Arthan woke with a soft moan. His body felt weak and weary. He closed his eyes again, trying to straighten his clouded thoughts. Then he remembered. Geraldine, the assailant. The dagger. A dull but agonizing pain was throbbing in his stomach but when looked down his naked torso he saw nothing. He had been cleansed and bathed and there was no wound, only a small scar, although he still felt an ache where the blade had struck. His arm was still stinging and bandaged though. That wound hadn’t healed and proved the evening’s events to be all too real.
His joy dampened at the thought of the evening. Geraldine was dead. Or was she? If he had recovered, maybe she had too? Considering his shape that evening, it wouldn’t surprise him.
He pulled the blankets aside and swung his legs over the edge of the luxurious bed, cautiously standing up and straightening his back. The pain was manageable. He still didn’t understand why it was aching though it appeared to have healed. Perhaps the wound was internal? That they had somehow closed it, but that his stomach was still messed up inside? But these wounds were mortal. It must have healed, or he would have been dead by now.
He found clothes carefully folded and placed on a chair, his own garments. The same kind he had worn on that evening, but probably not the same set. They would be drenched in blood. For a moment, he wondered if it had all been a dream, that he had gone to bed immediately instead of going out. But it all seemed too real, and the wound at his arm was still present. It had been real.
The door to the room opened and a woman came walking in, a plate with water. She wore a modest white robe, as was customary for servants. She smiled upon seeing him up.
“Sir, you are up. Are you thirsty?”
“I am fine,” he said quickly, a question already at his lips. “Lady Geraldine… does she live?” He asked, tensing up while waiting for her answer.
The servant’s smile immediately disappeared. “I am sorry, she was found dead.”
His shoulders sunk. So, he did fail. He, a knight supposed to be the best in the kingdom, had been taken down by a fool. He was left empty, all strength leaving his limps. And he was suddenly extremely conscious of his dry lips and mouth. “I will have that water, after all.”
She handed him a glass and he drank it all.
“Master Tomaire says that you should take it easy because of lingering internal damage. Are you feeling pain?” The servant spoke, taking furtive glances to his naked upper body.
“Nothing I can’t handle. What is your name?”
She curtsied gracefully. “My name is Carrianne.”
He nodded. “How much time has passed, Carianne?” He asked, drained of joy and energy. It had all been for nothing. These injuries, and nothing to show for it.
She smiled at him. “One night, Sir. You were deadly wounded, but then His Majesty came and left, and you were healed.”
He stared at her incredulously and then he examined himself. He had expected to have been sleeping for at least a month for that wound to heal. But then again, why hadn’t the wound at the arm healed if that was the case? He was still looking strong and well-fed; it would have shown if he had spent months in bed. Her explanation, no matter how far-fetched, made sense. Had the king healed him? But how?
“I… Stella, my sister. She might know.” He said, his thoughts confused and disorderly. She was his only connection to the king.
Carianne nodded. “I will inform her that you are awake. In the meantime, stay in bed please.” She said kindly but firmly.
He complied, mainly because she didn’t seem inclined to leave the room unless he did as she said.
For what seemed like an hour, but was probably less, he lied in bed with his mind alternating between self-pity and confusion.
Stella came soon after, barging in with a blissful expression that swept away all his negative thoughts and feelings. She jumped into the bed with him and embraced him tightly.
“I thought I would lose you.” She whispered into his ear, hugging his neck as she would never let go of it.
“It was close.” He said honestly, putting a recomforting hand on her neck. “What happened?”
She pulled away, so she could look him straight in the eye and show him her seriousness. “The king healed you, with his own two hands. It’s a gift from the Almighty to him, as his chosen one.”
“You… saw this yourself?” He said in disbelief. He wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t doubt the king’s word at all. She might take a joke or a boast a bit too seriously. Her infatuation to him could be… blinding.
She nodded vigorously. “With my own two eyes. He simply put his hands on your wound, and it healed!”
“That’s impossible. That’s not a miracle, it’s… sorcery…” He said, suddenly remembering a dying witch’s words. A cold chill ran down his spine. Krasnia the witch’s words suddenly echoed in his mind; the grandest sorcerer that ever lived. That’s what the witch had proclaimed of him.
“Hey!” She called him out at his harsh words. To accuse the king of sorcery was blasphemy, but it was her husband and over too. “And who cares what it was if it saved you?” She pointed out, a bit displeased by his reaction.
“Stella, you need to keep away from him.” He said in an urgent tone, grabbing her shoulders firmly to get her full attention. She tried to pull away.
“No. I love him.” She pushed his hands away. “You’re simply being overprotective.”
“If he truly is a sorcerer, then he is beyond dangerous! He might be manipulating you as we speak!” He blurted out, though if that really was the case then it was probably for nought. She was entirely in the sorcerer’s grasp. “You’re under his spell!”
She shook her head. “I know how I feel. And you shouldn’t worry, he can protect me better than you ever could. He can protect both of us, brother.”
Her words stung his pride, but he persisted, trying to calm his mind and speak rationally. He had to seem impartial, or he would just be pushing her away. “We do not know the extent of his influence or his motivations well enough to judge him well. I will not gamble with your life, your future.”
“My life is not yours to gamble with, not anymore. From now on, you can rest. I trust Arkansas. He will keep us safe.” She tilted her head and smiled sweetly, completely ignoring his alarmed state. “And I think he likes you.”
“Stella…” He let out, trying to find the arguments that would convince her, but his mind was blank.
“Brother, you have always protected me from the boys, ever since I was a small child. Even if they seemed gentle.” She paused, looking for the right way to express her point. “I do not resent you, I know it was only out of love. But I am good now.” She grabbed his hands, pressing them tenderly. “Focus on your own life and happiness now.”
He smiled back weakly, images of the past came to his mind, of Stella running around in their old house. She had been a curious and enthusiastic child and had developed beauty relatively early. which had often led to him giving out beatings to dissuade the more eager boys. But she had never liked when he resorted to violence, often trying to save them from him. Which had only made them more convinced that she actually liked them, though it had just been her being kind to them. She didn’t understand what some of these boys would do to her, given the chance. She had never known how bad the world could be, and he would keep it so. The image of Jania’s violated corpse sprung up in his mind, which only strengthened his resolve.
In the end, his childhood had been busy, though he had gotten his moments too. He had always been amongst the biggest of his age, and the girls had found him quite appealing too.
Arthan abandoned trying to convince her of the danger the king posed. She was too infatuated, too blinded by his charm. He suppressed his hostile feelings with an inhuman effort, taking a deep breath and moving the conversation to more harmless subjects. He tried to give her the impression that her words had calmed him, although that was far from the case. And for a while, he found himself enjoying her presence and their company like he used to do.
Stella left, mentioning a new music class with a world-famous musician, unable to contain her excitement. He silently lied in the bed for a while, his thought trailing back on the matter at hand and considering his options. In the end, he saw only one way to deal with this, to reclaim Stella from the claws of the king.
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He left the room, moving slowly to spare himself unnecessary pain. He was not sure how much of the wound was healed, but it still ached inside, and he feared something wasn’t repaired completely under the otherwise smooth skin.
He took a moment to straighten his posture and relax his muscles before he walked out of the room towards Hadrian’s quarters. He would not look weak, no matter what. He had his dignity.
On the way, he received strange looks and a few incredulous ones too. Some simply nodded to him, probably still unaware of the night’s events.
Two of Hadrian’s men were guarding the door to his quarters. Their eyes widened upon seeing him and one slipped a head inside to announce him.
“He’s going to want to meet you.” The other guard said while nodding to himself.
Indeed, he was let in by the guard and greeted by Hadrian inside. It was a larger room with a sizable oval table occupying its middle. Hadrian stood at its end, hands behind his back. He was as stoic as usual. He wasn’t alone though.
Arthan had interrupted some sort of meeting. Hector was there, of course, a dark and silent figure leaning against the wall in the shadows behind Hadrian. Gallivan, Parceval and Tristan were there too, so were two other silvered knights, named Rolent and Henrith. The duke of Karamaine was there too, a middle-aged man who looked small and frail in a room filled with large and strong knights.
Gallivan nodded to him, the faint smile on his face showing his genuine gladness at seeing him alive and well. Parceval flashed him a grin.
“Only a night ago, I heard you were mortally wounded. How is this possible?” The duke asked inquisitively, stroking his thin but long beard.
Arthan looked to Hadrian for permission to speak and the prince nodded. He apparently trusted this old man.
“The king healed me.” He saw eyebrows shoot up and eyes narrow.
“How?” Hadrian asked without missing a beat.
“I was on a witch hunt with Sir Parceval only a few days ago.” Arthan started, seeing the knight suddenly freeze.
“Shit.” Parceval let out, Rolent wincing and glaring at him. “She told us that the king was a sorcerer, we thought it was simply the dying ramblings of an old witch who sought to disconcert us, but with this…” He motioned for Arthan’s wounds. “Shit.” He said again, receiving a more pronounced glare form Rolent.
“She described Arkansas as the greatest sorcerer that had ever lived,” Arthan added darkly. And that man had set his sight on his sister. “That is the kind of power that he used to heal my wounds.”
“Have you felt any side-effects yet?” Gallivan asked worryingly. There were countless stories of people accepting short-sighted help from a sorcerer to cure a sickness or defeat an enemy, only to pay a terrible price later on.
“Not yet.” He said grimly, glancing at his hands, wondering for a second if they were going to rot and fall off as they had done in one particular story, where a man had been offered exceptional restoration to cure the curse afflicting his hands. Every midnight, his hands would grow out and the rest of the day they would rot off again.
Hadrian suddenly turned to Hector. “Send word for Tomaire.” He ordered. “I want him here as fast as possible.”
“I feel well.” Arthan protested but was silenced by a single look from the prince.
“The old king’s death has always been suspicious, especially given Arkansas’ elevation to the status of heir to the throne.” Hadrian let out. Parceval gave him a surprised glance, while Rolent and Henrith seemed to find it difficult to hide their shock. The prince had just marked the king as a traitor of the crown and a murderer. Hector and Tristan were immovable statues though, loyal to a fault.
“You think he manipulated the old king and then cursed him to death with his sorcery.” The duke of Karamaine drawled pensively, his traits darkening. “Not only is he a sorcerer, and thus an enemy of the people and the Almighty, but he also might be a usurper.”
“We are talking of treason here,” Gallivan said uncomfortably. “Make no mistake, I will always have your back, my prince, but let us tread cautiously here. Nothing is confirmed yet.”
“I have always supported you as the rightful king, Your Highness. It was taken from you. We should right this wrong.” The duke pledged, ignoring Gallivan’s plea.
“Say the word, and it will be done.” Tristan declared coldly. Rolent nodded approvingly, his chock replaced by determination. Parceval looked to be both excited and anxious, while only Gallivan seemed downright reticent.
“Calm yourselves. Tomaire will cast light on the old king’s death and his relation to Arkansas.” Hadrian interceded calmly. “The people will know the truth, whatever that may be. And they will not look kindly to a sorcerer.”
“You are wise, my prince. We will need the people’s support if we are to overthrow Arkansas.” The duke mused. He received a sharp look from Gallivan, but the prince didn’t contradict him.
Arthan nodded approvingly. He wouldn’t deny that he shared a personal interest in the king’s fall so that his sister would be free from his clutches, but he also felt fervently loyal to Hadrian, a man whose virtues couldn’t be denied. He was a true king as he had imagined them in his childhood.
They discussed details and loyalties now that a coup d’état suddenly became a possibility. Azure, a land which despised sorcery above all others, couldn’t have a sorcerer as king without inner conflicts ensuing, no matter how powerful he was. Thus, they debated how to proceed in case of taking the step of rebellion.
Tomaire arrived as fast as he could, looking nervous and fearful. The whole grew silent as he entered, every conversation dying. His loyalty was not a given. The doctor’s brows rose in surprise upon seeing Arthan, who carefully rendered his face expressionless. The healer was led before Hadrian, who gave him an appraising look.
“Explain how my father died.” Hadrian drily ordered.
The man flinched at the order. “He died slowly of multiple diseases and the wear of old age, Your Highness.” The man said while he nervously fidgeted with a finger-ring.
“Those are the lies you fed the court.” Hadrian’s traits darkened. “Now, you will tell me the truth.”
“The truth?” He swallowed. “There is nothing to say… I never found any symptoms of sickness or disease. I cannot say why he died exactly!” He urged in panic, afraid that the prince wouldn’t believe him. “I mean, he was old, perhaps he-”
“That’s enough.” Hadrian interceded before the man began conjecturing and improvising as his life depended on it.
There was silence in the room, as Hadrian came to terms with the consequences that this conclusion would have. He breathed deeply and then opened his eyes, full of determination. “It was sorcery then. You know what to do.” He said to his men and they all bowed. Some would take measures to spread awareness of the king’s nature while others would subtly try to gather loyal men in the capital. Everybody had their orders.
They began leaving the room in fast strides, while the healer looked increasingly confused. He was led out by a couple of soldiers. Just as Arthan was about to take his leave too, Hadrian requested that he stayed behind. The room was emptied except for the two of them.
“I wanted to thank you for bringing me that news.” He said though his eyes were dead-serious. “However, I cannot ignore that your sister is going to marry the usurper… will that be a problem for you?”
Arthan fell on one knee, ignoring the pain that flared up in his stomach. “Regardless of that, you are the rightful king and you have my loyalty. Besides, I want my sister free of his spell.”
Hadrian nodded understandingly. “I had no doubts about you. Now, you should rest, we have difficult trials ahead of us.”
Arthan bowed his head and left the prince to his thoughts. He wouldn’t rest immediately though, he would rather test out his muscles. He was becoming increasingly wary of any side-effect of his healing, especially as they were soon going to face the very sorcerer who had healed him.
Before that, however, he grabbed a good breakfast in the kitchen, satisfying his looming hunger and providing his body with much-needed energy.
He then went through the forms of combat in the training yard. His movements weren’t really disrupted by the ache of his now-gone wound, though it was a mental distraction. The slice along his arm was uncomfortable, but it didn’t limit his movement much. He was careful not to open the wound though.
He met Gallivan on the training yard, who was venting his frustrations on a poor opponent who was hard-pressed in putting up even a semblance of a challenge. Gallivan spotted him and waved shortly after he had disarmed his opponent.
“I thought you would be resting at this hour.” The knight said though he looked pleased to see him.
“I am not tired, quite the contrary,” Arthan responded. He genuinely felt fresh and rested after the long night of sleep, as well as the filling breakfast. “Would you care for some sparring? Nothing serious, only to gauge my recovery.”
Gallivan nodded slowly. “If you feel it necessary.”
They traded blows without trying growing serious. It was simply to repeat the movements of combat with an active opponent. It was going well, as he had expected, his body was fully functional. Gallivan, who had looked uneasy at first, steadily settled into the rhythm. Their swords flashed and glinted in the sunlight as they executed an almost artistic dance of blades with each other, which would not have been possible had they been fighting to the death. They were with each other, instead of against each other.
All of sudden, a flare of agony swept through Arthan from his core, culminating in his heart and throat as he coughed violently, while his arms lost their strength for a split moment. He failed to parry. Gallivan was alert however and managed to stop his sword a finger’s width from Arthan’s neck. Gallivan immediately let the sword fall and put a cautious hand on the injured knight’s shoulder.
“What happened?” He questioned.
Arthan grimaced, wiping the blood off his lips. “It appears I am not as healed as I thought.”
Gallivan shook his head with a concerned frown. “You should take it easy, then.”
“I will.” He said, after which an amused smile found his lips. “It appears your sparring partners have all disappeared.” His previous opponent the few others in the yard had taken advantage of the knight’s inattention to slip away, thus escaping any more punishment.
“I can find a new one. Go rest, my friend.” Gallivan said firmly, though he returned the smile.
Arthan strode back to his place and sent Canil to request a hot bath by a passing servant. The page slept in a small room adjacent to his quarters and was never far away.
He was soon after relaxing in a large hot tub full of boiled water, at first burning but then comfortable. But in spite of his relaxed body, his mind was in an uproar, trying to figure out what had happened in his spar with Gallivan. Now, the wound under the scar was back to the manageable aching and hurt even less than before in the hot water.
Canil knocked and immediately entered, handing him a message. Arthan refrained from giving him a sermon about politeness. He looked excited. “A royal guard gave this to me, it’s for you!”
Arthan took the message and ordered the young page out of the room, to the boy’s disappointment. He opened the scroll.
It was a request from the king for his presence the following day. The royal guards would come to get him at noon. He threw the letter aside and cursed under his breath. Of course, there would be a price to his miraculous recovery. He had expected it, but it was still nerve-wracking news. What kind of atrocities would the depraved sorcerer ask of him?
Another fear suddenly took him. What if the king could read minds? With a single look, he might see right through him. He would know about Hadrian’s rebellion, about everything. They would all die.
“I suppose I’ll find out tomorrow.” He whispered to himself, trying to calm himself.