Chapter 120
The Undercurrent of Courandhel
Martell was trying to play the mysterious instrument like how Autumn Rain Cicada did. However, no matter how he tried, he could not produce the sound that he wanted.
“That is wrong,” Connie said. She was leaning on his door. "That's not how you play it."
“Mistress?”
“Let me have a look see,” Connie said. "What's the name?"
"The name?" Martell handed her the instrument without question.
"The name of this beautiful damsel. A fine Guqin such as this would have a name. Ah, here is the engraving..."Wild Geese"."
Connie let out a chuckle at the irony of the name. A Guqin with the name of a pair of Wild Geese, creatures who were so loyal in their love that if one died, the surviving goose would follow the other in death. Now owned by a little monster who could not comprehend the meaning of love.
Is it just a coincidence? Or is it fate showing its ill humor?
Connie then plucked the strings with a practiced movement. Martell’s face brightened upon hearing that sound.
“Aah…” Connie said with her eyes close. Savoring the note as it lingered at the edge of her ear. “There is a right way of playing Guqin, Martell. You’ll need to learn them if you want to play properly.”
She plucked the string again, this time she slid her left hand along the string, making the note weep. “I am not as good as a true Master of the Art like Autumn Rain Cicada, or even Madam Five Feather. But I am sufficient enough to not embarrass myself.”
Connie then started to play a piece of music that was foreign to Martell’s ears. Yet it caused him to forget to breathe. He closed his eyes and saw the scenery of far-flung mountains covered by clouds. Something he could have never seen. When he opened his eyes again, he felt wetness running down the side of his cheek.
Gingerly he placed a thumb on it.
Tears? From me?
Connie plucked the string and let it slowly come to its completion, before ending it with a gentle press on the string.
“Guqin is not simply a musical instrument, it also has a meditative effect. If a lyre’s purpose is to create sound, a Guqin’s purpose is to create sound…and silence.”
Her hands suddenly stopped moving and her eyes widened.
“Mistress?”
“That’s right…everything has a purpose,” Connie felt like she realized something. “Yes…even the absence of something…”
“Come to me tomorrow night to start learning the Guqin,” Connie said, as she put aside the Guqin. Martell nodded gently, uncomprehending as she disappeared into her room. He could still hear her mumble as the door closed behind her.
“I need something…neutral. Something unaffected by disease…”
For example,...something without organs.
Like Slime.
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The following days were busy days. Both for Connie’s party and the city. Though it was not going to be as big as recent events, the Reward Ceremony was something that the city look forward to. These were hard times, and any sign of hope is a welcome thing.
But for some people, this event was anything but desirable.
In the tearoom of Lady Serin Gladstone, recently often one could hear shouts. They were usually then followed by the sound of something breaking.
Today was one such time. Serin’s body was shaking his anger after hearing news from the Castle. On the floor was what was left of a particularly expensive teacup and a rich sponge cake. All victims of her recent outburst.
Her maids were silent as they bowed their heads and pressed their backs to the wall, wishing they could have fused with it, rather than facing the anger of the woman pacing to and fro before them.
Her cousin, Sir Lionel, was sitting on a sofa while enjoying his tea.
“Well?!” Serin said finally when she stopped walking back and forth.
“Well, what?”
“Is that all the Prince wish to say to me? That he is busy?”
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Lionel put his tea down while letting out a tired sigh.
His cousin had been in ill mood since the day of the Trial. It was understandable since her sworn enemy did not just manage to avoid being stamped with the label of a criminal, but had also managed to become a celebrated hero after uncovering the evil designs of Vorzenny.
Because of her accusations towards Cornelia of the Steelheart House, now she had become isolated from the High Society. As a result, her father had told her that she would have to lay low.
How could someone a proud as her be fine with such disgrace?
Thus, she tried to reach out to her friends, inviting them to her tea parties so that they might console her. All of them replied with well-put-out letters of rejection. Polite and reasonable excuse. But rejection, nonetheless.
It was to the point that her fiancé was fed up and distanced himself from her.
“Yes, he is busy. This is a critical moment, cousin. And Prince Mikael is hard at work.”
“It’s for the reward ceremony for that bitch, isn’t it? How could he?!”
“Remember, cousin. She is a hero now. You have to watch your words,” he eyed the maids, whose body trembled in fear when his sharp gaze fell onto them.
Seeing this, the angry Serin scolded him. “Are you on her side too now?! Remember that your fate is tied to mine! I was the one who recommended you to the Prince.”
“And for that, I am grateful, cousin,” he said politely, but there was a cold edge in his tone. “The fact remains, however, that you should not make any movements now.”
“Do you expect me to sit here and not act when she accused me of infidelity in front of the public?!” she shouted angrily.
“Of course not. I am just saying that you need not move…just yet. You need to see the bigger picture,” the wild-haired man grinned. “Just because we cannot attack her directly, does not mean we cannot attack her.”
“…” Serin slowly digested his meaning and quickly calmed down. She then sat properly on the sofa before him and asked. “What…do you have in mind?”
The wielder of Frost Song smiled evilly.
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In the depth of night, while others lay asleep and the men whose work could only be done in the dark make their coins, three figures cloaked in shadows huddled over a table in an ordinary-looking house in the Business District.
There was a map upon the table with the likeliness of the Calendian King’s abode drawn on it. Its tips were weighted by tankards filled with weak ale.
Arryn, when will we do this? We have delayed our workings for weeks now. The tallest of the three people wrote on his slate.
Patience, Leyn. Our mole is currently trying to find the weakness in their security. The Vorzennian Hero’s death had caused the Calendian King to tighten their watch. We cannot be found out. The more curvaceous of the three wrote on hers. She paused a bit before adding. For now, we must lay low.
Just our luck that big incidents keep happening. The last one commented. The last scratch of his chalk caused the other two to flinch.
The tall man called Leyn let out a muffled sigh. Orell. You must start learning our hand signs. We cannot communicate as fast using slates.
I’m sorry. I’m still not used to this. I am not even supposed to be here!
I know. And if your team had succeeded in doing your job, we would not have to do this. Arryn scrawled her answer quickly.
I am sorry for the loss. But when we get in there, we need to move fast. You have to learn the signs! We have time in the afternoon, I will drill you again.
As Leyn was scolding the newcomer, two figures came in from the slightly opened window in succession. Their movements were so slick they made no sound as they landed inside the room. The last one coming in peeked his head out and looked in all directions before closing the window.
Arryn’made rapid signs using her hands which was answered with the same type of movements by the two.
The mole said that he is ready as soon as we give him a sign. He also asked for proof that his family is alive.
Arryn and Leyn looked at each other. The latter then nodded as approval.
By the way, about the one who killed the Hero of Vorzenny. Do you know the name of the Dark Elf in that party? It is…Illumca.
The mention of that name caused the female Assassin to pause.
We agreed to never utter that name! Leyn signaled furiously when he saw the reaction of his companion.
Just thinking if you’d like to know. The men who just came took big gulps from the tankard. Anyway, from what I can see, she is full-blooded. No way does she have any connection with the half-blood.
ENOUGH! This has nothing to do with the mission. Arryn slapped the table so hard the tankard jumped into the air. We are here as punishment for what we did. And so, we live and die by the Maluk Sedi; Ged - Abinadab’s words alone. That is our fate and our tragedy.
Her fist sitting on the table clenched tighter.
And nothing will change that.
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It was finally the day for the Reward Ceremony.
And it was a particularly cold and wet day. It had rained quite a bit in the morning and the bite of the leftover cold washed over the body and into the bone. But for the people of Courandhel, any excuse to drink poor ale at noon was something to be joyful about.
And they were indeed joyful. As noted by a bemused Martell.
“Look at them, Mistress. Not long ago they cursed your name and threw rotten food at you. And now? They shout your name in praise,” Martell said while looking outside the window with a sardonic smile.
“It is human nature,” Illumca said. “To expect more from them is folly.”
“Let them mock me if they wish, let them praise me if they want,” Connie said. “They have no effect on me. There are many more important things that need thinking about than the opinions of strangers.”
“By the way, what’s wrong with you, Nick? It’s off-putting to see you so silent, Nick,” Martell commented. “Seeing you, I would think that you’d use your newfound fame as a member of the party that felled the traitorous Hero to trick women. And they’d have gladly fallen to the trick!”
“Oh…yeah. Maybe,” the man said half-heartedly before falling silent once again. His fingers steepled together as if in prayer, though he had stopped praying many years ago.
The years have passed. And now, I am close to finding out the truth.
“Don’t worry about him. He has other things in mind,” Connie said to Martell.
“How are you doing out there, Akula?” Connie asked as she pulled aside the glass. A burst of cold air went inside the warm carriage.
“I’m…thinking about your question,” she answered through her veil. “You asked me about my ideals. About what I think about heroes.”
“Yes. And have you found your answer?” she inquired.
“Not yet. The only thing I realized about my thinking is that I know nothing about what makes a hero a hero.”
“I see, well…at the very least, you can experience what it means to be called a hero during the ceremony. Though I would not trust this Kingdom about their interpretation of a hero.”
“After all,” Connie leaned back to her seat with a smile of amusement. “They are going to give the Hero Killer an award fit for a hero for killing a Hero.”
Martell was the only one who laughed at the ironic wordplay.