with it regardless of if it was right or wrong.
But in the end, it had been Roswaal who had saved his life, something that he wouldn’t forget in the future. It left him with the cold certainty that the Court Mage was likely right that his father had as good as killed himself and the rest of their family with his decision to not tear apart the first of them to fall.
Yet, even as darker thoughts tried to pull him down, Fourier forced his smile to deepen, he needed to reassure his kingdom that he was fine. More than that, he needed to show his friends and himself that as well. Nothing would come of wallowing, and his people needed him now more than ever.
“Your Majesty, now that you will soon be made King, will our foreign policies be changed?”
“Your Majesty, now that you will soon be made King, will our taxes be revised?”
“Your Majesty, now that you will soon be made King, what will our stance be on the demi-humans?”
“Your Majesty, now that you will soon be made King…?”
Fourier kept the smile on by sheer force of will, not faltering under the barrage of questions that assaulted him. All were posed respectfully, but most probed for weaknesses or information that they could use to their advantage.
Everyone here was doing him the courtesy of addressing him by his future title, even though he hadn’t been crowned just yet. Even after an entire day of people calling him ‘Majesty’ he still wasn’t used to it. The first time Roswaal had called him that, it had almost felt like a blow. It made him miss his old title of ‘Highness’. His new one came with new powers, but it also came with responsibilities.
He was thankful that Miklotov had helped write up a scroll listing many of the common questions that had been on everyone’s lips over the past few days, as well as the history of prior decisions made on them.
He knew that he would have to make his mark soon—something that would invite new allies and enemies by itself—but he reminded himself that doing so solely because he didn’t want to rely on old precedent would be foolish.
There was one more decision that needed to be announced tonight, even if it did leave a sour taste in his mouth.
It was petty, but a part of him had hoped that he could keep Ferris as his sole dedicated knight.
And yet, as much as he loved his friend, he was well aware that martial prowess was not something Ferris possessed, nor was it something Fourier himself truly excelled at. Over the years he had spent training to defeat Crusch, he had developed into a powerful swordsman who could have risen to the position of a knight on merit alone.
Sadly, even such heights of skill were too meagre for the situation he found himself in. Even if he had been at full health, he was all too aware that if pitted against some of the most skilled knights in the Kingdom, it would be all he could do to stall for time. Winning wouldn’t even be a possibility.
“I have an announcement tonight,” he spoke loudly to the assembled nobles and civil servants, “of a promotion well-earned. Julius Juukulius was key in a mission to destroy a forbidden spell, one which could have upturned the Kingdom itself. Unfortunately, the illness took me soon after that event and a fitting promotion had to have been delayed. But with my recovery, I now proclaim Julius Juukulius, the ‘Finest of Knights’, shall henceforth be appointed to the position of my personal knight.”
There was an eruption of whispers as people shared unsure looks. But those whispers were difficult to hear over the din of the clapping, as Julius stepped into the spotlight.
Julius Juukulius was a sharp-looking young man with light purple hair and yellow eyes, who was well known in the kingdom for his skill.
The knight had been shadowing Fourier throughout the night, both in preparation for this moment, and to support Fourier if the need arose. Even before his ceremony, he had started to act as Fourier’s right-hand man.
The hope was that by tying the promotion to his old deeds, it would seem less suspicious to the mastermind that Julius would now be by Fourier’s side permanently. It was something that needed to be done, now that they knew the royal family had been targeted.
And there was an additional, hidden benefit.
Roswaal had already given Julius an overview on more common signs of curses to look out for. Although his Yang and Yin spirits were too young to be able to dispel curses—or even properly detect them—they would be able to at least slow one down if Fourier fell ill again. Spirit Arts Users weren’t common in Lugunica, and even among them, Julius was incredibly gifted due to his Divine Protection.
Among the available knights, it was only Julius that had access to the necessary affinities of magic, and slowing a curse could be vital to ensuring Fourier’s survival. Even though Roswaal would be staying in the capital to teach Ferris and ensure a cure was available, the extra breathing room Julius would be able to buy was worth assigning him to the new King’s side.
It was a plan that Fourier approved reluctantly. It pained him to think he wouldn’t see Ferris as much as he was used to, but his friend seemed desperate to learn, so he had little choice.
Julius’s promotion also made Fourier seem that much more open to potentially having more personal knights elected, something the other nobles would focus on for much of the night.
While Fourier did not actually intend to elect any more knights, it allowed him that much more time to solidify his stances on many of the other issues that had been touched upon and consider what choices his father and ancestors had made in turn.
As tempting as it was to keep an eye out for Miklotov, it had been recommended that the two of them remain apart for the night, in an effort to show off some independence. Many already considered Miklotov to be the de facto leader of the nation, and it wouldn’t do to reinforce that perception so early in Fourier’s reign.
For now, Fourier’s main duty was to build trust in the nobility, and show that he was capable of rulership. He had found over the years that simple tricks like eye contact and remembering names helped immensely. But while some might be able to easily balance it and watch their surroundings, he struggled. So instead he simply outsourced it to his trusted friends, Julius keeping an eye on their surroundings.
“It’s a shame that such a calamity could happen to your family, my lord,” another noble asked, relief evident in his tone, with only the mildest trace of fear underneath. “Do you know how the royal family caught it?”
This time, Fourier recognised the speaker. Rickart Hoffman was an older gentleman with slicked back greying hair, who Fourier had never seen wearing anything other than immaculate clothing. He’d been a strong supporter of his family in the past, and likely could be relied on to continue supporting Fourier himself.
“I’m afraid that it isn’t currently known exactly what sort of disease that claimed my family,” Fourier lied without even a grimace, “but rest assured that Healers are continuing to do research on the recorded symptoms and combing through past diseases to discover exactly what it could have been, and how it spread to us.”
The words were spoken in the same soothing tone Fourier had been using for much of the day, and he saw Rickart relax slightly.
“Do you think it could be the result of the royal family hiring maids and butlers that came from the slums?” Rickart asked, and Fourier felt himself wince. He had been aware of the man’s inclinations, but…
“They carry all sorts of strange and foreign diseases, some of which can easily be spread through the food that they prepared,” Rickart proclaimed.
Fourier’s own smile tightened and he inwardly wished that he could take Rickart aside and crush him in a duel, as the whispers began to spread from the scene Rickart had created.
But he could not take such a rash action.
Rickart was one of his most staunch supporters, and his intuition told him that the noble was not solely worried for himself. The man genuinely wanted Fourier to be safe, which allowed him to calm down.
He had to handle this carefully. Otherwise, many of the servants would be out of a job and while it wouldn’t affect the royal palace much when they could easily hire petty nobles, he refused to allow innocent people who had been doing their jobs to be let go solely to maintain a ruse.
“You shouldn’t disturb His Majesty with such petty concerns, Rickart,” Leip Barielle cut in, his tone harsh. “You know full well that it is the council's responsibility to handle such matters.”
Leip Barielle was another noble who had been trusted by his father quite a bit, and outwardly was even throwing his support behind him.
However, unlike Rickart—who Fourier’s intuition told him genuinely wanted to help—Leip was instead trying to weaken his position and strengthen the council.
Fourier could come up with several possibilities on what Liep was scheming and felt the beginning of a migraine forming in the back of his mind.
But he couldn’t let such a small thing make him retire from the conversation. He needed to handle this.
He forced himself to straighten, thankful that he hadn’t allowed his smile to fade, as well as for the makeup Ferris had applied.
“Rickart, I thank you for bringing your concerns directly to me, even if they are misplaced,” Fourier said, making sure to keep his voice even. “As the ruler of Lugunica, I will need my vassals to be comfortable bringing complicated and troubling issues to my attention.”
That was the honest truth. It would do no good to make the nobility think they shouldn’t talk to him. Even if that did mean he had to humour Od-awful suggestions at times.
“However,” he continued, raising his voice so the gathered nobles could hear him easily, “releasing our service staff from the castle would be a hasty mistake. The majority of them have served for years and are thus unlikely to have brought in such an illness, and for the newer ones, it is all the more imperative for them to be studied themselves so that we can cure any future outbreaks.”
Fourier locked his eyes to Rickart’s own, but he also kept his attention on Leip out of the corner of his eye and caught the man’s brief scowl. Rickart relaxed further at Fourier’s words and even seemed pleased to have been taken so seriously.
Fourier then tapped his foot quietly against the floor in a pattern that he and Julius had agreed upon.
“Your Majesty,” Julius cut into the conversation, bowing to the assembled nobles. “I apologise for my indiscretion, but it is getting late, and you have another appointment to attend to.”
“Of course, Julius,” Fourier replied, barely managing to keep the wry smile off his face. “Thank you for keeping track of time. It is easy to find it slipping away when dealing with such important matters and charming people.”
The flattery was perhaps unnecessary, but it never hurt.
It didn’t take more than a few minutes before Fourier had made his exit. Once out of sight, he allowed himself to lean heavily on Julius’s shoulder.
His vision was swimming while his migraine had worsened. It felt like he had exhausted all his strength, and if it wasn’t for his experience with the curse, he would have collapsed.
“Your Majesty,” Julius said quietly, “was it truly wise to push yourself so soon?”
The knight wasn’t perturbed in the slightest as he supported Fourier’s weight. He didn’t even seem winded, in stark contrast to Fourier’s own condition.
“It was necessary to address the nobles before even more problems were created. Already it looks like it’s going to take some time before things calm down,” Fourier said weakly, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Now that he had stopped faking haleness, the day’s exhaustion was catching up to him, and he could barely walk straight. “But they needed this. With the rest of my family gone… they need to see that someone has things in hand.”
Julius stretched an arm to the side, and a soft blue glow emerged from one of them.
“Kua, is it possible to restore any of His Majesty's strength?”
Fourier observed the blue light growing brighter in a daze, but he could tell from the disappointment in Julius’s eyes what the answer was.
“There’s no need to worry, Julius, for someone such as I, even a little rest will restore much of my strength,” Fourier exclaimed, faking liveliness in his voice and gait.
He could tell that the answer hadn’t entirely reassured Julius, but unlike Ferris or Crusch, Julius accepted the answer and simply continued supporting him.
But despite his skill at acting, as they grew closer to his chambers, he couldn’t hide the fact that he needed to rely on Julius more.
As Julius opened his chambers, Fourier found that he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, and even the sound of Julius' alarm soon faded.
----------------------------------------
When his awareness came back to him, his first thought was that he wished it hadn’t.
The worst of the migraine had subsided, but his body felt as if it had swollen, with his arms suffering the worst. He already knew that he’d face a long lecture from Ferris over this, and simply allowed himself to lie there, his senses slowly returning to normal, allowing him to hear quiet voices from some distance away.
He tried to make sense of the words he was hearing, but the sounds were too indistinct. The only thing he could make out was the firm yet reassuring sound of a familiar voice.
Crusch’s voice.
That realisation banished the last of his drowsiness. Without considering his present weakness, he moved to bring himself upright. But his body was not capable of performing even a simple action like that.
Pain shot through his midsection, and he let out an involuntary moan.
The voices went silent, and the doors were thrown open, revealing Crusch, as well as Julius, both peering into the room with concern.
But Fourier had already lifted a hand to reassure them, ignoring the small pang that action brought.
“I’m fine,” he said, stifling any further sounds of discomfort before he could worry his friends further. “I just tried to sit up too quickly.”
Julius and Crusch exchanged a short glance, the disbelief evident from the way they hesitated as they moved, and the concern on their faces.
Julius tried to keep his face blank, but Fourier had always been good at reading what people tried to hide, and he could see the worry in his eyes easily.
But Julius was in perfect form when compared to Crusch. She appeared to have not bothered with covering her weakness with make-up, wearing her exhaustion openly. Seeing such a sight on the woman he loved hurt, but it also sent a slight thrill up his spine. It meant that she trusted that seeing such a sight wouldn’t be the end of him anymore.
Although, a part of him did wish—perhaps hypocritically—that he wasn’t missing his own makeup.
“Have I missed anything while I was out?” Fourier inquired, knowing what his priorities needed to be.
Julius and Crusch shared another look before Julius bowed to Fourier and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him, and leaving the two of them alone for the first time since he had been cured.
While he and Crusch had met on several occasions in the short time since he had been cured, there had always been at least one other person present, usually Ferris.
Julius truly was the Finest of Knights, to allow them to talk alone, if only for a little while.
“From what I’ve gathered,” Crusch began, walking to the bedside, “your announcement of Sir Julius’s promotion and seeing you in person have successfully managed to draw some attention away from your family's deaths.”
He could tell that she also didn’t fully approve of his decision to push himself so soon, but unlike Ferris, she understood the weight of their positions and he knew full well that she would have done the same herself.
“Also, my father should be arriving soon, and will be taking over my efforts to use the Karsten’s connections to push inquiry in a direction that won’t imply the existence of the curse.”
As she spoke, her voice took on a slightly despondent tone.
Fourier found himself surprised for a moment, Crusch had never truly enjoyed handling the scheming nobles, even if—like many other things—she was talented at doing so. The fact that her father was soon going to be taking over that role should have been a relief for her.
But then, something told him that she felt that lending the aid of the Karstens was one of the few methods she could use to help him.
Without that, would she have any way left with which to help? Would she—
He felt a moment of sharp pain once more and saw his vision double as his hands clutched his head.
Taking several slow deep breaths, he felt the pain slowly recede, and hoped that his exhaustion would fade quickly. Usually, he would be able to make startling leaps of logic and intuition without difficulty, but with the state his body was in, he couldn’t concentrate properly. He felt off balance, as if something he had always relied on had been disrupted.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
He slowly brought himself upright, and then jerked back when he saw Crusch’s face inches from his own. She had leaned down beside him while he had been convulsing, and a look of concern touched her face.
She reached one hand for his forehead, and gently guided Fourier down so he lay flat.
Realising that trying to resist would just make his pain worse, Fourier closed his eyes and let his mind relax. He focused on the comforting sensation of Crusch’s touch, her hand stroking his forehead.
He still felt exhausted, and briefly considered allowing himself to fall back into slumber, but the memory of Crusch’s forlorn face gave him the resolve to continue.
She needed a new task to work on, and for a moment he was tempted to ask her to stay with him. He had gotten used to Ferris always being by his side, and while he was grateful that Ferris had found something to work on, it left him feeling lonely.
But, he found himself thinking, would that help Crusch?
Staying near him had hurt Ferris far more than it had helped, and while the curse itself was gone, its aftermath would stay with Fourier for a while longer.
No, he refused to weigh her down like that.
He needed to give her a task that was uniquely suited to her. While Crusch had many talents, her most unique one was her Divine Protection of Wind Indication, which allowed her to tell when people were lying.
Then, should he assign her to investigate independently from Ferris? The thought of putting her in danger sent a pang through his heart, but he knew that even without his orders that she would likely investigate anyways. In which case he should instead use his authority to give her free reign to investigate, and simply trust in her skills.
“Crusch, while it pains me to admit this,” Fourier began, “it appears that the most pressing matter I must attend to is my own recovery. But that doesn’t mean that we can allow the matter of the investigation to grow cold. While Ferris’s lessons with Roswaal will pay off in the future, it will take time. Time we can spend pursuing other avenues of attack.”
He paused to harden his resolve, and ignored the tears gathering in his eyes before saying, “I will speak to the council and appoint you Captain of Public Safety. As King I have the power to appoint any of our citizens to the vacant positions left by my siblings.”
“Fourier,” Crusch whispered, hesitantly wiping the tears he hadn’t realised were streaming down his face.
He hadn’t yet truly had a chance to mourn them. And he wouldn’t for a while yet.
He closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure. When he was ready, he looked back at her.
“That position that will allow you to gather large amounts of information and investigate as you see fit,” he continued. “I am charging you with the responsibility of finding the person who caused this. As the person closest to my heart, you are both trustworthy and skilled enough to handle such an investigation.”
Even now, he wasn’t sure that this was the right course of action, but he saw the worry fade from Crusch’s eyes, replaced by a stormy resolve. Her amber eyes seemed to flash with lightning as she drew herself up.
Fourier found himself smiling, his own worries fading away at the sight, even if he did feel a strangely nostalgic embarrassment as his attempt at flirting went right over Crusch’s head.
He could practically hear Ferris laughing at him, a reminder of brighter days, when getting Crusch’s affection had been his foremost goal. A time when he never expected to have to deal with any issue bigger than his own love life.
“I will handle it, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice regaining its customary strength. “Rest well knowing that it is being attended to.”
Crusch stood to depart, and his last sight was of her back striding away, as his own eyes closed with a weariness he could no longer fight off.
----------------------------------------
Mana rushed through Ferris’s gate, coalescing in his hands into the standard healing orb he had used countless times. The light it gave off was intense, capable of healing almost any external injury, but it was not an external injury he was searching for.
He dove deeper into the man’s body, seeking the source of the affliction, but as far as he could tell, nothing was wrong. Even on closer examination of the man’s hand, he only found a minor paralysis, but the root cause eluded him. It was as if there was nothing to find.
He sighed, and pulled back his mana, looking up to meet Roswaal’s eyes.
“Nothing. Ferri can’t find anything.”
Ferris’s first training session with the kingdom's court mage had not been going well. He had hoped that with the margrave’s expert guidance, he’d be able to—if not remove a curse—at least detect the damn thing.
“You nee~dn’t worry. These things take time,” Roswaal replied gently. “And we are trying something which has not been practised in centuries. As the use of curses has fa~llen out of fashion, so too has the method to remove them.”
He flexed both hands, and while one easily curved, the other barely even twitched due to the minute curse Roswaal had placed on his hand. According to Roswaal, such paralysis was atypical of curse magic, as curses were generally designed only to kill. Such minor curses weren't even used to train Shamans and would be considered an insult to any proper curse.
In Ferris’s opinion, that fact showed just how twisted they were. If a curse didn’t kill, it was worthless. It was a style that valued only destruction and death.
“Perha~ps you should try to sense it dissipate once more,” Roswaal continued, placing the fingers of his other hand on the back of his wrist.
Ferris obediently reached out with his senses and focused. He could sense the paralysis, he could sense the strange flavour of mana as Roswaal’s spell took effect, and he could even tell the rough area the spell focused on.
But he could not tell where the curse was, not even as it began to dissolve and leak traces of mana into the surrounding flesh, washed away by the currents of Roswaal’s internal mana.
He shook his head and withdrew his hands.
Roswaal lifted his now free hand and rubbed his chin. “My~, what a conundrum. I apologise, perhaps if I was capable of using healing magic, I would be of mo~re help to you.”
He considered for a moment, then glanced at Ferris’s face.
“Ah, but you are exhausted. We will lea~ve it here for today.”
Ferris raised his head in protest. “No, I can still—”
“This will take ti~me, and there are still options for learning that do not require the use of mana,” Roswaal interjected. “In particular, there are some old texts I’ve brought with me from the capital. I cannot make use of them due to my lack of talent with the healing arts, but they should be no~ trouble for you.”
Ferris wanted to protest more, but he could feel the weariness in his gate. He had been straining himself for hours, and still had nothing to show for it.
Not to mention, Roswaal was a busy person. He didn't have time to spend all day tutoring him, even if the lessons were important.
“...okay. I’ll read them.”
“Do not be put out, Sir Ferris,” Roswaal said. “This is not an easy thing to do. Perhaps if the healing method had survived in practice to this day, I would have a better grasp of the steps you need to take. As it is, we are trying to develop a technique almost entirely from scratch. Even for the one known as ‘Blue’, that is a large ask.”
Ferris nodded weakly, but he wasn’t convinced. He needed to be able to detect curses, and that need would persist even if the threat of the curse user wasn’t hanging over Fourier’s head.
He had failed the first time Fourier had fallen ill. He had tried everything, and he had failed to even detect the insidious magic on his body. Ferris couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t do everything in his power to correct his weakness.
The door opened, making almost no sound, such that a normal human would not be able to hear a thing, but for Ferris’s enhanced senses, the squeak of the hinges stood out with finality, marking the end of the lesson.
He glanced over his shoulder to see the tall, blue-haired butler that was always near Roswaal’s side. In his hands was a small stack of papers.
“Ah, thank you, Clind,” Roswaal said, as the man placed the stack down beside Roswaal.
He sighed, and shot a wry smile at Felix. “Moving my administrative region has cre~ated more paperwork than I would like. Clind, could you retrie~ve the books we brought from the manor for Sir Felix? And while you’re at it, have Ram ma~ke an extra cup of tea.”
The butler bowed. “The literature on the curse arts? A most peculiar magic. Distasteful.”
He turned towards the door, moving with an almost unnatural grace. Even Ferris’s superior hearing could only pick up the faintest rustle of clothing and footsteps as he moved.
That fact, coupled with the exhaustion of the day’s practice, was distracting enough that he took a while to register Roswaal’s last words.
“An extra cup? I don’t need—” Ferris began, but Roswaal raised a hand.
“Don’t feel like you’re impo~sing, she’ll be making tea as usual around this time. It would be rather po~or of me as a teacher if I sent you off without time to rest.”
Ferris paused, then nodded his acquiescence. He didn’t feel as though his body needed the rest, but if Roswaal wanted to have tea with him, then Ferris would oblige.
It only took a moment for the door to open once more, and a pink-haired maid entered, carrying a tray with her.
She placed it down on the desk and moved the two tea cups in front of the two of them.
“Thank you, Ram,” Roswaal said, lifting the cup to his lips and taking a sip. “It’s as delicious as always.”
The maid curtsied. “I am happy to hear it.”
Ferris lifted his own cup and took a sip. In his estimation, it wasn’t anything special, the same tea one could find anywhere else. But he had never truly appreciated the beverage as Crusch and Fourier did, so it wasn’t his place to judge.
“Now then,” Roswaal said, as the door closed once more. “While I would lo~ve to simply let you relax and enjoy Ram’s tea, there is still much to discuss.”
Ferris perked his ears up as Roswaal continued, “His Majesty is taking charge of the more munda~ne part of the search for this curse user, which leaves us free to examine more unorthodox leads.”
Ferris tilted his head. “Unorthodox…?”
Roswaal nodded, “Indeed. We two do not have the skills that are best placed in searching for information such as the method by which the perpetrator entered the palace, no~r can we uncover the method by which they slipped so close to the royal family. How~ever, there are other avenues of thought which we are uniquely capable of pursuing.”
Ferris hesitated. “You mean the method of uncovering curses?” he asked, but Roswaal shook his head.
“Unco~vering a curse will allow us to prevent more fatalities,” he said, closing his blue eye, leaving only the yellow exposed. “But if we find a curse, does that not mean that we have failed once more?”
Ferris blinked as he processed the question. “Failed…? Because if we find a curse on someone… Then the perpetrator managed to slip past our defences again?”
Roswaal nodded. “And while we are present to ensu~re His Majesty will not die in that case, curing him a second time will confirm to our adversary that we have a method of removing curses, and that we know of their existence. As of now, the perpetrator see~mingly wants to keep themselves hidden, since they used a curse which so closely mimicked a sickness.”
Roswaal raised his cup, eyes searching Ferris’s face for understanding. “Once they no longer have the possibility of remaining hidden, they may reso~rt to more direct methods. A curse that kills in minutes, a simple assassination utilising weapons or spells—or perhaps they may abandon their mission altoge~ther, and let their trail go cold. If they are sufficiently crafty in covering their retreat, we may never be able to bring them to justice.”
Ferris took a moment to take in Roswaal’s words, and he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. “You mean… learning to detect curses is pointless? If I ever do detect them, we’ve already lost?”
Roswaal said nothing, merely taking a sip from his cup.
Then he placed it down, and said, “Have you ever played Shatranji?”
Ferris blinked at the apparent non-sequitur.
“I have not,” he answered slowly, “but I’ve seen Lady Crusch play it on occasion.”
Roswaal nodded. “That should suffice.”
He flicked his hand, and Ferris heard a rustling from the corner of the room. He glanced around to see a finely-made wooden board, complete with glossy stone pieces, floating through the air towards them.
It settled down on the desk, off to the side so the space between him and Roswaal was still clear.
“Think, for a moment, that our situ~ation is much the same as a game. We cannot see the board, nor can we see the pieces available to our opponent, nor do our pieces match up exactly with those of the ga~me, yet, I believe the analogy will work. What do you suppose is the goal of our game?”
Ferris frowned, trying to recall the rules of the archaic game. He wasn’t overly familiar with it, but the rules were simple enough that he was able to identify the majority of them. “To protect the king, and capture the opposing king?”
Roswaal nodded, lifting a white piece from the game board. “Precisely. We must pro~tect our King, Fourier, and capture the perpetrator, the adversary’s king.”
He set the piece in his hand down on the table before Ferris. “Setting aside the se~cond for a moment, what can we say of our first task?”
“We should… put our pieces around our king?” Ferris asked, trying to puzzle through what he remembered of the game. “And stop the enemy pieces from getting to him?”
Roswaal nodded, taking a couple more pieces in hand. “A fai~r assessment. Surrounding our king with his knights and soldiers will block the direct attack.”
He placed three pawns in front of the king, and the two Rooks by his side.
“But un~like the game board, it is not possible to fill every space of the palace with pawns to block approach, nor is it feasible to keep our king safe within our castle walls. There are pieces that can still get to him, just as they did before.”
He placed a black Knight outside the formation, and it took Ferris a second to realise its odd placement and what a Knight could do. The black Knight had the King in check, and the pawns and Rooks had no way to get rid of it in order to save him.
“We can’t defend him against all attacks,” Ferris said. “This is the curse user?”
Roswaal inclined his head slowly. “A troublesome opponent indee~d, but perhaps it would be better to think of this piece as the curse itself. After all, there is no wa~y to block it, and it must be removed before it can take our King’s life. For that role… let’s see…”
His fingers danced over the remaining pieces, then he plucked out a Bishop, and with a flickering of his fingers, he removed the knight and swapped it with the new piece. “This would be me. I myself am capable of removing the curse and protecting our King. How~ever, as of the present moment, our pieces only include a single piece capable of removing them. I am thus forced to remain in the King’s presence, for the sake of protecting him. Even if my talents were better placed elsewhere on the board, they cannot be utilised while a risk to our king remains.”
He twirled his fingers, and the other white Bishop appeared on the table, as if by magic. “Which is where you~ come in.”
Ferris blinked. “But I can’t detect curses at the moment. Wouldn’t I be a pawn?”
Roswaal smiled. “That would sell your o~wn remarkable talents short. True, you are not cu~rrently in a position to protect the King, but that is something easily fixed,” he said, sliding the new piece so it could reach the other Bishop’s location. “It’s quite different from the monumental task of moving a pawn to the very edge of the board.”
He withdrew his hand, and stared at Ferris with his singular yellow eye, almost seeming to peer into his soul.
“That is the true pu~rpose of your training. With a second piece capable of protecting His Majesty, we may both move more freely, and unco~ver the hidden pieces our advisory has strewn across the board. Then, we may capture and dispose of those pieces that only we can affect, such as the curses, or whatever o~ther unusual techniques the enemy puts into play against us.”
With a wave of his hand, Roswaal deposited several more black pieces onto the table: a Rook, a Bishop, several pawns, and the King.
“We do~n’t know where they are hiding, nor how many there are,” he stated, “but they most assu~redly are there.”
Ferris felt his mouth going dry and dark images assault him.
He saw Fourier’s pained face and laboured breath, as even breathing became a struggle.
Shaking his head, he forced back the images that were always lurking close before locking eyes with Roswaal. “You mean… There’s more than one enemy? Not just the curse user?”
Roswaal shrugged. “That remains to be seen. It seems im~possible that one single person could infiltrate the palace and come into contact with every member of the royal family, so perhaps they didn’t act alone. Several pieces working to~gether could have performed the same steps. Not to mention, there are those who seek to benefit from the current situation, and will make moves that benefit our adversaries. There is little difference between an oppo~rtunistic noble and one who works for our enemy.”
Ferris narrowed his own eyes, remembering the scheming nobles that he had met in the past. He had dismissed them mentally, as even when Fourier was just a Prince, they had always conceded to him easily. But his new position meant that Fourier needed to take them seriously rather than rely on his status as a cudgel.
Roswaal glanced at the pieces remaining on the Shatranji board, then shrugged his shoulders. “I could make more comparisons, as I be~lieve the position of Queen has already been assigned, but this will do for the time being. Suffice to say, the enemy’s first move will arrive soon, and we should get into position ourselves.”
“Soon?” Ferris asked, looking up and meeting the man’s eyes. Did Roswaal know something he didn’t?
“The state funeral,” Roswaal explained. “Fourier will be out of the pa~lace for the first time since his recovery, and will be exposed to foreign amba~ssadors, as well as members of the lesser nobility, and even some members of the general public. Our enemy could not wish for a better opportunity to finish what they sta~rted, or at the very least, begin manoeuvring for another attempt.”
Ferris started to pale, the buried memories consuming him.
Fourier’s heart had stopped beating on its own again, but Ferris’s magic forced it to restart. The heartbeat stabilised, but Ferris could feel how much harder it had been that time. Fourier would be beyond him soon.
It wasn’t until he felt an arm pressing against his own that he came back to reality. Roswaal withdrew his hand without a word and simply examined him quietly.
“Do not worry,” he said softly, a certainty in his tone that Ferris found reassuring. “We will be there. This time, our enemy’s machinations will not go unopposed.”
----------------------------------------
Tap, tap, tap.
The sound of footsteps echoed through the empty hallways, as Crusch Karsten strode through the halls, flanked by two of her aides.
Her face was a mask of calm, but internally, her emotions were in turmoil. Rage and relief fought over her mind, a strange mixture she never thought she would have experienced.
Fourier was alive.
And yet, Fourier almost died, to the magic of some foul assassin. no less.
So many questions were boiling in her mind.
Why would someone do such a thing?
How did they get close enough to the Royal Family to use the magic?
And most importantly…
Would they be able to do it again?
She kept her face neutral to the best of her ability, but even the act of hiding it intensified the anger burning in her heart. Luckily, the two officials with her had been requisitioned from the palace staff, and thus, didn’t know her well enough to tell just how abnormally furious she was.
“The personnel that you requested from your father are already half-way here, Lady Crusch,” the one on her right said, flipping through some pages on his clipboard. If he was nervous about being suddenly co-opted to work for a Duchess, he showed no sign of it.
“It will take a few more days before they arrive, but I’ve already ordered that they meet you as soon as they arrive.”
“Good,” Crusch responded. “I have already spoken to my father, and he is preparing to depart for the capital soon as well.”
“Lady Crusch…” he said nervously. “Is it wise for both you, and Lord Meckart to allow the Karsten Duchy to be run by itself, you’ve already been away from the Duchy for months now?”
“It won’t be a problem, my father assured me that the Duchy is currently doing well,” Crusch answered. “Both of us have conversing mirrors that allow us to give our commands even from afar, and to get updates on the events unfolding. Should an urgent matter happen we will naturally head back to our estate. But on that note, have any of the other Karsten vassals responded to the missives we’ve sent?”
This time it was the other aide who spoke up.
“We’re still waiting on carrier birds for the last of them,” she said. “But all that’s left is the messages for the regional nobility. We should have them sent out in a few days.”
Crusch nodded. Her task was going to require a great deal of manpower, and she did not entirely trust the officials residing in the capital. Therefore, she would have to bring in some of her aides from the Duchy. Eventually, she’d also summon some of the Karsten military to the capital to help supplement her investigations, but they would take time to mobilise.
Events had rapidly unfolded after Roswaal cured Fourier. Rumours and gossip abounded, and the atmosphere of the capital was in turmoil.
But that wasn’t Crusch’s concern. Even though she was the official head of the Karsten Duchy, her father held much stronger connections to the other heads of the noble families, and would prove a strong ally to Fourier. A part of her regretted that they had to call her father out of his retirement, but she knew it was the best course of action with her new duties.
As the Captain of Public Safety, she had many new responsibilities, but in return it gave her the authority to deal with the hidden task she’d been assigned. She would find the culprits behind the curse, who had robbed Lugunica of Fourier’s family and who had tried to kill Fourier.
Seeing the man she had sworn personal fealty to laid low by something as vile as a curse had brought with it a great amount of anger. But just that wasn’t able to explain the depth of her rage. She had underestimated how much Fourier being one of her closest and most precious friends would amplify it. Her blood had been boiling and it took all her mental strength to try to attack this problem rationally.
Even leaving Fourier’s protection to Julius had been difficult; it had been a great relief to her knowing that Ferris had been by his side throughout most of the curse, even if she wished that Ferris had taken better care of himself.
She’d been tempted to stay by his side herself, something which puzzled her a bit. Julius was a fine knight, and his ability to slow down any other curses would be invaluable.
Her Divine Protection should have allowed herself to place her full confidence in Julius, but that was also where a problem resided.
Those who had access to all members of the royal family were few and far between, and while she’d never gone out of her way to examine them, such things tended to stand out to her.
Had the culprits somehow figured out a way to hide from even her Protection?
If so, could even someone as impeccable as Julius be fully trusted anymore?
Crusch took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. For the moment she’d have to assume that her Divine Protection was still reliable and that she should be using it to find any clues that remained.
“Do you have anything else to report?” she asked, momentarily pulling her eyes away from the corridor in front of her to glance back at the aides.
“Ah, yes. Some civil officials from the city guard have asked to meet with you. There hasn’t been a Captain of Public Safety in a few months, and the office had been neglected even before that, considering…”
The man trailed off, seemingly not wanting to bring up how the illness had rendered the former Captain bedridden for the month before his death. It had belonged to the Crown Prince himself, Zabinel Lugunica, Fourier’s eldest brother.
Crusch had met him, but only on rare occasions, as two members of the upper nobility. She mourned him only as a member of the kingdom’s lost royalty.
But he had been Fourier’s brother. Even thinking of him had brought tears to the prince’s eyes.
It was fortunate that she was facing away from the aides, so that they could not see the fury that rose on her expression.
“They want to work out how you intend to proceed,” her aide finished, drawing Crusch’s thoughts back to the present.
Crusch nodded. “Find them a spot in my calendar. Give it at least two hours, I’d like to get their full thoughts on the current state of the city.”
The aide nodded. “In that case, I believe that’s everything, Lady Karsten.”
“Very well. You may go. I’ll return to the office after I finish checking this wing.”
The two aides gave a slight bow of their heads, and then returned back the way they had come.
Crusch turned her eyes back to the corridor.
They knew frightfully little as to how the assassin had managed to come into contact with the royal family. All kinds of possibilities had been raised about their identity, ranging from a high-ranked noble of the country, to a group of civil officials.
However, it was also possible that the curse had not been placed by betrayal, and had instead come from someone who had infiltrated the palace.
Which led Crusch to her current location, patrolling the halls, searching every nook and cranny of the palace’s grounds.
Of course, she did not expect to discover some hidden clue to how the assassin got in. She was not naive enough to think one person would be able to do that when dozens of knights had failed.
No, she had given herself another mission.
Her eyes strained as she leaned hard into the power of her Divine Protection. While the name “Wind Indication” was in some ways metaphorical, given that she could see into the emotional state of all people, it was also quite literal. It allowed her to see that which could not usually be seen; the flow of wind, and the air itself.
As she walked through the hallways, her eyes traced the shapes she saw, the streams and rivers in midair, watching them as they moved, tracking every point in the hallway.
It was always difficult to describe what she saw with her ability. Indeed, it wasn’t until she was seven years of age that she learned not everyone could see the things she saw. Not the swirling flows that suffused the world, nor the emotions swirling through each other’s minds. It certainly explained why people chose to lie. She had never properly learned how to do so, having not seen the point in her early years.
As she moved further through the hallway, she spotted a stronger air current coming from one of the doors.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough that Crusch opened the door, and moved inside, tracking the flow to its source.
Which turned out to be a window, left ever so slightly open.
She strode over to it, and shut it tightly, then glanced around at the remainder of the room.
It was a decently sized room, with a couch on either side of a small table. It looked somewhat like a room dedicated to negotiations, but since Crusch couldn’t remember what part of the palace she was in, it was impossible to glean the room’s purpose.
It didn’t matter anyway.
She watched the flows of air in the room to make sure there were no other drafts, then when she was satisfied, she left, closing the door behind her, and forgetting all about the room, just as she had done a dozen times by this stage.
Then she was walking through the hallways, watching the wind once more.
The palace was old.
That was, of course, an understatement. It had been ancient when Farsale first made a contract with the Divine Dragon.
Over all that time, escape tunnels, hidden passages, and the like had been made, abandoned, and forgotten, then rediscovered again countless times. Even the royal family didn’t believe they had a complete record of every possible entrance to the palace. At this point, it was almost believed impossible to find every single one of them.
But Crusch couldn’t accept that. She couldn’t do much at the moment, but her Divine Protection made her uniquely capable at this particular task.
She had already catalogued one previously unknown passage, having spotted the tiniest flow of wind emanating from behind a painting on one of the upper floors.
It would take some time, but when she was finished, there wouldn’t be a single way into the palace that the kingdom wasn’t aware of.
In all, it was probably only of minor help, doing more to set Crusch’s mind at ease than to actually prevent an assassination attempt. But who knew? Perhaps one day her cataloguing would prove useful.