49.

Arobella and The Ball

"Left step, right step…" muttered the princess in his ear, letting her warm breaths caress the back of his neck. The smell of vanilla on her skin followed her every move, drew him in. The smell of the wine on her breath gave him pause — it was easier to keep his head just past hers, rather than look at her, and face the sour smell.

Cedric flinched with every whisper she made, moved jerkily through the steps of the dance, could feel his rough hands sweating against hers…

"Just a moment." he huffed, pulling away from her grasp. She almost fell forward in pursuit of him, but managed to keep upright as he fled the center of the dim room.

Arobella gave a clap. "Bravo! You're picking it up quick!"

Liar. Cedric sat down on a big green armchair near the candlelit table across from where Arobella's oversized bed was neatly made. He wiped the sweat from his brow, pulled at the collar of the stiff blue-and-gold noble jacket he'd been granted by one of the servants attending his quarters. "People can really dance around in these things?" he asked, unbuttoning the top button. I definitely won't be fighting in it...

Arobella giggled. "They're not so bad once you're used to them." And she spun to show off the tightness of her own revealing dress, a glittering thing of gold-embroidered fabric and sparkling gems over her slender, precise form.

'Gaudy' is a word I've only learned the definition of today. Thank you for that, Faunia. And thank Evra if this whole thing should be over soon...

She continued through the motions of the dance by herself in the center of the chamber.

"You're not Heji's daughter, are you?"

"Mm-mm." She shook her head without opening her eyes, or ceasing her dance.

"Then you were born from the last king..." He struggled for a moment to remember the name.

"Sylvus III." She finally lowered her arms and walked over to the table where her decanter and glasses waited. She poured two glasses of white wine, extended one over to Cedric.

"Right..." He stood and accepted the glass curiously. "Shouldn't we have... musicians in here? To dance to?"

Arobella shook her head and smiled. "I prefer my lessons to be alone, Cedric."

"Right." he repeated, then awkwardly pulled the glass up to his mouth, took a large mouthful. He winced as he pulled it away, smacking his lips at the bitter taste.

"Not quite your flavor?"

Suppose I've grown to miss the taste of ale more than wine... "It's good." he lied, and forced another sip.

Arobella had already finished her glass, placed it down to refill from the decanter.

"You drink quick, huh?"

She chuckled, holding her mouth for a moment. Then she took a swig of the fresh glass. She said, "Come. Let's continue our dance."

"Ah..." he began to protest, but she plucked the glass from his hand and placed it onto the table. She clasped their hands together, pulled them both to the center of the room in a gust of her comforting perfumed scent, and began to hum a quiet tune. Cedric felt his face go slightly red in the uncomfortable environment, he looked to the ceiling for support.

"Are you excited for the ball, Cedric? We can dance together there, too, something for the spectating peasants to see..."

Not really. "I can't say I've ever been to anything like a ball. None of this is exactly... comfortable, for me. But, yes. I'm excited."

"Oh — I'm sure we'll be comfortable in short time." She plucked at the highest button of his jacket.

Cedric released their grasp, pulled away into a fit of choking. He struggled back to that small table and took another swig of the wine. Once he'd downed the sour taste, he smacked his lips again and asked plainly, "What is it that you want, Arobella? Why me, why this... environment?"

She chuckled and swept close, stroked the side of his face down to his chin, let the touch of her slender fingers linger for a long moment on his freshly shaved, smooth skin. “You're so very slow, Cedric Castelbre.”

He felt his face go red, the ends of his ears burning. He averted his gaze, but she tilted his head back toward her, pressed her warm chest up against his.

He tried to stumble back further but found only the busy wallpaper, nearly knocked over the decanter in his failing retreat.

Arobella caught and steadied it without interrupting her gaze. “I want…” said her breathy whisper against his cheek, the scents of vanilla and wine mulling together.

There was a flicker, a tug at the ley.

"I want all of that land. All of it, for me.”

Cedric pulled her away in surprise. Her eyes were a pale blue, a symptom of Ithlo’s ability Truth. Then they flickered back to their natural dark brown.

“Kylinstrom?” he asked, but she only blinked in confusion. “Is that what you want?”

“Perhaps I wasn't specific enough…” She took his hands and pulled him away from the wall and, giggling all the way, pushed him onto the end of the soft bed.

She leaned in close to his face when her eyes flared blue again. She hissed, “That whore spawn of Heji's is going to steal my inheritance! So I may as well take yours, instead.”

“Hold on for a moment… Whore spawn... Inheritance...?” he murmured, desperately trying to recall some of the confidence he'd once had as a Sylvet, as a Hunter, but found that he could no longer muster up any courage to deflect the drunken princess’ confusing advance — Ithlo’s double-speak was clearly not helping him get his bearings.

And then she dropped her slim-fitting dress to the floor. Cedric winced away.

Oh, gods help me.

X

Cedric stood in a daze beneath the glowing chandelier lights of the massive domed ballroom, stood beside the crowd of nobles in their gaudy, glowing dresses of gold and silver and jackets of white and yellow. He stared longingly at the gold-draped tables covered in food, covered in bottles, covered in extravagant decor.

He pulled at his collar. Much like he'd often seen Kogar doing. He didn't realize how uncomfortable such a uniform could get, how uncomfortable such a position could get. How uncomfortable such a day could get.

He'd had bad days, of course. But nothing could have prepared him for the negotiations, the premises and procedures and provocations of every nobleman and noblewoman and...

Cedric took a deep breath. He sniffed, wiped his nose with the side of his thumb, pulled at his stuffy jacket to try to make it sit more naturally upon him, to relieve some of the overbearing heat. It didn't work.

There was a gentle clattering as some of the handmaidens and waiters and butlers worked their way through the grand golden doors nearby with trays covered in bottles and glasses between them, began to pop open the corks and fill the lavish decanters with the red and gold liquids.

Cedric sifted through the crowd, stumbled over just before they could open one of the last bottles they'd brought. The cork was just about to release when he exclaimed, "Wait, please. Could I... have that bottle? Unopened?"

The gray-mustached butler bowed slightly with a smile, handed it off to him with the corkscrew still inserted.

"Thank you." Cedric bowed back.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

He crept back away, back into one of the rare spots in which none of the solipsists were crowding to bark chatter, nor dancing to the lascivious string ensemble that played from the faraway stage. The music was so loud he thought his eardrums might just burst. His heart was thumping almost just as loud throughout his entire head. His forehead was beginning to soak with sweat. The lights were blaring, blinding to look at. He swallowed burning saliva, looked down to the dark bottle in his hand.

Pop went the cork. He brought it up to his nose, took a deep sniff. He thought the bottle had looked familiar, and indeed; it was the same type of wine that Rithi had offered him once or twice before. He held it out, as if to a friend and said, "To Rithi."

Then a sharp, rising whistle caught his attention. The lights were suddenly not so blinding, the music not so blaring. His whole world came back down to him in the peace of something he understood: Kogar was approaching him, two empty glasses in his hands. "You're not going to drink right from the bottle like a dog, are you?"

Cedric didn't reply, didn't even manage a scowl or glare. He gave a gentle exhale and poured into the offered glasses.

Kogar took a gentle sip, first. The bulky man hadn't even bothered to remove his two-tone armor for the event; he hardly seemed a man of nobility himself. "It's a fine taste. The Aeonics have ever been proficient at such mortal delights."

"Why are you here, Kogar?" Cedric finally asked, feeling his heartrate return to normal.

"I'm here because the Teller has called for me, just as he has called for you."

"Then you're the one that tried to dismiss our visit?"

"No. I'd hoped to intercept you beyond the city walls – to crush you and leave behind wanton destruction, pock the earth with craters where our climax might take us. To put on display for all the wrath that one who defies god must bear."

Cedric finally felt his face begin to harden. "Why? Why do you do it? What makes you think you're better than—"

"One question at a time, Cedric. Or Lorik, or whatever you damn-well go by. You want to know why? I am a god who has been ignored for far too long. I've been mocked, looked down upon, trodden over like uneven soil spotted with shit... I will make bleed any nation which has dismissed my powers, any nation which has dismissed my station... That is my reason. But Aeon has not dismissed me. Heji welcomes me with open arms; his people, with impassioned worship."

Cedric finished his glass. He could feel the alcohol from earlier mixing with the new, he could feel the world begin to wobble around him. "You're not a god... You're some damn child with too much power, power you don't even know how to control. You're too little, given too much. But you're right, at least, that our fight is better held beyond spectators."

"You and your little brothel of whores are the first things besides Rykaedi who have been anywhere near capable of questioning my limits. However you've triumphed the Moment, however you've learned to dispel my ability of instantaneous death... It's all going to be for nothing. Once Heji's determined fate runs out... It will be me and you. And once that fate has run out, nothing will be between us; I'll destroy half the world just to see you dead. Mortal sinners must be pinned upon the stake. And you are nothing more than that: a man who chooses to wield God's power as his own, and such a thing can no longer be tolerated."

Cedric leaned in close, he drew in a long breath. Once he was a step away from Kogar, just barely half a foot, he whispered, "When fate runs out... I will be the one to kill you."

The ley twisted between them. There was an awful sensation that none could feel except the two of them, a horrible dread of wrath and death and carnage all. The end of their fated path glared back from both of their minds: a red moon, a dark sky, a climactic battle beyond oblivion. Dead roads, corpses littering Calamon's calamitous streets, a river of blood that runs down pale skin. A life taken, a life gained. Everlasting Calamity.

"Cedric!" Faunia suddenly shook his shoulder, ripped him from his trance. Kogar's spot was vacant, he was gone. The sweat had returned to his forehead. He almost stumbled backward. "Do you need to sit down? Are you feeling alright?"

Then he got a look at her — her silver dress was not overly gaudy, was just as slim-fitting as Arobella's had been, though somehow more fitting for Faunia's slightly more filled-out form. Her exposed arms and shoulders were as pale as her face and so pristine, Cedric almost wanted to reach out and see how they felt. He swallowed, tried to clear his throat, tried to escape that distraction.

Faunia took his arm in her own and washed him in a subtle floral scent, nowhere near as overpotent as Arobella's perfume had been. She helped him wobble over a few uneasy strides, sat him down beside one of the lavish catering tables, one that wasn't overly crowded.

"Are you drunk?"

He shook his head, though the nausea was undeniable. His eyes fell to the glossy floor, to the shining shoes of her outfit.

"How did your dance lessons with the princess go?"

He looked away abashedly. Whatever had happened in that chamber was going to be costly one day. And though there was no price to pay as of yet, he knew that there was no good outcome from negotiating on the defensive. He was still weak. He wasn't cut out to be a king or a leader, and he knew it. If a woman like that — a drunkard practicing phony nobility — could overpower his mental faculties, he would soon find negotiations with Heji to be a much worse headache.

"Not good, then?"

He hissed in a breath. "I... need some time to think. Alone."

Faunia was slightly taken aback. Her face looked pained. "Cedric, you know you can always lean on my—"

"Not now, Faunia." he muttered, just loud enough to be heard. He shut his eyes. The world continued to spin. He could still smell that flowery perfume, just half a stride away...

Faunia closed her mouth. Her lips twitched. Then she turned and left, with much more grace than he had ever worn. And there went that comforting scent.

"Dammit. Damn it all." And damn you Ithlo'vatis, Serkukan, both for neglecting to step in when I faltered. Ithlo – you show me her true intention, but neglect to show me a way to subvert it? Serkukan, no thoughts on how to escape without alerting every Etherian in the damn realm?

He watched her trail off through the crowd until she vanished. Then he put his head into his hands. Nobility is not for me. None of this is. I want to go back, I want to be in Siln, in Kylinstrom, in some place I damn-well understand. Even being Sylvet was simpler than this. Even being a Hunter, I'm sure, was easier to comprehend, even if my motivations yet elude me.

Cedric held the bridge of his nose for a long moment.

Why can't I just go back? Why can't I just give this all up, take my money, cut my losses, escape back to some quiet country where nothing is going wrong?

Then he looked up, folded his hands.

Because there is no country where nothing is going wrong. There is no place I can escape to avoid the wrath of The Twelve, Etheria, or even to escape human unpleasantness...

He thought of Marisol, of Faunia. He'd almost wished Faunia had been more persistent with him.

A figure crept into his sight, into his vicinity. He looked up to see Heji with a brilliant smile, though something about his dark-rimmed eyes was not comforting, nor inviting.

Speaking of unpleasant...

"Cedric, lad! I hope your dance lessons went well — I feel, even without my blood running through her, that I must apologize after her; she's going through a rough patch, quite upset by her brother's conception. When he's born, he'll be heir to—"

"Why did you become king?"

Heji froze before he gave a hearty laugh, "Feeling unmotivated?"

"You were the deadliest Sylvet I had ever known. You were far fiercer than Lorik, far swifter than Rog. What compelled you to... this...?" He waved his arms around at the scene.

Heji pulled out a chair, put it right across from Cedric so their knees were almost touching. He looked Cedric confidently in the eyes as he answered, "God told me to."

Cedric perked up. "Azafel told you?"

Heji shook his head. "No. Azafel's God."

Cedric cocked his head slightly.

"Creation is an infinite sequence, Cedric. Nothing comes from nothing, does it? There was a god before the god who created Azafel and Evra, and that is my god. That is who grants me my power as a Teller, the one who tells me where my path in life is. You listen to him as well, though you do not yet know it. That is true destiny."

Another raving lunatic with his own pantheon. That's all he is.

"You doubt me."

"Of course I do. You're harboring Kogar; I'm suspicious of just about anything you say."

Then Heji's dark smile turned into one of dark secrecy. "I'm doing my best to keep you alive, Cedric. That's why I attempted to retract my summons, to dismiss you back to Calamon. Kogar appeared after you were well on your way. I've stayed his hand only by reminding him of predestiny, and the way that things must be."

“You’re lying to keep us alive? Don't bother...”

“Lying? No. My words are not false when I tell him that he needs you to open Nihil Maxim, to reach Evra. There are no lies I tell. Your final conflict with him will happen in Calamon, many moons from now. He is the last of the Twelve who you will face."

"When will I kill Rykaedi? Soon?"

Heji smiled again. "I cannot spoil destiny, my friend. If I did, I would subvert her hand; I would change destiny altogether to say all too much of it. But there is one thing..." He pointed over to the solitary Faunia, suddenly visible through the crowd. "You'll need her help if you are to win. You can't let her get too far away. Do not let a void grow between you."

Cedric unfolded his hands. He let out a deep sigh.

Then Heji stood, gave him a hard pat on the back. "Good luck, Cedric! Do not let slip your path; do not let destiny get the better of you!"

The king left. Cedric took a deep, deep breath, and finally stood from his seat with a lengthy stretch. Then he weaved through the crowd, made his way over to where Faunia stood alone, her hands neatly folded at her waist.

He tapped her twice on the shoulder. She turned, then her gentle face turned to a sharp scowl.

"Wait. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." He struggled for words. "There's a lot going on in my head right now. There's a lot going on in general."

Her scowl faded. "I know. It's easy to get overwhelmed with how much things have changed..." She looked around the glowing scene.

Cedric held out a gloved hand to her. "Can I... have this dance?"

Faunia smiled. She took his hand. "Yes. Yes, you... may...?" Her eyes trailed off, looked past him. Her smile fell. Her hand grew tighter around his.

Cedric spun around, his mouth fell agape.

"Castelbre! May I have this dance?" asked Miriam, asked the purple-and-black robed woman with tan skin, asked the woman masquerading her true identity as the God of Marrow, Rykaedi.