Ilias woke up with a jolt. His upper body shot forward abruptly, making him sit straight up, as adrenaline rushed through his veins. His hands shook as he gripped the edges of his bed. He drew in an unsteady, large, aching breath after another - the way a severely dehydrated man would inhale water in the middle of the desert.
It took him a moment to get a grip on his whereabouts, the nightmare still fresh in the forefront of his mind. He continued breathing heavily and laboured, as he got more awake and more aware of his surroundings. Noting that he was inland, in a comfortable and dry bed, made him let out a stuttering breath of relief. He slowly lowered himself back to a lying position.
He felt equally tired as he had when he’d gone to bed. His dreams had not been helpful in providing rest, as he’d been plagued by creepy eyes and the feeling of drowning. That feeling when your lungs were burning for oxygen and you try to hold your breath but can’t because at some point your body just betrays you and tries to gulp in some air only to swallow water, yet it doesn’t ease the burning, quite the contrary, so you just keep swallowing more and more of the salty liquid…
An involuntary shiver ran down his spine. Drowning was the worst.
Pinching his arm didn’t seem to help, despite how much force he used, so he turned his attention to his surroundings in a desperate attempt to distract himself. The room was large enough to fit three beds and a small table by the door but not much more. Ilias wasn’t sure if the reason the skeleton butler wanted them to share a room was due to lack of other rooms or because of possible dangers within the tower.
Nevertheless, it made him feel uneasy. He was afraid of slipping, of proving himself to be just as useless and worthless as he was before even getting the chance to try to be something else. Sure, he had messed up all his other chances before, but maybe just maybe it could be different now. Maybe he could be different, if he just tried hard enough. He just needed to be better. How hard could that be?
Instantly his mind came up with a dozen examples to show just how inevitable it was that he’d screw up again. He repressed a sigh as he tried to ignore this and sat up in his bed, pushing the warm blanket aside. The shaking of his hands had subsided somewhat, which he was immensely grateful for. He looked over at the others.
Erevan was still sleeping in his bed, snoring softly. It was an odd sight. The older man looked a bit less intimidating and more like an actual person when he was sleeping. Somehow he’d never noticed that when they’d still been in the forest on their way to Yolkshire. Then suddenly, to his dismay, he noticed how Erevan’s hand was cradled over a hilt of a small knife as he slept. Scratch that. Erevan was terrifying, always. He made a mental note to himself never to wake up the ranger from up close.
While Erevan slept, Nalion was preoccupied with reading. Ilias’ heart fluttered momentarily in fear until he realised how immersed the older mage was in his activities - there was no way the elf had noticed his nightmares. As it was Nalion was sitting on the floor by the door, greedily drinking in the pages of the book with the eye. It made sense for Nalion to be up since they’d agreed for him to take the morning shift. Erevan had insisted on shifts and Ilias had readily agreed. Contradicting Erevan seemed foolish.
Regardless, he found it was peculiar how the elf could get enough rest by mere meditation and still go up earlier than them. Maybe he was a bit jealous. But then again he had been absolutely abysmal at meditating the few times that Imad had badgered him to try.
A small tendril of guilt slithered its way in. He remembered all the times he’d snapped at the older man. The constant stress in his body and mind kept bubbling up and escaping in the presence of Imad in a way it never did with others. He had verbally lashed out, belittling Imad's tea, the meditation or his proverbs when all the older man had tried to do was to help. Even though Ilias hadn’t had the time for all that extra stuff, it didn’t excuse his behaviour. He should’ve appreciated Imad more, should’ve made more of an effort with him.
He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. It didn’t really work. Even his coping-strategies were useless. He sat there glumly for a few moments, watching Nalion read and wallowing in self-loathing. He was brought out of his thoughts as Erevan turned on his other side, knife still clutched tightly in his grasp, all while muttering something about beer farms. There was a little spot of drool on Erevan's pillow. It was again oddly humanising, like Erevan was just your regular, average farmer or something. But Ilias knew better than to let that fool him.
He stood up warily and carefully made his way towards Nalion. Or, well, as he carefully as he could. He was somewhat successful as no one stirred even though he had accidentally bumped into Erevan's bed. He stopped in front of Nalion, trying to get the others' attention - to no avail.
“Nalion?” he said and waved his hand slightly in front of the elf. No reaction. Ilias glanced at the still slumbering Erevan. Maybe he should just wait.
He tip-toed back to his bed, trying to be as light on his feet as he could. Which again wasn’t his most successful endeavour, but at least he tried? Unfortunately, Spiro heard him moving. The small dragon sleepily lifted his head from Nalion’s backpack, where he had claimed his nest for the night. Spiro slowly crawled out to the cold floor, yawning loudly as he stretched all four limbs. Ilias winced, hoping the small dragon wouldn’t bother Erevan too much.
Spiro flexed his wings and flew on top of Nalion’s head. He set one of his paws, did dragons have paws?, demandingly on top of the elf's forehead. As a response, Nalion swatted his hand in the air absentmindedly as his hazel eyes were still glued to the text. Spiro made a sound of frustration, somewhere between a cat's hiss and a chirp of a small bird, and repeated the process. After a few more times Nalion seemed to come out of his stupor. He closed the book with revenance and looked up at Spiro.
“Oh, you’re awake already?” Nalion spoke softly, as Spiro glided down to the elf's lap and touched his nose with his own. It was kind of cute. “You must be hungry, let me get you some breakfast.”
Nalion took out some of his rations, making Ilias’ stomach roll with a familiar bout of nausea. His heart plummeted and it took all he had not to show it on his face. Great. He thought he’d gotten over that. He quickly plastered on a friendly smile, and not a moment too late as Nalion noticed he was up as well.
“Good morning,” said Nalion with a small smile. The hazel eyes looked tired, but carried that same spark that Ilias had for some reason assumed was a human trait. He was not sure why. He guessed he had thought that Elves were supposed to look more… Different, somehow.
“Morning,” Ilias answered politely as he took out an apple. His stomach rolled again. He’d just have to force it down, then it would be fine. It was fine. He was fine. It wasn’t like he was actually sick or something, at least there was nothing physically wrong with him. Sometimes he just lost his appetite and eating was… Complicated. Just one more pathetic flaw to add to the pile.
Meanwhile Nalion took a hold of Erevan’s boot while remaining seated himself, giving the other man's foot a small shake. Ilias tensed up. He had to consciously relax his shoulders, even though some of the tension refused to depart.
“Wake up Erevan.”
“Mmm ugh hmm, few more beers…” Erevan mumbled as he turned around again. The ranger's voice was groggy and thick with sleep, the words nearly incomprehensible.
“Erevan!” Nalion said, more loudly this time as he shook the boot a bit more vigorously.
Erevan jumped up on his bed with the speed and grace of a panther ready to strike, brandishing the knife in front of him as his eyes wildly scanned the room. Ilias froze in place, trying his best to not appear as a target or a threat. He was also thankful they had rested fully clothed. Then Erevan’s hazy blue gaze landed on Nalion. The ranger blinked slowly a few times, getting more awake. Then he frowned at them and sheathed the knife in his boot, all the while trying to surreptitiously wipe the remaining drool from the right corner of his mouth.
Ilias dropped his gaze on his lap, where his breakfast remained untouched. He reluctantly took a bite out of the red apple and chewed meticulously. He took great care to look up, smile and appear relaxed while he did so. He forcibly swallowed through the small lump in his throat as Erevan wordlessly took out his own breakfast.
They ate in unnerving silence, a silence which Ilias was too afraid to break. Maybe he was the only one unnerved by it. The only commotion was Spiro circling around the three of them, clearly asking for a few bites. Which they all gave him. How could anyone say no to that adorable face? Besides, it would be unfair if Nalion had to give up more of his share than the others to feed their scaly little friend.
After they had eaten and began packing their things, Ilias noticed a piece of paper on the small wooden desk next to the door. It had passed his notice in the evening before due to the darkness of the night. To be honest, he’d been lucky he made it to the bed without walking into anything. The paper was old, very old, crumbling at the edges as he picked it up as carefully as he could.
“Guys?” he said while quickly reading the content. The note was written in a tidy and sure handwriting, slanting ever so slightly to the right - yet he had to squint to make out the words due to how faded the ink was.
"Dear Guest,
This letter is to remind you to stay within the Guest
Tower if not in the company of one of the Staff.
Failure to do so might result in your demise.
-Yoric, Chief of Staff
P.S. Supper is served at seven each night. If you require any
food before that, please contact Staff at the bottom floor."
Nalion peered curiously over his shoulder, reading the note.
“So that means the Guest Tower should be safe, that’s good,” the elf mumbled to himself.
Erevan glanced at the note dismissively as it posed no threat. The ranger bore a look of utter boredom as he rang the small silver bell, prompting the skeleton butler to walk in the room after a few moments. Ilias briefly wondered if he was the Yoric from the note.
The skeleton bowed low once more and Ilias offered a small bow in return - exactly the depth a lower nobility should give to a key staff member. He could hear Erevan huff at this in a disapproving manner, as he had feared the older man would, but what was he supposed to do? Be impolite? Maybe there was another type of greeting he should have used and now he’d made a fool of them all. He did have a habit of saying or doing the wrong thing.
He made sure to smile warmly at Yoric/Bony as he straightened his spine.
“Did you write this note?” Ilias asked in a friendly tone.
The skeleton nodded. So he was indeed Yoric. Ilias committed it to memory, making sure to refer to the Chief of Staff by his real name from now on.
“So are you going to take us to the staff now?” Nalion inquired eagerly.
Yoric shook his head and pointed towards Nalion. Nalion looked around in a bewildered manner, as if he was waiting for the skeleton to be pointing at someone else behind him. The elf blinked and asked, “what do you mean with that?”
The Chief of Staff walked closer and pointed towards the small pocket on Nalion's breast.
“OH!” exclaimed the elf excitedly as he took the red key out of the pocket. “Do we need to get more keys? Is that what the “four things'' were? And then the keys will lead us to the staff right?”
Nalion fired the questions with impressive speed as intrigue sparkled in his hazel eyes.
Yoric simply nodded. Nalion clapped his hands and wiggled, honest to gods wiggled, in celebration as Erevan rolled his eyes. Oddly enough, Erevan's frown seemed almost fond when he looked at Nalion. But then again Nalion was a good person so maybe it wasn’t that odd.
They walked out of their room, following the skeleton to a new, vast room. The place was illuminated by dozens of torches hanging far above them, making Ilias wonder how they managed to light them when they were so high up. Must’ve been magic.
Otherwise the room was quite bare. There was a square hole in the ceiling, though there seemed to be something there preventing them from seeing up. On each corner of the hole there were coarse ropes which seemed to be attached to the corners of a faintly elevated piece of floor. There were some statues by the walls and old paintings hanging from them, but that was it.
Ilias could see Erevan eyeing the elevated part distrustfully. It must be important somehow, when there wasn’t anything else to be seen. Maybe it was the way to the dinner the note had mentioned? Though Ilias couldn’t fathom how. A portal maybe?
Or maybe it was a trap. He should probably test it out, so they’d know it's safe. It’s not like there was anyone left who would miss him. The thought evoked a small wave of loneliness, crashing against the nigh omnipresent melancholy he seemed to carry with him everywhere. Like a little grey cloud inside his head, muting the colours of the world around him.
Erevan interrupted his dour thoughts as the ranger called out to the skeleton.
“Bony! What does that thing do?” Erevan demanded as he pointed at the elevated piece.
Yoric lifted his hand and pointed up. Then he pointed down. Ilias didn’t understand any of it.
“OH!” said Nalion excitedly. “So we can use it to move up or down in this tower?”
The skeleton nodded.
“Anything dangerous in this tower?” asked Erevan warily.
Yoric moved his hand in a so-so fashion.
Erevan hummed, not appearing to be very pleased with the vague answer. Ilias quickly averted his gaze from the ranger, lest he invoke the latter’s ire.
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“Will something or someone attack us unprovoked?” Nalion questioned, eyes eagerly fixed on the skeleton's thin frame. To be fair, everyone's skeleton was probably thin.
Yoric shook his head decisively. Well that was a relief. Depending on one's definition of “provocation”.
“I guess we should test the transportation device out, so that we know how to use it,” Ilias said, matching Nalion's tone. It didn’t stop Erevan from glaring at him.
“I can go?” he offered quickly, hoping to appease the ranger. Erevan huffed and looked away. Ilias hesitated for a moment. Then he decided to take that as a “yes” and waltzed to the elevated piece with confidence he didn’t feel.
Nothing happened. He thought he would’ve been whisked away the moment his feet made contact. Instead he was left standing in an anticlimactic fashion, feeling like a fool. Was he supposed to do something? Like command the piece to move down, o-
As soon as he’d thought the word, the piece jerked and began moving downwards. The suddenness of it managed to wrench out a small yelp from him, which he was instantly ashamed of. Before long the piece stilled, and he was trapped in darkness. He didn’t dare to move as his chest began to tighten. Oh no. That's not good. He needed to fix this. He breathed shakily, pushing against the tightness.
Okay, okay, what would Erevan do? Probably threaten the piece, or stare at it menacingly before it moved again by sheer force of will. Ilias frowned down at the piece, channelling his very best Erevan-imitation. Nothing happened.
What would Nalion do? Probably try to figure out what prompted the thing to move in the first place. The others had just been standing there and he’d been thinking and… Of course! The realisation slapped him right in the face with the force of a trampling doko-herd. He really was an idiot. He took another shaky breath in and thought “Up”.
The piece began moving again, this time upwards. Relief washed through him as he felt the tightness ease. Good. He couldn’t afford to show such weakness. Ilias made sure to slip on a polite, friendly smile, standing relaxed but straight as he was brought back to the previous room. He stepped out of the piece and told the others how this magical invention worked. Nalion listened intently, eyes open and curious whereas Erevan wasn’t even looking in his direction. He tried not to be unnerved by that.
Nalion tapped his finger against his lips. “How does it work when there are many people on it? Do we all have to think of the same direction or is it enough with just one? What if multiple people think of opposing directions?”
“Where do we find the next key Bony?” asked Erevan, tone uninterested.
“Come on Erevan, it’s fascinating!” protested Nalion passionately, but Yoric was already answering Erevan’s question. The skeleton pointed his finger upwards while casually walking on top of the piece.
Nalion pursed his lips, before giving in. “Okay, we’ll just skip straight to the experiment-phase then.”
Erevan looked at Nalion with slight exasperation, and then they stepped on to the piece together in unspoken agreement. This was when Ilias truly realised how small the space was. It was clearly meant to transport one, maybe two individuals at a time. Definitely not four people and a small dragon. The space was already quite tight. They would really have to cram in to fit.
Nalion looked at him expectantly while Erevan sighed in a fed up manner. Ilias could feel his nervousness increase as the slight tightness around his chest returned. He just had to walk there, stand for a moment and walk out. It really wasn’t a big deal, why did he have to be such a bloody wimp?
He walked quickly, the fake smile feeling faker still as his cheeks ached. Ilias positioned himself in the small space next to Nalion and in front of Erevan, feeling the warmth from their bodies as they were pressed against his own. The platform began moving upwards. He couldn’t help it as he tensed. His shoulders kept hiking further and further up in his discomfort, ending up somewhere close to his ears. Just suck it up for a while, he berated himself.
Finally the moving stopped. It didn’t help that this place was just as dark as the one he’d been to by himself earlier. He tried to take a calming breath as he felt the others walk off. He took a tentative step forward, and then another. At least he’d gotten off the piece without falling. Small victories, literally in this case.
Several footsteps echoed in the distance. It was disorienting, making him unsure where he should go.
“Are you coming Ilias?” He could hear Nalion's voice coming from somewhere to his right. He instinctively turned towards the sound, only to be met with the same inky blackness.
“Um,” he said eloquently. He was being what he’d feared, a burden. A waste of time.
“What is it?” asked Nalion, his tone candid and curious.
“It’s just that… I… can’t… really… see?” Ilias said hesitantly while trying to ooze calmness. Which didn’t work out so well, his own voice sounding small as it reverberated through the room. He repressed the urge to pinch himself for not being who he should be and also stupidly formulating his statement as a question.
Suddenly a hand roughly grabbed his bicep. He let out another involuntary yelp as he momentarily froze. The hand tugged him impatiently as he quickly regained control over his body. He followed the hand obediently. Given the gruff manner, Ilias was surprised to find out that whoever was leading him forward wasn’t actually hurting him. The grip on his arm was firm yet not painfully tight. There’d be no bruising, probably not even a red mark.
Their pace was brisk though, almost causing Ilias to fall a few times as he clumsily stumbled his way in the darkness. Then they came to an abrupt stop and Ilias walked straight into the person with a small umph. Shame flooded his entire being. At least the darkness helped conceal it.
“Look, it’s another letter!” spoke Nalion enthusiastically.
“What does it say?” came a gruff voice from right in front of him. Oh no. He’d just bumped in to Erevan. So it was Erevan's hand still holding him in his grasp. Which also meant that somehow both Nalion and Erevan were able to see in this area. Which probably also meant that Erevan wasn’t fully human as he’d assumed. Imad was right. Assuming really did make an ass out of you and me.
He tried to focus on Nalion’s words instead of Erevan's hand while being as quiet as he could, working on getting his breathing under control.
“Dear Kate,” Nalion began to read, enunciating the words dramatically as if it was a play. “‘Long have I longed to lay my eyes upon thou. I have so much to show thou. With Zions help I have created wonders! I even created a magic that I believe thou shall enjoy. I asked Yoric to put this letter in thy quarters and slip thou this key.’ OH!! That must be the next key!”
Nalion cleared his throat and continued, “Use it in the statue with the blue eyes. It deactivates the trap and makes it so that thou can come see me. I’ll be waiting at the top of the Magi Tower. Love, Ryan, head assistant mage, lover and genius. P.S. Thou cannot miss supper or people shall know something is amiss, go there ere thou’ll come see me.”
Ilias was pretty sure he heard Erevan mutter something akin to “Mages” under his breath.
“There’s no key here, so we should go to the place they serve supper, see if we can find it there! Unless Kate made it to the Magi Tower.”
Nalion paused. “Oh she didn’t? So she’s still in the Guest Tower?” Another pause. “Do we need to go up or down?”
One more beat of silence, after which Nalion thanked Yoric. Then Ilias could hear people moving and Erevan began tugging his arm again. Ilias followed back as obediently as he’d done before, doing his best to stay upright. He really didn’t want to anger Erevan any more than he already had.
Soon he was squeezed in between people again. Before he had time to freak out they were already moving up. He could see some light starting to trickle in from the gaps in the ceiling, getting brighter the further up they went. About halfway there he could hear the clattering of glasses and smattering of forks and knives on plates.
As the piece stopped once more, he quickly scampered off. It was probably a bit too quick than he should’ve, but it was getting harder to keep up his façade while envisioning the others’ discomfort. Looking up he was met with a grisly display, as if someone had made a ghastly play in the theatre featuring only skeletons.
There were about a dozen skeletons there, each acting as if eating a feast, though their plates were empty. All of the skeletons were wearing what had once been fine clothing. Or so Ilias guessed based on the little he could glimpse in their tattered state. Some of the skeletons even had old, rusty swords by their side.
There were four large tables surrounding the small platform they had been on. Each of the tables was facing a tall and ornate window, showering the room in natural light. The few skeletons that weren’t seated were walking around with empty serving plates or flasks, sometimes bending down as if refilling a plate or a glass. In the air there were hundreds of flying candles illuminating the distasteful scene.
For a moment they merely stood there in silence, taking in the twisted performance. Yoric was the first to move, gesturing for them to follow him to an empty table. Follow they did, and then the Chief of Staff was motioning for them to sit down on one of the chairs. Nalion glanced at them, shrugged, and sat down. The moment the elf was fully seated, his hazel eyes rolled in the back of his head. Nalion slumped over the table, limp and unconscious.
“NALION!” Ilias and Erevan exclaimed in chorus.
“What did you do to him?!” growled Erevan angrily as he drew out his swords. Ilias swallowed through a lump of guilt in his throat. It felt like it was his fault. He should have known something would happen, he should have been the one to sit down first. Why didn’t he think of that?
Yoric remained calm as Erevan violently kicked the chair Nalion was seated upon, effectively making the elf fall down. The ranger accomplished all this whilst not taking his eyes off the skeleton.
There was a faint “ow” coming from the floor. Ilias head snapped to the side, seeing Nalion gingerly standing up and rubbing the side he’d presumably landed on.
“Nalion! What happened?” Ilias cried out in concern as Erevan kept glaring at Yoric.
“I don’t know. I sat down and then I was here, but you weren’t, and everyone was alive. Then I was back here, lying on the floor,” Nalion said. The elf seemed somewhat stunned.
“So some kind of magic that allows us to interact with them? That could help us locate Kate, so that we can find the key,” Ilias mused.
Erevan shook his head at the same time as Nalion nodded eagerly. The ranger reluctantly sheathed his swords, shooting a dirty glare in Nalion’s direction. “No, too dangerous.”
“What if you stay here?” proposed Nalion. “That way we can find Kate, but if something happens you can knock us off the chairs and we’ll be back?”
Erevan frowned as he crossed his arms. He didn’t seem very elated. The ranger offered merely a grunt as a response before sitting on the floor morosely. “Fine. But Spiro stays too.”
Nalion and Ilias shared a look and sat on the chairs opposing each other.
At once the scenario around them changed. Gentle rays of the evening sun fell upon them as they looked around. They were surrounded by human nobility, all in expensive clothing and enjoying a plentiful feast. There were smiles gracing their lips and laughter abounded as chatter filled the air. Ilias looked down on the table they were sitting at and noticed the fine white tablecloth with intricate patterns woven onto it. The plate in front of him was unblemished and shiny, empty as it was, and the utensils were made of silver.
Ilias frowned at them. They were wrong. There were several forks and knives, each meant for a different course, but they were put in the wrong order. He looked around furtively, catching Nalion’s curious gaze. No one was looking at them. He leaned forward with nonchalance and subtly switched the order of the utensils. There. Now he could focus.
“What are you doing?” asked Nalion, cocking his head to the side.
Before Ilias could answer, a waitress walked to their table.
“What would thou like to drink, ale or wine?” she asked sweetly, then frowned as she noticed the order of Ilias’s utensils. “Oh, I apologize sir, allow me to fix this.”
The waitress put down the flasks she was carrying while bending to rearrange the silverware. Ilias smiled warmly at her as he thanked her, all the while his insides screamed at the wrongness.
“There we go, much better. So ale or wine?” she smiled brightly.
“Wine,” Ilias said amicably. There was no way he was drinking that and risking making even more of a fool of himself, but appearances were important. The wine was a dark red, he noticed in surprise as it was expertly poured into the clean glass. Must have been Shikan. He sniffed at it, smelling the cinnamon and cardamom. Yep. Definitely Shikan. He didn’t know the trading between Shika and Lucca had bloomed to such an extent that the finest wares could find their way outside of the capital.
As soon as the waitress had gotten out of eyesight Ilias quickly and stealthily fixed the order of the knives and forks again. Much better.
He lifted his gaze to meet Nalion’s questioning eyes. He shrugged as he said as casually as he could, “They were in the wrong order.”
They were interrupted again, this time by an older member of the staff. He’d aged well, the grey lightly sprinkled in the well-kept dark hair, his dark grey eyes somehow both twinkling and serious at the same time. They reminded Ilias of Imad, even though their colour was wrong.
“It is a pleasure to properly meet thou sirs. My name is Yoric and I am the Chief of Staff,” the man said, properly enunciating his words while bowing low. Ilias’s eyes widened. This was Yoric? Their Yoric?
“Oh!” said Nalion in surprise. The elf glanced around not so subtly, and seeing that they were being left alone for the moment, whispered, “You know you’re dead, right?”
Ilias inwardly winced at the lack of tact. Yoric, however, appeared faintly amused.
“Yes, I am well aware sir,” he replied.
Nalion looked relieved, “Oh, that’s good. Does everyone know? Also why are you dead? But not really dead? And where, or should I say when, are we? Who is Kate? Why do we need the keys? What’s going on in the other towers? Where is the staff and why do we need the keys to get it?”
Nalion paused for air while Ilias brain was recovering from whiplash. They had travelled in time?!
“Wh-,” Nalion began again, only to be interrupted by Yoric.
“No, everyone does not know. We are the only ones who do, within this room at least. As to why we are deceased, we were killed by demons. Why we are not really deceased, I do not know. We are currently approximately 300 years in the past, this is the evening we perished. Lady Katherine is sitting right there,” Yoric paused to point at a young woman in an opulent red dress. Her long brown hair was flowing down her back, causing a stark contrast with her pale skin.
“Thou need the keys in order to get to Zion who has the staff. Hopefully he can set a stop to this curse once he is freed. The other towers are the Tower of Magi, where thou should find the key to the Tower of Paladin, where I hope the key to the top floor of Zion’s tower is hidden. They can be more dangerous to roam around than the Guest Tower, though unfortunately I have not been able to check them myself since I only possessed the Guest Tower key. ‘Tis also possible none have survived there or that they have been inflicted by the same curse as we were. Does that answer thy questions sir?”
Nalion opened his mouth, probably to ask more questions, so Ilias hurried to speak first. Who knew how long they had before Erevan got impatient and woke them up. And the gruff ranger would surely be disappointed if they hadn’t managed to get the next key.
“Thank you Yoric,” he smiled. “I hope we will be able to assist you. Could you please ask Lady Katherine to join us?”
“Very well sir,” said Yoric, bowing once more before walking towards the young woman. Ilias could see their lips moving as they spoke, and soon Lady Katherine walked towards them with the grace of true nobility.
“Ah, Lady Katherine! It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” said Ilias as he flashed his most charming smile towards her. It was easy slipping into his old role, knowing the words one was expected to say. Smalltalk with nobility was like a dance, where everyone knew the steps and even the most poisonous words were laced with honey.
“Charmed, I’m sure,” she replied, curiosity shining in her blue eyes. A slight apprehension was added to them as they glanced at Nalion. “I must apologize, my lords, I do not think I have caught thy names.”
“No need for apologies my lady, we attended on a very short notice. My name is Ilias of House Westley and this is my associate Nalion,” Ilias said while gesturing towards Nalion. The elf in question gave a small, awkward wave.
He could see her brow furrowing in small wrinkles as the lady frowned at their lack of social protocol. He also caught a glimpse of distrust in her gaze before her face smoothed into a polite expression. Remaining seated could be taken as a slight, Ilias knew, but he couldn’t risk standing up. They might end up back in the present, or the future, depending on one's perspective. Though he was not sure what they might have done to provoke the distrust. He’d have to tread carefully.
“Would you please take a seat my lady? There is something we would like to discuss with you.”
As if Yoric had read his mind, the older man pulled a chair out for the Lady as Ilias spoke. The man had certainly earned his title. Lady Katherine sat down at the end of the table as Yoric gently pushed the chair under her. She looked suspicious, not even bothering to hide it any longer.
“And pray tell me, what would thy wish to discuss?” she asked in a blatantly dry voice, clearly growing weary of the games.
“We know about you and Ryan,” interrupted Nalion bluntly. That was not exactly the way Ilias would have approached the subject. But he guessed it did get the job done?
“Excuse me my lord, what are thou insinuating?!” Lady Katherine whisper-shouted angrily, clearly offended. It seemed they had struck a nerve.
Nalion, gods bless his heart, appeared to be completely clueless to this. The elf ploughed on, answering her question. “Well, we found the note Ryan left you and now we need the key! So that we can help you guys and the townsfolk!”
The lady’s face paled at Nalion’s words. “Thou found the note,” she whispered.
“Yes, that’s what I said,” Nalion answered slowly, swinging his head towards Ilias and Yoric in confusion. “And we need the key that you have, so that we can get to the next tower so that we can free you from this loop! So you won’t be dead but not really dead any longer.”
Lady Katherine closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. She looked like she might faint any second. “Dead? Are thou jesting?”
“My lady,” Ilias began, tone polite yet friendly. “I am sorry to spring this on you yet my…” he trailed off momentarily, “associate speaks the truth.”
He took a short pause to clear his throat and then continued, “We come from the future, where Zion and all of this are mere legends. I understand it is a lot in a short amount of time. I truly am sorry.”
He really was.
“Thou are insane,” she whispered. The lady slowly opened her dark blue eyes and gazed at them intently, looking for deceit yet finding none.
“Yoric,” she said, her voice shaking slightly, “Is this true?”
“Unfortunately it is my lady,” answered the Chief of Staff, sympathetic.
“Do thou trust them,” she whispered.
“I do my lady.”
She drew in one more shaky breath, something in her settling as her gaze steeled. “Alright, I w-,”
“SISTER! What is thy purpose sitting here, come, enjoy the party!” A loud voice boomed around them as a young man in his twenties walked towards them. He shared his complexion and dark hair with Lady Katherine.
The lady’s eyes widened as she mouthed to them “Get rid of him”. Then she put on a sweet smile and turned, “Brother dear! May I introduce thou to my companions?”
The man waltzed closer. Ilias casually reached for his goblet of wine. It was a shame to waste such expensive exports, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Ilias pretended to begin standing up, only to “accidentally” spill his wine on the somewhat older noble as he got within reach.
Ilias twisted his face in horror he didn’t feel as he exclaimed, “Oh no! My apologies my lord! I am deeply sorry, I am so clumsy, so sorry -”
“THOU IMBECILE!! WHAT DIDST THOU DO!?! THIS IS A SILK SHIRT, DO THOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO GET OUT WINE STAINS?!?” The lord jumped back, furiously gesturing at the large red stain on his posh white shirt.
“I am so sorry!” He made sure to widen his eyes in a picture of youth, naivety and innocence. “Surely if my lord gets his valet to help him right away, the shirt can still be salvaged!”
“I CANNOT believe this!! Do NOT think this is over!” the noble screamed, face red. He wagged his disapproving finger on Ilias’ face, close enough that Ilias could smell the rancid stank of alcohol on his breath. “Mister Hanson, I require thy assistance, NOW!”
With that, some staff members scurried towards the young man, following him around as he flailed his arms around in indignation. The loud complaints could be heard clearly as they made their exit. The whole dining room was still, gawking and listening to the spectacle. When the last sounds of the lord's displeasure had faded, chatter slowly filled the air once more.
Lady Katherine made a face. Discreetly of course, in a manner befitting her position.
“Charming as always…” she muttered under her breath before locking eyes with them. “I may not fully trust thou, but I do trust Yoric. Here is the key. I hope thou can repair whatever disaster that has befallen the towers.”
She stealthily snuck out a chain from around her neck. On it, a blue key was jangling. She hid it in her hand and then lifted it towards Ilias in a handshake.
“Best of luck my lords,” she said, blue gaze serious. Ilias returned the handshake, feeling the cold metal of the key being pressed into his hand. He curled the hand into a fist and nodded sombrely. “Thank you.”